I’m staying at the home of producer Glenn Zoller in Telluride so I can’t complain, but my son Jett and I are staying in a large room with three bunk beds plus a 15-foot-high loft, and one of the worst snoring incidents of my life occured at 2 am. I’m hardly one to talk since I snore, I’m told, but I’m also a very deep sleeper — right at the bottom of the lake — and I was nonetheless awoken by some truly grotesque noises coming from one of the bunks.
It was like that howling satanic growl heard in the third act of The Exorcist. Something beastly, appalling…a human couldn’t be the source.
I’ve found that if you clap your hands and go “hey!” the snorer will shut up for a while, and that technique worked for a while this morning, but the snoring returned two or three minutes later. I finally had to grab the blankets and sheets and throw them down on the floor and climb down the loft ladder and trying sleeping on the couch in a nearby TV den. But between the aural trauma of the snoring and the thin mountain air I couldn’t get back to sleep for at least 90 minutes. Terrific.