AMONG THOSE IN THE KNOW, BEAVER Creek is considered one of the ski world’s true hidden gems, ignored by most skiers in favor of its older and more popular cousin, Vail, 10 miles to the east. Owned by the same company, both resorts cater to the affluent skier with gourmet restaurants, high-end retail shops, Alpine-inspired architecture, pricey lift tickets, and some of the best skiing in the Rockies. Bui Vail is a party town, almost as famous for its nightlife and celebrity-sightings as its slopes. Beaver Creek, on the other hand, is the kind of place you go to truly escape- quaint, in its stylized European way, and quiet, without any real “scene” except the one at the village skating rink on Sundays.
But there are exciting adventures to be had. Take our first day on the slopes. We rose at sunrise, dined on a light home-cooked breakfast in our condo, and headed for the mountain, ready to try our hand at snow-boarding. Like most lodges in the area, the Charter at Beaver Creek is a ski-in/ski-out property complete with its own ski shop. Since we had to pick up our guide anyway, we decided to take the five-minute walk into the village where, in keeping with the spirit of Beaver Creek’s tony atmosphere, elevators await to carry you within 20 feet of the main Centennial lift. We started our first (and unbeknownst to us, final) run at about 9 a.m.
The sun was at high noon before we got off the mountain.
Blame il on the 5-years-olds. The day before, we watched a gaggle of them zoom down the mountain at breakneck speed on Lilliputian snowboards. They maneuvered through the powder so effortlessly that we. novices at best, opted to pass on our scheduled snowboarding lessons and just go for it, certain that we possessed athletic prowess equal to any kindergartner.
Call it a gross error in judgment. Turns out our guide, Mike, a sweet transplant from Fort Worth, had never snowboarded either-a textbook case of the blind leading the blind. After spending more time on our rear ends than on our boots, we surrendered and began footing it down the mountain, sledding on our boards from time to time to quicken the whole process. (Warning: Sledding on snowboards is a mountain no no according to resort rules.) We made good time-except for the few times our boards got away from us and plunged into the glades-until we came through the trees to a drop that was neither navigable by foot nor board, unless, of course, you’re standing on it. Resigned to spending the rest of the winter foraging for nuts and berries 10.000 feet above sea level until the spring thaw, we sat down (gently) and took in the breathtaking view.
Eventually we were rescued from our Donner Party-like fate by a group of fresh-faced ski patrollers, who sent us down the mountain by snowmobile. All the travel journals tout the staff at Beaver Creek as among the most courteous and friendly in the industry, and the reputation is well earned. Not one of the five patrollers involved in our retrieval so much as smirked at our comical-and infinitely embarrassing-predicament. One did kindly suggest, however, that before daring the mountain again, we take advantage of the resort’s world-class snowboarding school. Or ask a 5-year-old for lessons.
After our misadventure, we thought it best to forgo our plans to explore the Beaver Creek nightlife in favor of a quiet (read; safe) evening back at the condo with a trip to the lodge’s hot tub and sauna to soothe our bruised bodies and egos. A couple of cups of hot cocoa and a roaring fire did a great deal to assuage the pain. Surrounded by the almost camp rustic décor of our condo-a horseshoe wine rack, antler lamps and chandeliers-we felt comfortable enough to finally laugh at ourselves and the look of horror on Mike’s face as he would forever be associated with the two Texans who got stuck on the mountain.
Of course, our movie-of-the-week rescue was not the only exciting thing that happened thai weekend. Our visit coincided with the tail end of a weeklong Southern invasion. Back at the Charter, the lodge’s bars and restaurants were overrun with burly rednecks hollerin’ “sumabitch” and slugging whiskey and wine. If the drunken good ol’ boy who struggled to explain it all between sips of Jack and Coke is to be believed, die gathering is annual, hosted by the creator of the “Just Jake” cartoon strip.
Each year, the Florida cartoonist and 100 or so of his closest friends head up to “The Beav” for a little winter sport and libation. While waiting for takeout at the Pacific Ranch restaurant-which, by the way, turned out to have some of the best shrimp I’ve had north of the Red River-we caught the final night’s award ceremony. Imagine, if you will, 100 sottish Southerners with access to a microphone: “An’ the Impede Award goes to Bill. He done impede me off all week.” No wonder the locals complain about Texans.
Inspired by the antics of our friends from the land of cotton, we headed to Vail to eelbetween Austria and Italy, The Tyrolean is the perfect accompaniment to Vail’s European atmosphere-elegant without pretension. Ski boots are frowned upon, but anything else goes, A former brew pub. The Tyrolean is now one of the premier gourmet restaurants in North America. The glowing write-ups in Bon Appétit and Food and Wine stand as testaments. To ensure a spot in the restaurant’s famed dining room during peak season, would-be patrons call in as early as March, when the restaurants and resorts are closed. Don’t even think about trying to walk in around Christmas without a reservation.
