The day marked for Vail began with bright blue skies. We pulled into the special spot for RVs at the Lion's Head parking lot (only one of half a dozen entrances to Vail) and hopped back into the trailer to pull on our boots and wax up our boards. There was a slight breeze, so we put on our jackets and skimped on the inner layers. Ready to hit the hill, one of the most famous in the nation, we started off towards the gondola. On our way through the village, we passed several skiers traveling in the opposite direction. Finally we got wise when a gentlemen who had just come down the hill said they weren't running the gondola for more than three minutes at a time, on account of 60 mile-per-hour winds at the summit. Needless to say, we turned around and fell in step behind to wait for the shuttle that would take us to the east end of the resort.
The creek running through Vail Village.
With a bus-full of bundled skiers, we made our way through the town of Vail, a quaint villa-lined stretch of cobblestone, vehicle-free streets. Skis slashing from shoulders and boots clinking awkwardly over the covered bridge, our group of ducks out of water scrambled back towards the snow which was our pond. We made it to the lift and clambered aboard in search of higher ground, and hopefully more white and less brown patches.
Precision on Espresso.
The weather turned from spring to shrouded in less than half a dozen lift towers. By the time we got to the top, we were wishing for more layers and wondering where the sun went. We shared the spring-time snow and the winter weather with a multitude of international precision ski teams. They performed their slope ballets down a run called Espresso, matching uniforms dancing across the mushy white in intricate, interweaving patterns. We paralleled their moves in our own version on Cappucino, realizing that although we were having a great time of it, we had probably landed at this great resort on one of the worst days.
Looking down on Cappucino.
The late season and the high winds had closed most of Vail's 32 lifts, the coverage was minimal and the weather was less than desireable. But we were nowhere near complaining. After we packed it up on the slopes, we explored Vail's multiple villages on our bikes, found an awesome spot for dinner, and headed back towards the camper as the snow fell on our handlebars.
Delicious Sweet Basil...kitchen's up top.
We headed over the pass in search of a rest stop for the night, and found one just in time, before the snow would've stopped our progress, like it or not. We pulled off and settled in, anticipating a quick morning drive to Breckenridge. But when we awoke, the snow still hadn't stopped, and spring was nowhere in sight. In fact, she didn't show up all day. Word is that Annie's song will prevail, and the sun will come out tomorrow.
The wet ride home.
