I’ve never been one to hob-nob among the ski community, even while living at the foot of the Alps for a year, but my cousin Kate has luxuriated and worked within that rarified atmosphere for many years. I visited her this week in Vail, Colorado with the expectation of hiking, fishing, and catching each other up on extended family gossip (much more on that juiciness in a future post!). Upon my arrival from Denver, through the Eisenhower/Johnson tunnel – westbound being the Republican side, eastbound for the Democrats – Kate and I planned outdoor strategy and, upon proper reflection, decided the first appropriate activity was a good, large meal to prepare for our upcoming endeavors.
We walked into the center of Vail proper, as Kate explained the invisible corporate entities that ran the resort and made the area hum with fun and profits during the winter ski season. This day, however, with a few weeks to go before the first snows would be eagerly awaited, the cobbled streets were almost empty, and many of the shops were closed or working on truncated hours. We discovered, to our chagrin, that even the local Starbucks closes at 3pm on the off-season. Nonetheless, it was rather enjoyable to have Vail to ourselves for an evening, almost like getting a private tour of Disney World before it opened to the crowds.
The older, Bavarian-style buildings were in perfect upkeep, and remarkably faithful to their originals I knew among the Alps. The newer structures had a more modern, western, yet classy look, and the mix of the two dominant styles melded well to my eye. The cable cars were shiny but still, and the slopes were green; the only hint of the season to come being the orange displayed on the leaves of the aspens that lined the sides of the empty ski runs. Kate explained that even the shops that were open now were more intent on doing a deep clean than serving customers, because there would be little time for such details once the snow and subsequent hordes of skiers arrived.
We eventually arrived at Russell’s Steakhouse, Kate’s favorite, and we were the only customers within as we took our seats. Kate is chummy with the management, however, so they quickly turned their attention to us from wiping wine glasses and stocking the bar in preparation for the winter crush. We chose good, rare beef to pack protein into our muscles in training, a large bottle of San Pellegrino (because dwellers of the western slope are all about hydration), and a hefty side of potato tuiles bathed in Bearnaise sauce, to insure that we didn’t wake up hungry in the middle of the night.
Properly fortified for the following day’s hike, we lumbered out of the door of Russell’s and onto the main square of Vail. It was getting dark, and we could feel the coolness rising from the cobblestones, as if the very streets themselves were breathing in anticipation of the season soon to come. I felt an urge, the first of its kind in my life, to see a ski resort in full vibrancy, and possibly even grab some skis to have a go at the bunniest of hills. I shared this thought with Kate and she assured me, as she always does, that I can come back any time.
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