For the past several years we have made it a tradition to take a mid-winter ski trip with members of our extended family.  Over the years the location and participants and have changed but we’ve been consistent with an annual trip to somewhere in the mountains.  This year we chose Winter Park.  

My sister and brother-in-law used to live in nearby Frasier so in my younger days I made many trips to WP to ski in the winter and ride in the summer.  Then sis and BiL abruptly moved away, with no consideration whatsoever of my free lodging needs.  

Nevertheless, Ms. Seeking and I returned to WP multiple times to ski after that.  We just like the place.  Not as flashy as Vail or Breckenridge but plenty big enough with a variety of interesting terrain and reasonable accommodations.  I looked back at some photos from those trips. Turns out the last one was 11 years ago. Something, something about time flying…  

I was looking forward to seeing WP again.  From Salida, it’s a scenic three-hour drive northeast.  Well, “scenic” and “three hour” until you get to I-70 just before the Eisenhower Tunnel, then it’s basically a miles-long parking lot with mountains.  If I had to sit in this every single time I wanted to slide down a hill on sticks I might be inclined to take up indoor winter activities.  

The exit for Berthoud Pass couldn’t pass couldn’t come soon enough.  

Up and over the divide…

…and down into Winter Park.

At the base, the first thing we noticed is that the Zephyr Express chairlift has been replaced with a sweet 10-person gondola.   Enclosed comfort.  Nice.

First day:  chamber of commerce weather.  Sunny blue skies and mild temps.  Heading up the hill.

We stopped at the familiar Lunch Rock for a quick bite.  While the facility has been updated from the one I remember, the view was just as good as ever. Parry and Eva peaks still provide an exceptional backdrop for al fresco dining.

Back to skiing.  

We’ve gotten so familiar with Monarch that skiing a larger area like Winter Park is an interesting experience.  Having to actually use a map to know where we’re going and still getting lost half the time.  Long runs and an unbelievable number of options. 

By the middle of the week the sunny weather turned to light snow and low visibility.  Temperatures dropped into the single digits and with the wind it was cold. Scary cold.  The kind of cold that soaks through even the best Gore-Tex and down layering.  Our group’s enthusiasm cratered.  For one day I was the only one who ventured outside and only for a couple of hours.  

On our final day, temperatures were still in the sporting range but the sun came out and attitudes improved.  

We headed up to the Parsenn Bowl for some high-altitude exploring.

During our four days at WP several members of our party developed coughs and sneezes. Not that unusual in the cold, dry air of the mountains. Because we were going to be sharing quarters with people who we normally don’t, the Ms. and I had tested ourselves prior to the trip. Surely everyone else had too, right?  Then people started feeling bad.

On the day we were to head home I woke up feeling miserable.  When we got back to Salida I took a Covid test just to be safe.  

Crap.  

After three years of completely dodging the dreaded plague, I was beginning to feel a bit like Neo.

Turns out I was just the last man standing in the universe’s dodgeball game.

Three years of masking, social distancing, and being very careful about whom we socialize undone by one family outing.   

Of course, we’re fully vaxxed and boosted.  Nine days on and we’re starting to feel better.  A little congestion, a bit of a cough.  Feels like one of those nasty lingering colds.

Time for rest and plenty of liquids while we contemplate the inscrutability of life.  A little gray cat on the lap doesn’t hurt either.