When someone says ”Vail,” what comes to mind? For me it was a mental picture of a lot of happy rich people with their cheeks all chapped pink, in designer ski togs, zipping down the slopes, laughing and chatting about the stock market.
That was before I`d been there. A month or so ago we went to Vail. We`d been visiting in Denver, looking at a map of Colorado, when my wife, Joyce, noticed that Vail was only a couple hours west on Interstate Highway 70.
”Why not?” she said. ”Maybe, we`ll run into Jerry Ford.”
Vail is a long, narrow village, leaning against several miles of Rocky Mountains. About the first impression you get is that someone made a mistake and brought you to Oberammergau. Vail looks more Bavarian than Bavaria. There are half-timbered alpine buildings, flower boxes at every window and hanging vases on the lampposts. All are aflame with color. It was mid-summer and there was no snow, but the ski lifts were operating, full of people and mountain bikes.
Because someone at our hotel in Denver had said that ex-President Gerald Ford always stayed at the Lodge at Vail, we stayed there. After all, if it had been safe for him, it figured to be safe for me.
Caroline Tremblay, who looked a little like Ingrid Bergman, was in the lobby when we arrived. When we asked at the desk if it was true about the ex- president staying at the Lodge she said yes, that he had and that he and Betty Ford were still very important to Vail`s social and economic life.
Miss Tremblay told us a little about Vail. It had been named after Charles Vail, an engineer who cut the pass through the mountains in 1939 and figured out where to put the town. No small feat at an altitude and in an area where landslides and avalanches are common. As to ”things to do” in a ski town when there`s no snow, Tremblay took a deep breath and listed a few.
I think we tried enough of them to report on the situation.
Hot-air ballooning
Hot-air balloon rides are nearly always in the morning, before the winds pick up. Just past dawn we met Kurt and Melinda Oakley and their balloon, Miss Guided, at the edge of a field Vail designates as the takeoff point for balloon flights.
Joyce and I and the other passengers drank coffee while the Oakleys and their chase team spread the envelope of brightly colored nylon out on the field. Then they blew it up, first with a powerful fan and then with what looked like a giant blow torch mounted over the basket. At the first suggestion of buoyancy Melinda filled a small red, toy balloon with helium and released it.
”Everybody in,” said Kurt. As we climbed into the giant wicker basket, he went on. ”The object,” he said, ”is for us to follow the little balloon. If it gets in trouble, we turn around and come back. Got it?”
He turned a handle that fed the burners over our heads, there was a thundering ”whoosh” as the jets shot fire into the envelope and we rose.
”I`m going to give you the rules,” said Kurt. ”I`m the captain and what I say goes. First, wave at the chase team.” We all waved at the chase team. They waved back. ”Now, do not get out of the basket for any reason. If you think you`ve got a reason, well, you should have thought of that before you came.” Everybody laughed.
”When the ride is over and we get close to the ground if anyone gets out before I say `get out` the rest of us go up like a rocket, got it?” We all nodded or said yes. ”Next,” he went on, ”And this could save your life. . . .” As he continued talking he turned a handle. We could see his mouth moving but all we could hear was a ”whoosh” as flames shot up to heat the air in the balloon overhead. ”Got that?” Most of us looked stunned but a couple nodded ”yes.”
Kurt confessed he hadn`t said anything; he was just seeing if we were on our toes. Since apparently some of us weren`t, he explained that they had never had anyone killed or even hurt on a flight.
Because we were literally riding on the wind, there was absolute quiet except for the occasional venting of the gas jets and Kurt apologized for that, explaining that he had to keep the temperature at the top of the envelope above 210 but under 270 degrees.
A few hundred feet below, a doe and her fawn were grazing in a meadow. Our cameras clicking sounded loud but neither animal looked up.
Minutes later Kurt pointed at a building on a mountain top. ”That`s Beano`s,” he said. ”Esquire magazine says, `For restaurants only accessible by snowmobiles or four-wheel-drive vehicles, it`s the best in the world.` ”
”Expensive?” I asked.
Kurt rolled his eyes and spoke as he turned the handle and made the whooshing noise.
