January 14–17, 2026 — Kansas City to Eldora, Colorado

In 2024 I walked the Portuguese Camino — all 600 miles of it, right to the edge of the known world at Finisterre, Spain. If you’ve done a Camino you know what it does to you. It doesn’t leave you alone after. It gets in your bones and starts asking questions.

Mine started asking them in December, somewhere around mile forty-seven on my stationary bike.

That’s where the Ski Camino was born — not on a mountain, not in a gear shop, but pedaling nowhere in my basement while YouTube played resort videos on my phone. For a month, maybe ten hours total across cold Kansas City evenings, I rode that bike and watched. Steamboat. Jackson Hole. Big Sky. Lake Louise. I was dreaming out loud, visualizing, planning, imagining how it could all connect. Could I string these places together the way the Camino strings its villages? Could I make a pilgrimage out of powder?

The Ikon Base pass made it possible. The open road made it real.

Telling my wife was another matter.

She wasn’t necessarily opposed. But she wasn’t exactly hanging a banner either. I had no firm itinerary, no advance bookings, no hard end date. Just a loose constellation of mountains and a philosophy borrowed from the Camino: show up, trust the path, see what happens.

On January 14, 2026 at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon I stopped talking about it and kissed my wife goodbye.

The 2020 Tahoe was packed with everything I needed and a few things I probably didn’t. My good skis. A pair of rock skis my daughter found at a thrift store for $7 — seven dollars — for the days where the snowpack looked more like gravel than powder. My cross-country skis. Cold weather gear enough to survive whatever the Rockies threw at me, and some tire chains just in case. The Yeti cooler held the remains of a fried chicken family meal from Price Chopper, bought the night before. Alongside it: ramen noodles, cans of soup, a jar of peanut butter, bread, and plastic cutlery.

I pointed the truck west and drove into the dark.

I arrived at the hostel outside Boulder at about one in the morning. The office was closed, the property quiet. I pulled into their car camping area, laid my sleeping mat in the back of the Tahoe, climbed into my sleeping bag, and went to sleep under a Colorado sky.

It wasn’t too cold. The chicken was nearly gone. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

When I woke up the office still wasn’t open, so I did what any reasonable person would do — drove up through Nederland toward Eldora Mountain Resort just to have a look.

It was a beautiful canyon drive in the early morning quiet. By the time I pulled into the Eldora lot around 8am it was already filling up, and somewhere between the mountain air and the sight of those slopes I made the decision: why wait? I got ready in the parking lot and skied my first day.

About 75% of the slopes were open. It didn’t matter. After months of stationary bike dreaming, I was moving downhill on real snow with real mountains around me. The Ski Camino had officially begun.

On the drive back to the hostel I worked through the leftover fried chicken and rolls from the cooler. Pilgrim’s feast.

That evening I checked into the A-Lodge dorm — three rooms, two sets of bunk beds each, a shared bathroom, a common kitchen. I stowed my gear, changed, and made straight for what turned out to be one of the better surprises of the whole trip: a complimentary barrel sauna and hot tub overlooking a small creek.

I sat in that sauna and thought: day one. Not bad.

Back in the dorm I was met by a guy playing a ukulele. He was a friend of one of the residents — visiting from Tahoe, and as it turned out, the group cook. Within an hour I’d been introduced around: a local Nederland resident, a guy who used to live there but was back visiting from Minnesota, and the ukulele player from Tahoe. Before I knew it I was sitting down to chicken fajitas with fresh pineapple, invited like I’d been part of the group for years.

The conversation was just as good as the food. Two of them had met in Hawaii while beach camping — told me you can fly in, grab a tent at the Walmart near the airport, and camp for $10-20 a night. I filed that one away for the someday list.

That evening A-Lodge hosted a few bluegrass pickers above the bar in the main lodge.  I don’t remember exactly how it started — these things never have a clear beginning at a hostel — but there they were, picking away in the common area while the evening did what hostel evenings often do.  They played into the night.

I went to sleep happy.

