The cold had started to settle for the autumn months on Main Street, leaving a light skiff of snow around the lampposts, encouraging the early morning crowd to add a wooly scarf and gloves to their cargo shorts and boots. In Idaho Springs, long pants with real coats weren’t considered necessary until mid-November, and even then you kept your hoodie close by for those “almost like summer” days. Ricky pulled off her vest as she found a place at one of the front tables at the Mainstreet Restaurant and ordered her favorite short stack of plate sized buttermilk pancakes and apple cider glazed pork loin. Mainstreet Restaurant was one of those places in town where people gathered to see “what was up on the street”, and there was a crowd seated now discussing if the Christmas tree lighting should be on December first, or if they should move it to December 2nd since it was a Friday. One of the guys, in his early sixties, looking like he was fit to climb Mount Evans that afternoon, seated himself across from Ricky as she was having her coffee refilled. They discussed the tree dilemma and Ricky voted for the Friday lighting. A younger man, one she’d seen coming out of Tommyknocker Brewery a time or two walked over to the table and seconded Ricky’s opinion about the tree lighting. He suggested that Friday was a better “date night”, then he left his card on the table and sauntered out the front door.