February 12, 2009
If the ski resorts are full, it must be February.
My husband and I just completed a mid-February tour of many of Colorado's finest ski resorts where the ski lodges were indeed overflowing with eager skiing buffs.
We were not exactly among them. I will explain.
Winter festivals and grand accommodations and mouth-watering cuisine abounded there. Doesn't this sound inviting, chic, and expensive?
I am sure it is, but honestly, I would not know since our trip was merely a drive-by gawking of such things. We did not ski; we do not know how.
Rather, we looped around the State of Colorado on a drive-by viewing of such trendy ski resorts as Monarch, Telluride, Crested Butte, Echo, Vail, Copper Mountain, Breckenridge, Keystone, and Cooper Mountain at Leadville.
We drove by them all or within shouting distance.
In fact, we drove by Breckenridge twice: once on the south approach to the mountain coming from Highway 24 and then again on the other side, the north approach, along I-70.
Did I mention that we were riding in a big super-cab pickup and, eventually, pulling a 16-foot trailer?
We had no skis aboard. No proper ski apparel packed. No Armani ski goggles purchased.
Instead, we were on quite a different mission, and the resultant ski resort tour was merely a byproduct.
Our charge was to pick up a flatbed trailer complete with homemade two-foot tall sidepanels and purchased via husband on eBay; then, drive it 900 miles from the western slope to our home (where it will likely be sold once more).
Don't ask, but yes, this is a pattern.
We did stop twice at ski resort communities, however.
The detour into the Village of Vail should be categorized as a "drive-by only" viewing as well since we could not find a place to park the truck and trailer combo. We stared stupidly (the Webster definition of gawk) at the parking lots because that was all we could see. Trying to exit the miles-long Vail frontage road, we did see skiers coming down the mountain. This eye-pleasing vista at least provided a fine photo op since I was bored taking pictures of highway signs announcing ski resorts and their elevations.
Our second and final stop at a ski resort was at Copper Mountain for lunch, and although not attired in proper and fashionable ski attire, we blended in just fine in our western wear.
Ski resorts; we saw them, sort of. At least, I became knowledgeable about skiing after reading piles of brochures I picked up along the way, and therefore, can discuss terminology that was otherwise unknown to a non-skier like me.
Bowls, glades, chutes, yurts, crust, crud, slush, powder, ice, rime, and graupel. Got it.
One might as well learn something on the long trip home between Colorado and Missouri (and I did not say one disparaging word about crossing Kansas, did I).
