A few days before the 4th of July, I got on I-70 West, cheering on my old Jeep Cherokee as she whinnied up the foothills like an aging racehorse who refused to be put out to pasture. It’d be my first time up in the mountains since taking a long ski weekend in February, shortly before the gondolas stopped climbing the slopes, concert venues like The Ogden Theater shut down and life in Colorado came to a halt — or as you could put Friday, March 13th in the words of Don McLean, “the day the music died.”
Yes, back in March it was “bye bye Miss American Pie” — bye bye to warm sunny days of spring skiing when the snow softened up in the afternoon. Bye bye to friends who toted bratwurst in backpacks to throw on mountaintop grills, as a crowd in neon mirrored sunglasses moseyed around in ski boots. Bye bye to riding Chair 4 in Vail above the spectacle of a twenty-something daredevil doing a back flip off the Hollywood Cliffs in a unicorn onesie.
But now in July, with Colorado’s pandemic precautions at “Level 2: Safer at Home and in the Vast, Great Outdoors”, the mountains were back, along with I-70 traffic in all its splendor. As I pressed my old Jeep’s pedal to the metal up the incline, barely passing the camper vans with Texas plates, the sprawl of Denver receded behind me. Everything felt new again. It was a feeling of exuberance and relief — like the final scene in “It’s a Wonderful Life” when George Bailey jubilantly runs through the streets of Bedford Falls, after returning to the world he’s briefly departed.
“Oh hello you wonderful Buffalo Overlook!” I said. “Hello tanker truck only doing 50 mph that I’m now stuck behind! Hello Chief Hosa exit sign and beautiful views of snow-tipped peaks! Hello you Mercedes SUV who just completely cut me off!” Hugs and kisses to you all.
Anyone who’s driven enough on I-70 West from Denver en route to destinations like Breckenridge, Copper or Beaver Creek knows the landmarks by heart. There’s the quick on-and-off exit by the mining town of Idaho Springs with a couple gas stations and a Starbucks. Or if you prefer more atmosphere with your nitro cold brew, about 20 miles further down the road there’s Plume Coffee Bar in the living ghost town and former mining camp of Silver Plume. Though the haunted vibe is slightly offset by the hip, rustic decor and eco-friendly straws, it’s hard to shake the feeling of not being alone while using the tiny bathroom in the back.
Personally, I always know that I’m really making progress along I-70 when I hit a section where I lose radio reception and my antenna only picks up a contemporary Christian station. So suddenly I inadvertently go from listening to a Tom Petty or Lumineers radio hit to a country rock ballad about the almighty Lord. Well, maybe I should sing praises because in all the trips I’ve taken on that mountain highway, I’ve never encountered a rock slide, avalanche or errant ski flying off the roof of someone’s Subaru. Yes, thank God I was still in one piece and almost at the Eisenhower Tunnel. Hallelujah!
Built in the ‘70s, the four-lane Eisenhower Tunnel that runs almost 1.7 miles under the Continental Divide and Loveland Pass is an absolute masterpiece of engineering. It’s also a portal to another world — pretty much the concrete equivalent of the wardrobe to Narnia. In the winter, you can be driving in average conditions at an elevation of 11,013 feet at the east portal and then exit at 11,158 feet from the west portal to a magical fantasy landscape of snow-caked trees and towering, white walls along the highway’s shoulder. The tunnel also serves as a popular topic for small talk and water-cooler conversation in Colorado. How was the tunnel? Was there traffic at the tunnel? Did you make it through the tunnel? Oh no, they shut down the tunnel!
With the exception of maybe running into a herd of bighorn sheep, the summer driving conditions are much less formidable. Yet, a similar magic occurs in warm weather after passing through the tunnel. En route to Breckenridge, I emerged from the west portal to expansive views of grand, pine-green mountains spotted with snow that were worthy of a dramatic orchestra crescendo. As I made the brake-pumping descent toward Silverthorne and then hit the gas up the incline to Frisco, my bags bounced happily along in the backseat. For a four-night stay, they contained five jackets featuring various down, fleece, waterproof and water-repellent qualities. One must always be prepared when in the mountains!
Speaking of preparedness, Exit 203 on 1-70 West is the exit of all exits for your mountain vacation necessities. Among a smattering of familiar stores, there’s a Whole Foods that screams, yes, you have arrived! I mean, if I were to actually tell you my favorite store location of an organic foods chain, the Whole Foods in Frisco would top the charts. There’s mountain views from the parking lot, Adirondack chairs crafted from colorful skis and even a dining table inside a gondola. Yes, once again as I made my habitual grocery stop, mountain-life happiness exuded from every blueberry buying, oat-milk opting, high-rolling hippie in the aisles. And even though the gentleman behind me in the socially distanced checkout line was standing too close and had obviously not bathed in a while, I happily cradled my icebox watermelon and smiled to myself. It was good to be back.
