Shonagh Walker skis hard, parties harder.
There's a tricky alcohol/altitude rule in the snow – one drink at elevation equals three at sea level. The higher you go, the harder the
booze hits. But while this is great for your wallet, it means your hangover’s three times as bad. Here’s how I survived the apres perils of Vail, Colorado – the US version of Thredbo, if Thredbo took steroids and the ice was pure frozen Jager.
Friday – Vail Village
We arrive at night and make a beeline for The Red Lion, a top joint famed for two things – margaritas and hot barmaids.
We’re greeted by mates from last season, all of them armed with enough Jager bombs to floor an elephant. The alcohol/altitude rule flies out the window, and since none of us look like elephants, we’re in for a messy night.
Two very happy hours later, we stumble into The Tap Room. The place is rocking and the list of local and imported brews is longer than lift queues on powder day. We pound a few beers before heading across the road to The Club. It’s almost 2am and time for closing and the bartender will only serve shots. Oh well.
We knock back another bunch of Jagers, tequilas and slippery-nipples then... Well, we got home somehow.
Saturday – Vail Mountain
Vail is massive. Elevation is 3528m – there’s 2140 hectares of ski-able terrain and seven epic back bowls. We’re busting to get to Blue Sky Basin, but by 10am, we’re still struggling to leave the room. We decide the Gapers (local term for a clueless tourist) clogging up the lift lines are best avoided anyway.
We head to the Covered Bridge Coffee Shop, mainly because their Cholulu hot sauce-smothered breakfast bagel is the best hangover cure ever invented.
Feeling half human again, we finally hit the snow. By our second run, the pain is forgotten. We ride the sweet slopes of Vail all day, sink beers at Los Amigos, then collapse in a heap the hotel.
Sunday – Game Creek to Genghis
Next morning, with the
hangover demon nowhere in sight, we’re up early and head for Game Creek Bowl and the front side of the hill. Not a Gaper in sight. The place is chockers with hardcore blue and black runs designed for the more extreme and gnarly among us.
After an hour, we head back to the Mongolian Bowls and get stuck on a monster run called Genghis Khan. As its name suggests, this bastard is no joke. All of us end up eating major snow the whole way down.
Two hours later, we reach the bottom, calves burning. We recover with
beer and shots at a joint called Garfinkels, before heading back in time to watch the snow start dumping. Powder day tomorrow, the day we head off the organised runs and get stuck into the off-piste action.
Where do you think the best place to ski is? Let us know in the comments section below.
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