Chapter 3: Zephyr Lodge, Winter Park & Skiing with the Family

January 24–30, 2026

We pulled into Winter Park around 3 o’clock, groceries loaded and gear stacked, and checked into Zephyr Mountain Lodge. Seventh floor, two bedrooms — a king with a private bath for me, and a room with a queen and two bunk beds for April and the boys. After two weeks of hostel dorms and a shared room the night before at Snow Mountain Ranch, a private bath felt like the Fairmont.

The condo had a full kitchen, a great room with a fireplace, and a deck with a grill that looked out not over the slopes but across the valley — which on the seventh floor meant wide open mountain views in every direction. We’d be here five days. It already felt like home.

We unpacked, sorted gear, stored skis and boots we brought with us in the slope level locker that came with the condo, put the groceries away, and made dinner before heading down for lift tickets and ski rentals for the boys. By the time we got there the ticket booth was closed for the evening. First lesson of traveling with grandkids: always check the hours. Tomorrow it was.

Morning came with cereal, snow gear, and a ticket booth that was very much open. We got the boys sorted on rentals and headed straight up the Zephyr lift.

The first order of business, as it has been for four or five years of skiing together, was Ski Papa.

If you’ve skied Winter Park with kids you probably have a run like this — the one you always do first, the one that means you’ve officially arrived. Ski Papa is ours. We found it, skied it, and the trip was on.

We spent the morning working through Winter Park’s main terrain, hunting for Dilly Dally Alley — a side-excursion run loaded with bumps and jumps that the boys had been hunting since day one. We didn’t find it that first morning. It stayed elusive just long enough to become a mission.

We went back to the condo for lunch — one of the advantages of slopeside living — then headed out in the afternoon to ski Mary Jane.

That evening I slipped away to the master bedroom to call my wife.

We’d been talking before I left and throughout the trip about the possibility of her joining somewhere along the route — maybe, maybe my brother’s place in Red Lodge, maybe Calgary Canada on the way to Banff.  The logistics kept shifting. Nothing had solidified. But that night the conversation finally landed somewhere real: she would fly into Bozeman on February 13th. We’d drive north to Banff together, ski the Canadian Rockies, and make the three-day drive home. She’d handle all the arrangements — hotels, timing, coordinating around my Ikon pass and the days it gave me across the big mountains up there.

She doesn’t ski. But she was coming anyway.

There was only one thing that gave me pause. She’s had altitude issues in the past — the mountains and her have a complicated history. The fact that she was willing to give it another go, to come all the way to Banff for me, meant everything. I was excited and just a little uneasy about how she’d handle it. We’d figure it out when we got there.

I walked back out to the great room feeling like the whole Camino had just leveled up.

The oldest grandson had shoveled the snow off the deck while I was on the phone — without being asked, which felt worth noting. I got the grill going and we had burgers under the mountain sky, watching the AFC and NFC Championship games roll in. Patriots over the Broncos. Seahawks over the Rams. The Super Bowl was set.

The second full day we woke to about four inches of fresh snow and spent most of the day on Mary Jane. April skis well and we pushed into some of the more challenging terrain over there, the boys keeping pace better than they had any right to at their ages.

We also finally found Dilly Dally Alley.

It did not disappoint. Bumps, jumps, drops, the kind of run that makes an 8-year-old’s eyes go wide, as he kept up with his 11-year-old brother trying things he probably shouldn’t. We skied it more than once.

That afternoon April and I took a turn in the hot tub, the steam rising against the cold mountain air. We soaked and talked — the easy unhurried kind of conversation that’s hard to come by in normal life. That evening it was turkey sandwiches and a bucket of Panera broccoli cheddar soup we’d picked up at Safeway. Popcorn and football, while the boys slipped away to play video games.  Honestly, how could it get any better? 

Day three was one of our biggest day — AllTrails showing over 35 miles on the mountain. The boys were old enough to ski on their own and meet us back at the condo, which gave April and me long stretches of the mountain to ourselves. We pushed into terrain we’d been eyeing, covered more ground than we had with the full group, and had the kind of conversation that only really happens side by side going downhill and back up on the lifts and gondolas — unhurried, uninterrupted, the mountain doing what mountains do.

That night we went back to the hot tub — the youngest decided to join us, and a little while later the oldest appeared at the edge and decided the bubbles were worth it after all. Four of us in the steam, the mountains dark around us and the snow cat in the near distance quietly grooming the slopes for the next day. There’s something to having a hot tub on a ski trip that eases some of the aches and pains.