Yes, I was “back in the high life again” just as Steve Winwood sang in his 1986 hit. An hour later I was munching on crispy curried cauliflower on the patio of Aurum Food & Wine, Breckenridge’s mountain-chic destination for half-priced happy hour snacks. It was elevated fare at a town elevation of 9,600 feet— a base level that’s in fact significantly higher than many of its Colorado counterparts. Aurum is especially known for its French onion burger (served with lemon parmesan or bacon-fat fries) that is also on the happy hour menu — which starts at 4 p.m., creating a line at the door. I ordered it minus the chef-prescribed toppings, added ketchup and felt like a heathen.
Despite having lived in Colorado for four years, I hadn’t spent much time in Breckenridge. I actually like it better in the summer. Much of my winter mountain time was clocked 45 minutes farther up 1-70 West at its fellow Epic Pass mountain, Vail, where for several seasons I was a part of a ski share condo — which is best described as sleepaway camp for adults.
Vail is the land of make-believe Switzerland right off the highway. What it lacks in character found in old towns like Steamboat, Aspen and Breckenridge, it makes up for with its exceptional, expansive ski mountain that’s only two hours from Denver — and all of its faux Swiss, Austrian and Bavarian charm. That’s right, even though most of Europe has extended its ban of American travelers, you can still get yourself some schnitzel in Vail. I’ll never forget the night when among his legit international coworkers, a lederhosen-wearing bartender with a Bert Reynolds-style mustache checked on our short ribs with spätzle, asking in a put-on accent, “Is guuud?”
“Yes, it is good!” Where are you from?” I asked, trying to call his bluff. Earlier, I’d overheard him admitting that he grew up in Chicago.
Breckenridge’s charm on the other hand is pure American pioneer. It brings the Wild West spirit of the Gold Rush days to today’s explorers who are seeking their own prizes among mountains — conquering a new trail, catching a trout on the upper Blue River or discovering that secret stash of snow. Nearly 250 structures, featuring Victorian architecture with colorfully painted clapboard and trim, make up the historic district. Along Main Street, there’s spots like the Gold Pan Saloon which has been pouring whiskey since 1873, and the Breckenridge Tap House, in an equally historical building with hewn log walls insulated with newspaper.
Main Street now has turned into a pandemic-friendly, pedestrian-only thoroughfare. On the Fourth of July, a mask-wearing crowd dodged and weaved around each other and formed well-spaced lines outside of shops and restaurants. Patrons dined at tables in the street under red market umbrellas. Near the far end of town, at the Breckenridge Brewery, a man held his craft beer in the air, backdropping it with views of the ski mountain as an ominous sky threatened an afternoon thunderstorm. Was it the Summer Pils, Hop Peak or Boochie Mama from the draft list? I’m not sure, but I do know that his Instagram money shot took many takes — and probably had just as many hashtags.
Above town, away from the bustle, sat the house my friend had booked for our crew. It was a log A-frame-style home with a big deck that in the evening offered views through the pines of the sunset-streaked sky above the mountains. There was gas fireplace that looked like a wood-burning stove and a small cow skull on the wall. A huge elk trophy was mounted high above the living room, his antlered head cocked to the side as if he’d heard someone calling his name before the lights went out.
Back in the ‘80s, when I was little, the way to find vacations rentals was to circle promising listings in the real estate sections of The New York Times or The Boston Globe. Text space was a commodity so the descriptions would sound something like this: “Btful 3bd/2ba nr beach w/ deck & ocean vws!” What gorgeous brevity! Sounds fabulous! After reviewing a fuzzy black-and-white fax from the owner, unable to discern the couch from the coffee table, my dad would pop a check in the mail, cross his fingers and hope for the best. On arrival day we’d hold our breath, hoping the key would be found under the shampoo bottle in the outdoor shower.
Now, the crisp, professional photos on sites likes Airbnb have taken away the vacation rental mystery, just as technology has taken away the ability to truly escape from it all.
“Looks like you’re in an animal cemetery,” commented my friend’s co-worker during a Zoom meeting. In the video background, she could see the cow skull and elk trophy on the walls of the log A-frame.
Actually, the house was quite nice and comfortable in a very woodsy sort of way. I have suspicion to believe that a high percentage of mountain-home owners are outfitting their abodes from a one-stop-shopping website titled something like mountain house dot com. Yet, after investigating this inkling, I am disappointed to report that this URL leads to a website that sells freeze-dried, just-add-water meals for camping. This did not fulfill my fantasies of an all-encompassing source for furry bear tapestries and log-hewn bunk beds with trout-printed sheets.
Under the watchful eyes of the elk, evenings in Breckenridge were spent “safer-at-home,” in the log A-frame, since mingling in town wasn’t an option. Oh, when the pandemic-era world misses mingling, there’s nothing like a few rounds of Bananagrams to cheer everyone up! And when that gets too heated, there’s always gin rummy, best played according to “Gammy’s rules.” (FYI, “Gammy” is in fact no one’s grandmother, but instead an omnipotent card shark who drinks ginger ale, watches game shows and declares that aces are low.)