The menu, described by co-owner Sig Langegger as “European twinged with a rustic American feel,” features such exotic fare as kangaroo sausage and wild boar spring rolls. Reasoning that we’d been adventurous enough for one weekend, we stuck with more traditional entrées: filet mignon and mahi-mahi. Stomachs pleasantly stuffed, we waddled over to Club Chelsea, a local piano bar in the heart of Vail Village.
As we entered, the whole bar was in the midst of singing “Life is a Cabaret” along with Don Watson, the evening’s featured entertainer. In between sets-a little Willie Nelson mixed with everything from Steely Dan to Steve Miller-Watson passed out shooters to the crowd. My early days as a Shel Silverstein fan earned me a shot and the approval of my fellow revelers when I named the author of ’The Unicom.” Not even the Southerners back at the Charter could have thrown a better bash.
A couple of drinks later, we dragged ourselves away to check out the Tap Room. another must-see spot. After Club Chelsea, the Tap Room’s laid-back atmosphere seemed almost too tame. But we soon made friends with a couple of German cats at the bar who told their life stories over a few shots of apple pie, a yummy Apple Schnapps concoction.
Worn out by our excursion, we returned to Beaver Creek and crawled into bed, bat not before stepping out on our balcony one last time to look up at the Colorado sky. Funny, it doesn’t look much different than sky back home once you get past the neon lights on 1-30. Maybe that’s why so many Texans build their second homes here- they know its the only way to have the best of both worlds.
between Austria and Italy, The Tyrolean is the perfect accompaniment to Vail’s European atmosphere-elegant without pretension. Ski boots are frowned upon, but anything else goes, A former brew pub. The Tyrolean is now one of the premier gourmet restaurants in North America. The glowing write-ups in Bon Appétit and Food and Wine stand as testaments. To ensure a spot in the restaurant’s famed dining room during peak season, would-be patrons call in as early as March, when the restaurants and resorts are closed. Don’t even think about trying to walk in around Christmas without a reservation.
The menu, described by co-owner Sig Langegger as “European twinged with a rustic American feel,” features such exotic fare as kangaroo sausage and wild boar spring rolls. Reasoning that we’d been adventurous enough for one weekend, we stuck with more traditional entrées: filet mignon and mahi-mahi. Stomachs pleasantly stuffed, we waddled over to Club Chelsea, a local piano bar in the heart of Vail Village.
As we entered, the whole bar was in the midst of singing “Life is a Cabaret” along with Don Watson, the evening’s featured entertainer. In between sets-a little Willie Nelson mixed with everything from Steely Dan to Steve Miller-Watson passed out shooters to the crowd. My early days as a Shel Silverstein fan earned me a shot and the approval of my fellow revelers when I named the author of ’The Unicom.” Not even the Southerners back at the Charter could have thrown a better bash.
A couple of drinks later, we dragged ourselves away to check out the Tap Room. another must-see spot. After Club Chelsea, the Tap Room’s laid-back atmosphere seemed almost too tame. But we soon made friends with a couple of German cats at the bar who told their life stories over a few shots of apple pie, a yummy Apple Schnapps concoction.
Worn out by our excursion, we returned to Beaver Creek and crawled into bed, bat not before stepping out on our balcony one last time to look up at the Colorado sky. Funny, it doesn’t look much different than sky back home once you get past the neon lights on 1-30. Maybe that’s why so many Texans build their second homes here- they know its the only way to have the best of both worlds.
Just the Facts
What you need to know before you go.
WHERE TO STAY
The Charter at Bearer Creek. 800-525-6660. One bedroom/one bath lodge room, $170-425 (four people max). One to five-bedroom condos, starting at $245.
WHERE TO EAT
BEAVER CREEK;
Blue Moose, 970-646-8666, Pizza and salads. Pacific Ranch Restaurant, 970-949-9666. Asian fusion. The Dusty Boot Steakhouse and Saloon, 970-748-1146. Colorado cowboy cuisine.
VAIL:
The Tyrolean, 970476-2204, Euro/American, fresh game.
HOW TO GET THERE
Fly into Vail Eagle County Airport. No need to rent a car; Colorado Mountain Express has daily service to both Vail and Beaver Creek, 800-525-6363.
HOW TO GET AROUND
Dial-A-Ride. 970-949-1938. Free resort shuttle service to parking lot and Avon. Vail Express, 970-4964FUN, $3 shuttle service to Vail.
WHERE TO CET GEARED UP
Alia Sports, 970-845-7627, Ask for Darwin, the owner.
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