Jack, tall, angular, handsome, is a consultant for a major accounting and consulting company. His specialty is computer systems. He has clients all over the world and splits his time working at home and at his clients' facilities. Once a month or so, he visits his company's Boston offices, an hour-and-a-half drive away. He reaches his clients when he leaves Glastonbury via Bradley International Airport, a 30-minute drive north. Bradley provides direct service to most major U.S. cities -- places from where he can get international flights when he needs to.
"Wake up, Erin!" His deep, resonant voice shatters the sweet dream of his six-year-old daughter. "Up and at'em, Matt!" He raps on his eight-year-old son's door. "Today's the day!" It is still dark and cold, as it always is in New England on a January morning at five a.m. The two children tumble eagerly from bed. "Is it snowing, Dad?"
"No, honey, but I'll bet it is in Colorado!"
The Andersons -- Jack, his wife Dale, Matthew, and Erin -- had planned the trip ever since Jack announced at breakfast several weeks earlier that he could interrupt his hectic schedule for a family ski week.
"Back to Killington, Dad?" Matt expected they'd return to their favorite weekend site in Vermont.
Jack smiled at Matt, turned to Dale and winked. "Well, we could do that . . . but wouldn't you rather go to Colorado?"
Matt shot straight out of his seat.
"Are you kidding, Dad? Colorado? . . . Really?" Matt had a full-size poster of Vail over his bed and had always dreamed of going there.
"What do you think, Dale?" teased Jack. "Should we go there? To Vail?"
Dale beamed at Matt. "Would you like to?"
"Like to!" Matt jumped with delight. Erin, catching his excitement, began squealing.
"Vail, Vail, we're going to Vail!" the children shouted in unison, the parents beaming in their happy enjoyment.
And now, their dream was coming true. Up at 5:00 a.m., shower, dress and breakfast, then drive to the airport for the 8:15 a.m. departure.
Three hours of flight time on United's nonstop to Denver put them on the ground at 9:15 a.m. Mountain Time. Jack hustled his family to the baggage claim area, gathered the bags -- four suitcases, two carry-on bags stuffed with ski clothes -- and four pairs of assorted sizes of skis from the moving ski delivery carousel. There was a line at the car rental counter, even for the priority service Jack always used. But, finally, they got their rental contract, carried the gear outside, and waited at platform B for the yellow rental car bus.
"What time is it, Dad?"
"It's now 9:55, Matt."
"Will we get to ski today?"
"We'll see, Matt. Depends on how long it takes to get there and check in at the Christiana."
"I want to ski too, Daddy. Will the ski school take me?"
"I hope so, Erin."
"There it is!" shouted Matt. And the quartet loaded their gear on the bus at 10:00 a.m.
It took fifteen minutes to reach the rental station and another fifteen to load up the gear, check out the car and depart. At 10:30 a.m., the Andersons pulled their rented four-wheel-drive Cherokee out of the lot and onto the airport access road. "Not bad," said Jack. "Only a little over an hour to get on the road!"
Fifteen minutes of driving south on that four-lane divided highway put them on Interstate 70, the only route to Vail. Jack drove skillfully and fast, threading the Jeep through the Denver traffic and the western suburbs. There were several slowdowns, though, for traffic and construction. At 11:05 a.m., they passed Golden and began the climb upwards into the mountains.
Erin had indulged in two cokes on the airplane. "Daddy, I need to stop."
"Honey, didn't I ask you to go before we left?"
"I didn't need to then."
They pulled off at Idaho Springs and found a Texaco . . . Dale bought a few goodies at their mart, . . . she felt they owed the station something.
The trip past Georgetown and through the Eisenhower Tunnel was uneventful.
"I'm hungry, Dad!" exclaimed Matt.
"It's not quite noon, son. . . . Can't you wait until we get back to Vail?"
"Oh, let's eat, Jack," Dale said. "After all, it's 2:00 back home . . . and that airplane food isn't much!"
They stopped in Silverthorne at MacDonald's. At 12:40 p.m., they were on their way again and with Jack's fast driving, they made the Vail exit at 1:20 p.m.
It was Saturday, so, of course, the town parking lot was full. But that was no problem for Jack, for they were staying at the Christiana, right in the heart of the bustling ski village. He tipped the valet parker a fiver and led the happy group into the luxury lodge.
They checked in, made a brief visit to their room and changed, and they were all on the ski lift at 2:00 p.m. Although Erin missed her lesson, Jack felt good . . . from the time they'd arrived at the airport until they arrived at the Christiana they had spent only about four hours. The Cherokee was very cramped with the four of them and all their luggage, but all in all it was a good drive. He only wished he could have enjoyed the scenery more instead of having to concentrate on the driving.
Time flew, and before they knew it, it was early Sunday and their week was over. The family arose early and was ready to leave at 6:00 a.m. Jack gave another $5.00 to the valet parker. They had only used the Jeep twice during their stay . . . made him wonder whether the $400 rental fee was really worth it.
It was snowing and now he was a little worried. Their direct flight to Hartford left at 10:30 a.m. He had allowed three and a half hours for the trip and an hour for check-in. . . . "No stops this time, kids!" He was glad they had the four-wheel-drive.
Vail Pass was slow. Lines of trucks had pulled off I-70 to chain up. The visibility was bad with blowing snow. Jack couldn't get much over 50 mph and at times had to slow to 35. But at least they were moving.
By the time they reached Silverthorne, the darkness of early morning had given way to a dull greyness punctuated by sheets of hard-falling, whitening snow. Jack was relieved . . . as much as he could see of the long haul uphill to the tunnel, it looked like the traffic was moving.
But his optimism was short-lived. Two miles shy of the Eisenhower entrance they were reduced to a crawl. The snow was falling more heavily now, the wipers barely able to keep up.
Erin was frightened. The huge eighteen-wheelers growling along beside them were menacing. Foolish drivers were trying to beat the traffic by darting in and out, weaving for advantage. "Daddy, are we all right?"
"Sure, honey," Jack said with assurance he did not really feel. "Just a little slow, that's all." He was really concerned now. They might miss their flight if this kept up . . . and he had to fly to England on Monday morning.
They crept up the grade at a pace of ten to fifteen mph. Finally, the tunnel entrance peered through the gloom. "At last we move," thought Jack, but he was wrong. Traffic continued to creep through the two-mile-long tunnel and all the way downhill to Georgetown. Jack nervously checked his watch again for the hundredth time. It had taken them two hours already! An hour to Silverthorne, another hour to Georgetown.
Now the traffic started to move again. Despite the line of cars merging from Route 40 from Winter Park, he was back up to 50 mph. He slowed somewhat through Idaho Springs but still kept moving. Maybe they'd make it after all. He was glad they'd allowed extra time.
But in Clear Creek Canyon they came to a stop. Dead stop. They didn't know it yet, but a tractor-trailer combo had jackknifed going up Floyd Hill, fortunately just missing several cars in the process.
It was another hour before that mess was cleared sufficiently to allow traffic to clear through.
The Andersons arrived at the airport at 11:00 a.m., their 10:30 a.m. departure long gone. United was able to reroute them through Chicago. They arrived back at Bradley at 11:00 p.m. Jack had three hours of sleep before dressing for his departure for England. Jack kissed his children goodbye.
"But it was a great week, Daddy. . . . Thank you," said Erin, sleepily opening an eye. "When can we go back to Colorado?"
"Never, honey! Next time we're going to a place easier to get to . . . Utah, Canada, or even Vermont."
And the Andersons did exactly that . . . for the next seven years.
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