That night my daughter cooked the now favorite ski trip meal, taco soup with corn bread and Tostitos. 

Day four started with a decision that seemed reasonable at the time.  We worked our way over to Mary Jane skiing some of the favorite runs, Edelweiss, Wildwood Glade, Bluebell, and Roundhouse before heading down the Derailer to Cannonball.

It’s a black diamond. April was game. The youngest grandson was game — or at least said he was. Reader, it was above their comfort level. It was above anyone’s comfort level except mine and possibly the 11-year-old on his best day. We made it down. Nobody needed ski patrol but the youngest covered the middle section sliding on his ski pants not his skis. But when I suggested we go again I was the only vote in favor.

We spent the rest of the day on friendlier ground and hit the hot tub one more time that evening — April and I, the boys back in the bubbles winding down. Some things are worth repeating. We cooked spaghetti with French bread for dinner. Everyone was starving. The sauce pot was nearly empty but we cooked the entire box of angel hair pasta so we added it to the abundance of extra noodles.  With the remaining mozzarella cheese and French bread the boys devoured it all the next day.

Day five — AllTrails clocking 45 miles, our longest day together. We skied everything we’d been saving, hit all our favorites, challenged ourselves and hit the boys favorite terrain parks at least 10 times as they enjoyed the rails, jumps, boxes, quarter and half pipes.  We stayed out as long as we could. Nobody wanted to be the one to say it was time to go in.

That evening we cleared out the refrigerator. Leftovers, snacks, whatever remained from the $200 Safeway run — we ate most all of it. What didn’t get eaten we divvied up for the road trips ahead of us.  I stashed milk & lunch meat into the Yeti cooler.

The next morning April and the boys loaded up around 8am and pointed their vehicle east toward Kansas City, Missouri. I followed them up Winter Park Dr. to the traffic light and highway 40 where they turned right.

Then I turned the Tahoe north toward Steamboat Springs.

The family chapter of the Ski Camino was over. It had been five days of Ski Papa and Dilly Dally Alley and a black diamond nobody wanted to repeat and spaghetti and soup and hot tub conversations and the boys eventually deciding the bubbles were worth it and April skiing better than I remembered and a phone call from a master bedroom that meant my wife was coming to Banff.

The solo pilgrim was back on the road. But not really alone anymore.

💡 Ski Camino Tips — Chapter 3

Zephyr Mountain Lodge, Winter Park: Slopeside convenience at a reasonable price if you book last minute and negotiate — the owner was accommodating when I called about limited open terrain. Use current conditions as your leverage. Request the seventh floor for the views.

Colorado Ski Passport for kids: The CSCUSA Ski Passport gives skiers and snowboarders in grades K-6 four days at each of 19 Colorado resorts — 76 days total for just $77 (K-2) or $82 (3-6). Saved significantly on lift tickets. One of the best deals in skiing if you’re bringing grandkids to Colorado.

Stock up before you arrive: We hit Safeway on the way in and spent $200 feeding four people breakfast, lunch, and dinner for five days. We didn’t eat out once. A condo kitchen pays for itself fast at resort prices.

Ski Papa and Dilly Dally Alley: Winter Park must-dos with kids. Ski Papa is a great family cruiser — find it first thing. Dilly Dally Alley is a side-excursion run packed with bumps and jumps. The kids will want to lap it.

Mary Jane for intermediate-advanced skiers: Once the groomers on the main mountain feel familiar, cross over to Mary Jane. More challenging terrain, fewer crowds, and on a powder day it’s exceptional.

Hot tub strategy: After a big day on the mountain, the hot tub is non-negotiable. Go mid-afternoon or after dinner when the crowds thin out. Some of the best conversations of the whole trip happened in that tub.

Taco Soup Recipe:    Back in about 2010, on one of our first ski trips in Snow Shoe WV (we were living in Columbia, SC) my daughter and her now husband Stephan made this and it became the official ski trip meal.  In a big pot brown 1 pound of beef, drain then add a big can of diced tomatoes, can of black beans, can of kidney beans, 2 cans of rotel tomatoes, packet of taco seasoning and a packet of ranch dressing and a can of corn (drained).  Let it stew for a while before dishing it up.  Add sour cream and shredded cheese to your liking. 

Next: Chapter 4 — Steamboat Springs, the 4am Wild Hair & Snowbird