The ride lasted 90 minutes, was completely inspiring and ended with champagne after the landing. The people from another balloon, the Camalot, had champagne too, but they poured theirs all over each other. We drank ours. If you like champagne at sea level, you`ll love it at 10,000 feet.
Llama trekking
Trekking with llamas is not my idea of great way to spend the day, but I`m probably the wrong person to talk to about it. When we got to the place where the trek was suppose to begin I was a little loaded down with misconceptions.
First, the llama looks like a four-legged, fur-covered rowboat with a giant ”bum” at the back and a five-foot, stovepipe neck on the front, topped off with a head like a camel.
It looks so smart you suspect it can talk, but it also looks so haughty that it certainly wouldn`t consider talking with the likes of you.
The llamas did, however, talk to each other. If they got a few feet apart, they would look around nervously, one would say, ”Hummm?” and the other would answer ”Huuummm!”
”Sounds like they`re in love,” someone said.
”Gee, I hope not,” said the lady wrangler. ”They`re the same sex.”
She also said that, though the species was native to South America, both the llamas we`d be trekking with were third-generation North Americans. I think she was intimating we should watch what we say in front of them.
A quick appraisal of it`s girth suggested that a ride on such a beast would probably pull the groin muscles of a Sumo wrestler.
”Oh, no,” said the wrangler with alarm, ”we don`t ride them. We trek with them. They can only carry about 125 pounds anyway, you know.”
Joyce, who loves all living things-except maybe some people-thought they were marvelous, stately and beautiful, but she would not trust them with her cameras. So, carrying them and a gadget bag she was more heavily loaded than they were. She trekked about a quarter mile, but every time she`d stop to take a picture the whole entourage would gain 20 yards on her and she`d have to run to catch up, whereupon the llamas would look down their noses at her and say, ”Hummmmm?” and ”Hummm!” respectively.
She came back down the trail alone, not because she realized she had about 28 ”low angle up-shots” of the backsides of llamas, but because she was getting tired of what sounded like their almost constant criticism.
In fairness to the llamas, the other trekers later reported that the day was a huge success. As one gentleman put it, ”It was great hiking without carrying anything, the country was beautiful and those beasts are really pretty good company when you get used to them.”
Preconception dies
The first impression of Vail didn`t hold up. Joyce and I talked to a young couple who`d come to Vail to celebrate their 10th anniversary and they certainly weren`t rich. They were staying at the same small European ski lodge where they`d stayed on their honeymoon. They were paying the summer rate, under $75 a night, double occupancy. During ski season the same room is $119 a night, but it can sleep four.
And because of Vail`s free bus transportation just about everybody in town is close to a few of the 90 restaurants serving the Vail valley.
We really hadn`t planned to do all the things available. We didn`t get to the Betty Ford Alpine Gardens, go white water rafting, trout fishing or go horseback or Jeep riding.
But we did eat. Our first day Joyce and I had lunch of beer and hot dogs off a red circus wagon. On our last night we ate at Beano`s, the restaurant you can only visit in a four-wheel drive vehicle or a snowmobile. Perched near the top of Mt. Vail, it was expensive but the food was good and so was the company.
We were seated with a man named Tony who gave us some sidelights into the area we hadn`t had before. He limped coming over to the table and, seating himself very carefully, explained that he had come to Vail for knee surgery.
”Had one knee done a year ago. They`re going to do the second one next week.”
”You came to a world ski capital for knee surgery?” I asked.
”Hey,” he said, smiling. ”This is the knee-and-shoulder-injury-specialis t capital of the world.” He nodded toward the ski run under construction just outside the window. ”I can hardly wait for that. That ski run and my knee will be ready for action at about the same time.”
”Wait a minute,” Joyce said, ”you mean you`re going to keep on skiing?”
”I can hardly wait,” he said. ”Being at the top, maybe in bright sunlight, maybe in a light, blowing snow, with the air almost too cold to breathe, free and ready to go. Nothing like it. It`s where the expression
`being on top of the world` comes from. Face it, the people who never take chances never do anything at all . . . and they never, ever have any fun.”
