The Montage at Deer Valley, Utah

I never thought too much about the fall colors in the Rocky Mountains, despite spending most of my four years in the Air Force there three decades ago.  Evergreens, after all, are appropriately named.

At the end of September, I packed my Jeep Cherokee with boxes destined for storage in Montana and headed for Deer Valley, Utah, to join Julie, who had flown to a conference at Montage a couple of days prior.

By 5 AM, I was on the freeway listening to TomTom tell me where to go for the next twelve hours.  GPS and map programs have become commonplace, but I can distinctly remember the age before computer generated maps and satellite directions.

In high school, Kevin Anderson was behind the wheel of his parents' station wagon filled with our friends, including Pat Welch, who sometimes acted...shall we say?...impetuously.  Pat was apparently our navigator, reading from the fold out map.  The Thomas Brothers Guide, a map book containing page after page of detailed maps with arrows on the sides leading to the next area along the way, was the state-of-the-art predecessor to GPS, but it was too expensive to be as ubiquitous for teenagers as smart phones are today. The map we had with us was just a cheap, one page foldout for the state of California without many details.

One winter day when we were high school juniors, we went to the Southern California mountains to play in the snow.  We were blue collar kids who didn't ever consider the rich man's sport of skiing as an option, but we were happy to throw snow balls around and slide downhill on plastic sleds.  Most of us were seeing snow up close for the first time.  We had a great time, even if teenagers hitting the road in early morning meant that we didn't get out the door much earlier than 11 AM and our total mountain time was limited to about an hour or two.

Finding the snow wasn't difficult, but getting back was a challenge.  We were lost at 70 miles an hour, driving somewhere other than home.  Kevin looked around and said he thought we were on our way to San Diego instead of back to Orange County.  The rest of us stopped whatever foolishness we were up to and chimed in to concur with Kevin's analysis.  Pat's face got red as he looked at a road sign and back at the map. 

"Stupid map," exclaimed Pat, and with that he threw our only map out the window.

We were lost in the ozone.  Before GPS, of course, there were no cell phones, so our options seemed to be to find a Tic Toc or gas station to ask directions, buy a map or put change in a pay phone to call home.  None of these options, and particularly not the ones that cost money, were acceptable.  But Kevin saw the Ortega Highway, which he recognized from family trips, and we wound over to San Clemente and then back up the coast.

Over 40 years later, with the somewhat jolting female voice of my TomTom directing me, I had no concerns of such foolishness derailing me, and my Jeep ate up the miles while I listened to On My Way, Mumford and Sons and Dr. Wayne Dyer's six hour seminar, Excuses Begone.



I really enjoyed the drive, despite the pain of watching the dollars roll around on the gas pump every few hours when I filled up.  At the risk of losing my CLIA credentials, I think there's something liberating about being on the open road, although of course you can hit the road to catch a cruise, too.  Driving to Seattle for an Alaska cruise is a great option for Californians.

The miles rolled by pleasantly, and soon I was directed to get off the freeway near Provo.  The scenic drive brought me past a river and forests, then into a gorgeous valley with a little German Alpine village.  I passed a lush golf course surrounded by gorgeous foliage and began a climb up a two lane road...make that one road just barely wide enough for two way traffic.

As I climbed the winding road, it occurred to me that this seemed an unlikely way to approach a large ski area, but the bright red and gold leaves all around me were so beautiful that I had no interest in turning around. 

Lightning split the sky, and a modest rain began to fall.  The natural beauty overcame the ominous signs, and I pushed forward.

When I emerged from the dense forest, TomTom directed me to turn right on what looked like a dirt road.  "Impossible," I thought, assuming the real road must be a bit ahead.  Twice more I refused to turn, and TomTom reset my course and told me to turn down another dirt road. 

I decided to give it a try and winded along the bumpy road in my 4-wheel drive to the base of a steep mountainside.  I could imagine videos I've seen of sand rails and dirt bikes attempting to assail such a cliff and tumbling down like Humpty Dumpty.  "No way.  Stupid map!"

I resisted the urge to throw TomTom out the window, and proceeded to find my way back out of this back country maze, making a few wrong turns on the way.

Looking at my watch, I realized I was now way behind schedule and wouldn't have Julie's coat to her in time for her dinner as planned.

Frustrated, I decided to call the resort, and after the Montage rep figured out that I was somehow on the back side of the resort on a route no one in his right mind would take, he directed me to follow the paved road around the bend and look for a giant resort.  It was hard to miss, and I didn't.

The vallet apparently heard I was coming, and he not only took my keys but escorted me all the way to my room, probably worried I'd get lost en route.

After briefly meeting with Julie as she and the rest of her large group headed for dinner and an amazing show at the Olympic Village, I headed down to the lounge.  The friendly bartender Tyson directed me to Evolution, a draught amber ale brewed down in the Wasatch Valley through which I believe I drove before getting lost (although as you can tell, my sense of direction wasn't too keen on this trip).  It proved to be a very good brew, especially accompanied by complimentary wasabi peas and dry roasted almonds, which served as my dinner.

The next morning, I had a delicious breakfast with Julie before she returned to her conference. I spent the rest of my morning hiking the hillsides by the resort.  I have to say the other side of the mountain had even more vibrant colors, but in my rush to Deer Valley I failed to take any pictures, so you'll have to take my word for it.  When I returned from my hike, it was time to eat again, and I enjoyed another terrific meal: smoked brisket with barbecue sauce, baked beans, scalloped potatoes, salad and lots of other vegetables followed by bourbon pecan pie and coffee.

It had been a short but pleasant stay at Montage.  I can definitely recommend their gorgeous accommodations, friendly and knowledgeable service and tasty dining choices. The mountain setting speaks for itself.