Aspen in Winter

Aspen Colorado has a reputation for being a playground for billionaires. (Well, considering the number of private jets parked at the airport there’s some truth to that.) But I remember the good old days when it was a playground for mere millionaires (who have all been driven out to Basalt).

Nevertheless, for years we’d catch one of the rare commercial flights into the little country airport. Possibly, the most thrilling part of a vacation there is landing, especially in the winter. I (nor the pilots) never knew when a heavy storm would blow in out of nowhere. The airport sits on a plateau between two mountains so when the snow is heavy and the winds are howling the plane often bounces around like a flying VW. Not for the faint of heart.

Safely on the ground, we’d meet up with a bunch of friends. (“So how was your flight?” Full of bravado I would claim it was a piece of cake.)

We’d drive up the mountain to a gorgeous property that sleeps at least 20 (in separate bedrooms thank God), host of a dear friend. The next morning when the lifts opened, we lined up, ready for a week of skiing on perhaps the best snow in the US. (Utah, I don’t want to hear from you.)

The skiing habits of the rich and famous always amazed me. Sure, we were first in line at the lifts and we’d go all the way to the top. But there was only a handful of skiers at that time of the morning. It was beautiful, uncrowded and I felt like it was our own private mountain.

After a few hours, lines of people, who were dressed to kill in the latest ski fashions, started to form at the lifts. That was about 10:30. Then you might wait five or ten minutes to get on the lift.

By 11:30, the lines started to thin out and the restaurants filled up. Lunchtime. And after a long leisurely lunch, they would do a final run down the mountain, around 2, and go somewhere to après ski. And we had the mountain to ourselves again.