A Denver tradition since 1940, the Ski Train is Colorado's most original passport to wintertime skiing and summer adventure. Running nearly year-round to Winter Park Resort, the scenic train winds through the outer flats of Denver's growing suburbs, up into red rock canyons along Boulder's foothills, past ghost towns and through 28 Rocky Mountain tunnels. And those are just the views on the way up. Peaks, rivers and wildlife await riders on the way back, too. In between, Winter Park Resort offers the perfect setting for any adventure. Learn to ski on the slopes of Winter Park or earn your turns at Mary Jane, Winter Park's sister mountain. During the summer months you can hike or mountain bike. Whatever adventure you chose, there's no trip in the country quite like this one.
March 13, 2004
It's early in the morning and I've got a plastic mug of black coffee to wake me up as I head over to pick up my friend. Bounding out the door, skis in hand, she's too perky for this time of day. I'm excited because we're about to avoid any rush hour ski traffic for the next two hours.
We find a free parking space behind downtown Denver's Union Station. unload our gear and walk over the train tracks to a bright orange locomotive-our taxi to the slopes. Cheery attendants assist us with our ski and snowboard gear as we find our way to comfy seats in Car 10. After making ourselves at home in our spacious four-seat area, we head to the food car. My stomach is rumbling. We contemplate a breakfast burrito but opt for an "everything" bagel and coffee. The atmosphere is very social. A group of twentysomethings has gathered to play cards and others are chattering as they line up for their morning fix.
Back in our seats, we rearrange ourselves and start to peruse the newspaper. Not surprisingly, we're easily distracted.
The train starts climbing as we watch the Denver skyline disappear behind us. Grabbing my camera, I start shooting, trying to capture all of the scenery-sheer rock walls, wood cabins, snowcapped peaks. Finally, I relax and become content with just taking it all in. Traveling the Ski Train is a little like traveling back in time. Not only can I see ancient scenery that's stood the test of time, but I'm watching it while experiencing one of America's most beloved methods of travel. To think that today we use 14 cars from an old Rio Grande Railroad train to go skiing seems a little surreal.
We travel through 28 mountain tunnels. One is 6.2 miles long-more than three times the length of Colorado's other famous tunnel-The Eisenhower. During tunnel passes we're not allowed to walk through the coupling hallway that sways and jiggles as the forces of gravity hold the train on its tracks. One last tunnel and we reappear on the other side of a very large mountain and roll slowly to the base of Winter Park. The same friendly volunteers unload our stuff and send us off to the mountain. We're free to explore. The only rule is that we return in time for the 4:15 p.m. departure back to Denver.
On this glorious day, the sun blazes through a bluebird sky and white peaks beckon us upward to unexplored territory. Since I snowboard, my friend and I plot runs that avoid any flat areas, a rule that most riders follow unless they prefer dragging their board long like a big, dead leg. After several runs, we break for lunch on the patio at the base of Mary Jane. The sun, the people and the setting entice us to linger. We plot a new adventure for the afternoon.
My skier friend, known for dragging me to the far ends of most resorts, studies the map and concocts a route that apparently has no flats and will take us to, not surprisingly, the far end of Winter Park. I agree and we head out. The seemingly well devised plan is working until we miss one crucial turnoff. In order to still arrive at our final destination—Vasquez Cirque—we have to take what appears to be a small uphill catwalk. I'm game. I un-strap, walk, re-strap. My friend blazes ahead along an off-camber catwalk that disappears around a bend. Lucky me. She's out of sight as I discover that the skinny trail is too flat to ride. I un-strap and hoof it a little farther.
Red ropes indicate that we're indeed at the end of the resort, so we drop into a black diamond run, following the few tracks of others that have gone before us (at least it is not flat!). The problem is we're a little lost and we have to get to the base before the train leaves. As we reconvene to discuss our options, we notice a ski patroller. Relieved to find some expert advice, he tells us where to go—down—because he is closing the mountain behind us. Good plan.
Hopping our way through heavy snow, we dart between trees and maneuver our way out. My snowboard turns more easily in the thick snow than my friend's skis—that should repay her for the earlier uphill catwalk. We come around a bend and find ourselves at the base of the mountain, the ski train in sight. Glad to be down in plenty of time, we spend our last few minutes shopping at the base area.
The train ride back to Denver tops our already adventurous day. It's livelier on the way back. Instead of politics, we discuss aprês-ski drinks. Margaritas are an easy choice—my favorite—and we talk our carmates into ordering them, too. Thanks to a very friendly staff member, we also get to check out the rest of the train. Coach cars, which are the cheapest seats, give way to club cars. Club-style seating is slightly more comfy and offers a bar and buffet. We wander further back to the secret rooms. At the end of the train are private cars. Available only for parties, these decadent cars have been remodeled in vintage decor to replicate the luxurious quarters of the railroad's former president. He was a lucky guy. We step outside and take in the open-air views from the trolley and then dive back into our drinks as we listen to lore from the head engineer.
Every ghost town we pass has its own name and story, usually based on its residents finding gold treasure. Out one window is an old, wooden flume that used to carry water from the mountains to Denver. There are reservoirs, hidden parks tucked into the undulating foothills, views of 14,000-foot peaks and tight 10-degree curves hugging the canyon walls. I also learn that railroading is an obsession, especially for former rail workers. As we near Denver, I'm told to watch for the train-car replica someone built as a storage shed. Moments later, a man is flashing us with a giant spotlight. This former railroad worker apparently performs this ritual for each ski train.
By the time we roll into Union Station I understand train fever a little better. There is something sacred and comfortably old-fashioned about traveling by train. And when you can take one to a destination like Winter Park, there's really no reason not to try this is one-of-a-kind trip. No driving, no stress—just good old-fashioned fun.
Julie Kailus is a Colorado-based freelance writer. Stay tuned to her "Where's Julie?" column as she road-trips throughout the state.