In 1977, I had my first experience in selling vacations. I was not a travel agent at the time, but I had found a great deal for 5 nights in Winter Park, Colorado, a new ski area. I think the price was $199 for five nights of lodging including lift tickets for four people. Considering how much lift tickets are now, you might think that was a pretty good deal at $199 per person, but that was the total price for four of us.
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| Wes in 1977 (nice hat) |
Winter Park was not a brand new resort, but the Mary Jane Ski Basin expansion that increased capacity by 80% had only been completed a few months earlier, leaving the huge Winter Park mountain as something of an unknown in the age before the instant internet information.
The condo project was a bit of a drive from the lifts, but I still knew it was an incredible deal. To get that intro rate, of course, there was fine print, which included being available for only the first week of the season, which would have been about November 14. Nonetheless, how hard could it be to find three other people to go on this trip? After all, I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming, just a few hours drive away from Winter Park, with hundreds of other Air Force guys who I knew would blow $50 on any given Saturday night partying in nearby Fort Collins, Colorado.
It turned out that spending $50 for fun immediately meant more to them than paying in advance to have more fun in the future. Some of the skiers questioned whether there would be enough snow before Thanksgiving and if this unknown resort would be any good. The deal also had that smell of being too good to be true, raising caution flags.
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| Bill, Ken Wright, Ken's sister Patti (?) |
After weeks, I finally found a taker, a tall, smiling-eyed kid from Ohio, Ken Wright. Ken and I actually came from relatively populous areas, but we both somehow still had that small town optimism. Joe Schneberger, who I tracked down on facebook recently, said at the time that when he first saw me walking around with a perpetual grin that he "kind of felt sorry" for me, because I obviously was too cheerful to really understand what was going on. I actually never realized that being happy would be interpretted like that, but apparently people equated a smiling guy in fatigues with Gomer Pyle.
Maybe that explains why I had trouble finding takers for this trip, as well as a lot of other things (including when I was the same smiling person in a clean-cut kid in a plaid shirt in high school or a long-haired hippie in a henley tee as a young man, or even as a grey-bearded dude in a Tommy Bahama shirt now).
Ken joined the fight to bring in others, and between the two of us, we were still striking out for a few more days. Finally, a serious accountant-type from Michigan named Bill, who worked in the same department as Ken, surprised us by signing on. Compared with all the gregarious big talkers, he seemed an unlikely candidate, but we were happy to only need only one more.
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| Our Fat Skis, 2013 |
Ken came through with the fourth person from an unexpected source. His sister heard about the trip and said she'd fly out from Ohio to join us for the trip.
With my plan in place, I went to an off-season ski sale in Cheyenne and bought a royal blue and yellow Rosignol ski set, including 180 skis with safety-strap brakes on the bindings and uncomfortable boots, along with the necessary ski clothes. I read Ski magazine articles and envisioned myself skiing. An article on the graduated length method, a new technique for learning to ski, sounded better than starting with snow plows and then learning to correct that, so I decided to take that approach, even if it meant buying skis in advance was rendered unnecessary.
When November 14 rolled around, Winter Park had a 30 inch base and fresh snow every night, which proved to be good enough for us. The condo was much nicer than our Air Force dorm, and with a kitchen, we saved a lot of money on dinner and drinks. Ken's sister turned out to be cute and friendly, but no romance ensued, avoiding any awkardness had advances been rebuffed. She was the best skier among us, having skied once or twice back east. Bill was able to apply his cross-country skiing skills learned in flat Michigan to downhill, making him second best. Ken took the traditional approach to learning, and I think GLM gave me a little better techique by the end of the trip, when I was using my own skis. We were both screaming down the mountain by the end of the trip, often having taken the last lift of the day, and taking lots of horrendous falls in between.
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| The old Vega outside the Winter Park condo. |
My Vega wagon ended up in a ditch one morning, pulled out for $10 by some guy in a truck that trolled the road looking for fools like me who didn't understand driving on icy roads, but otherwise it was a terrific trip. Because Mary Jane was still a new resort, it was uncrowded. It wasn't unusual for us to be the first ones on a run in the morning or the last ones for the day, getting the runs almost to ourselves. I didn't realize how special that was until future trips, including weekend-skiing when avoiding out-of-control beginners who frequently fell to become obstacles between moguls proved to be more challenging than the ski runs themselves. No, that first trip felt like being James Bond, flying down the uncrowded slopes (though without anyone shooting at me).
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Walking home from Choppers in Big Sky Meadow |
Whereas Big Bear can draw from millions of people within a two hour drive for a day of skiing, Big Sky country is sparsely populated, and while the "big city" of Bozeman is only about an hour away, it's population of 38,000 is slightly larger than that of Manhattan Beach, which at 4.9 square miles occupies about a half percent of the land area of the combined Los Angeles, Orange and San Diego Counties.
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| 2013 fireside |
There is much to love in California, from beaches to parks to entertainment, everything, including ski resorts, but it is so easy to reach that it attracts huge masses that, within the anonymity of crowds, includes a lot of asses.
In Montana, that isn't the case. Everyone seems relaxed and polite. While you may not have the mountain to yourself, it doesn't feel crowded, and every now and then, you may feel like there is no one else on your run, which is awesome.
If you decide to hit the road for a ski trip, you may be tempted to exit around Salt Lake City for the great ski slopes of Utah. The considerably shorter drive is definitely tempting. But if you brave the speed trap of Idaho and the icy roads and wild buffalo around West Yellowstone, you will be rewarded with an amazing ski experience. It's like stepping back in time.
Better service leads to better trips!