Yet, when it comes to less social, pandemic lifestyles, we’re lucky here in Colorado. Not only do we have edibles that taste like gumdrops and peanut butter cookies, but we’ve also pretty much hit the jackpot in terms of wide open space to explore — there’s over 23 million acres of public land. Ironically, you still have to arrive at the hiking trailhead super early to get a parking spot. Is this where the line “I need a vacation from my vacation” originated, I wondered while hitting the alarm clock at the crack of dawn, stumbling towards the coffee pot before throwing some layers into a backpack.
Avoiding the more crowded trails around Breckenridge, our crew opted for a hike to Willow Creek Falls, in the Eagle Nest Wilderness near Silverthorne. Yes, per the governor’s pandemic orders we were “safer in the vast, great outdoors,” with one minor exception — moose. Fortunately there are no grizzly bears in Colorado, like in Montana and Wyoming, but a close moose encounter is also no joking matter. Before hitting a trail, it doesn’t hurt to review your “If Attacked by a Wild Animal Game Plan.”
According to Colorado Parks and Wildlife, “If a moose displays aggressive behavior or begins to charge, run as fast as you can and try to put a large object between you such as a boulder, car or tree.” I still have more questions.
Though the Willow Creek Falls trail had confusing navigational signs, the creek with sturdy log crossings and the cascading falls were “nice water features,” — a phrase often written by reviewers on the hiking website and app AllTrails. With this verbiage, it sounds as if the vast, great outdoors is actually a mini golf course. Yet, where was the hole with the ever-dubious windmill?
Another “nice water feature” if you’re in the area is Lake Dillon, which in actually is massive reservoir that draws boaters, kayakers and stand-up paddle boarders. We rented paddle boards from Charter Sports in Breckenridge and accessed the water from Dam Road in Silverthorne to stay far from the wake of boats closer to the marina. Though paddle boarding is lightyears easier in a lake than a bay, you still need to bring your sea legs. Swimming isn’t permitted since the Dillon Reservoir is actually a major source of drinking water for Denver residents — gulp.
Later on, over at the Dillon Marina, clouds rolled in above the mountain peaks in the distance. At the lakeside tiki bar, we landlocked weekenders soaked in the water views, between bites of fish tacos and sips of tropical cocktails like the Dark & Stormy and Painkiller. Oldies set the vacation mood and the voice of Clarence Henry singing the 1961 tune “I don’t know why I love you but I do,” floated above the red-and-white striped awning.
There was something about that moment that made me feel so warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe it was just the rum. Or maybe it was the feeling that we’d been transported back to a simpler time with simpler pleasures. A boat’s sail billowed as it caught the cool mountain breeze. A dog napped in the shade of the chair. A stranger in a straw hat smiled as he came off the dock. Despite the hand sanitation stations, there was a lot of beauty in this new, slower-paced world.
Yes, it was definitely still a wonderful life in the mountains, I thought, sipping on a pineapple, coconut concoction sprinkled with nutmeg.
Now, if only we could do something about that I-70 traffic back to Denver on Sunday.
Try the story spots…
Plume Coffee Bar: Hipster-style hangout with a haunted vibe and specialties like Vietnamese cold-brew coffee, Thai ice tea and breakfast burritos — offered with a side of CBD tinctures. (855 Main St, Silver Plume, CO)
Aurum Food & Wine: Half-priced, high-brow burgers at happy hour. Say that three times fast and get there at 4 p.m. sharp to score a seat outside at this mountain-chic hot spot. (209 S. Ridge St, Breckenridge, CO)
Breckenridge Tap House: 37 beers on tap, a Mexican menu and a new pandemic-era patio in a 1873 building that was originally a boarding house. Times have changed. (105 N Main St, Breckenridge, CO)
Breckenridge Brewery & Pub: Craft brewery since 1990 pouring light and fruity summer sips like the Strawberry Sky and Mountain Beach. Bar bites are also served in the beer garden. (600 S Main St, Breckenridge, CO)
Willow Creek Falls: 5.2-mile out-and-back trail with a cascading waterfall that brings your meditation app to life. Trust the added hand-carved directions on the wooden signs and watch out for moose. (Willowbrook Trailhead, 717 Willowbrook Rd, Silverthorne, CO)
Charter Sports Main Street Station: Rental shop with SOL Paddle Boards and an adjacent pond for practicing before hitting the lake. These pump-up paddle boards from a Telluride-based company are easily packable and inflate to what feels like a completely solid surface. (505 S Main St Unit C8, Breckenridge, CO)
Pug Ryan’s Tiki Bar: Waterside deck at the Dillon Marina serving tropical rum drinks and food-truck fare like fish tacos. Sail away on the beachy vibes that mix with mountain views at an altitude of over 9,000 feet. (150 Marina Dr, Dillon, CO 80435)