The second morning I was up early, had a bowl of cereal, and was out the door before anyone else stirred. Back up to Eldora, for day two.

Another good day on the slopes. When I got back late afternoon I hit the sauna again — already a ritual — and by evening the crew had gathered once more. Dinner was chicken with mac & cheese, cooked together in the common kitchen the way hostel meals always seem to work: nobody planned it, everybody contributed, it was better than it had any right to be.

Then someone mentioned the Squid City Slingers were playing that evening.

Of course we went.

Turns out the Squid City Slingers were from Minnesota — same state as my hostel friend who was back visiting from his old stomping grounds. They were in town recording. One of those only-in-a-hostel coincidences that the Camino taught me to stop being surprised by.

I don’t know if I can fully explain what it’s like to be a 62-year-old guy from Kansas City sitting in a Colorado mountain town listening to a band called the Squid City Slingers with a group of people you met 48 hours ago. But it felt exactly like something I dreamed up — that particular freedom of being nowhere near home, in exactly the right place.

The next morning I was up and gone again before anyone woke up. Blackhawk and A-Basin were waiting.

The pattern was set: rise early, chase the mountain, let the evening surprise you. It would serve me well for the next six weeks.

Next: Chapter 2 — Blackhawk, A-Basin & Settling Into Silverthorne

Chapter 2: Blackhawk, A-Basin & Settling Into Silverthorne

January 17–25, 2026

I was out of the A-Lodge parking lot before sunrise, the Nederland canyon still dark and quiet behind me. My hostel friends were asleep. The Squid City Slingers were presumably sleeping off their recording session somewhere in Colorado. I had a casino town and a ski mountain to get to.

My son had recommended stopping in Blackhawk on the way through — told me it was worth a look. He was right. Blackhawk is one of those only-in-Colorado surprises: a former gold rush town tucked into a mountain canyon that reinvented itself as a casino strip. I made a $50 donation to Caesars on my way through. Call it a pilgrim’s tithe.

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Then it was on to Arapahoe Basin — and a long-overdue discovery.

Here’s something I should confess. For years — every time we drove I-70 toward Breckenridge or Winter Park — I’d pass a ski area and think: that’s A-Basin. I’d been carrying that assumption so long it had become fact in my mind.

It was not A-Basin. It was Loveland.

The real A-Basin requires turning off the highway and driving up and over the pass and back down the other side. The moment I made that turn and realized my mistake, I laughed out loud in the truck. All those years of driving by, certain I knew exactly where it was, and I’d never actually gone to find it. The difference between imagining and actually exploring was already paying off — and I was only on day three.

I arrived in the afternoon — deliberately. A-Basin charges a $20 parking fee on weekends for solo skiers that arrive before 1pm. Arrive after 1pm and you park free. I pulled in at 1:05.

The runs were excellent, the afternoon light on the high alpine snow was stunning, and the famous Beach — the flat sunny tailgate area where regulars set up camp on big powder days — was quiet and mild that time of day. I’ll be back for a full day. A-Basin deserves more than an afternoon. But the Ski Camino had its own momentum and Silverthorne was waiting.

I drove down into Silverthorne that evening and checked into the Block Hotel & Commons — and immediately realized this was unlike any hostel I’d encountered in Europe.

The Block is more corporate retreat than pilgrim’s refuge: a full bar, large-screen TVs, an industrial-style kitchen, and room options ranging from full hotel rooms to micro rooms to mixed or gender-specific dorms. I used Priceline to secure my bunk for two nights but didn’t have an option to confirm a lower bunk. At 62, climbing in and out of an upper bunk is more adventure than I need at the end of a ski day. They told me lower bunks were only available in the mixed dorm. Fine by me — but as the Camino has taught me, things have a way of working out: they shuffled things around and got me a lower bunk in the men’s section after all.

The Camino provides.

I arrived just in time for the first NFL Divisional Playoff game.

As a Kansas City Chiefs fan I found myself deep in Denver Broncos country, settling into a table at the Block with a grilled cheese and a bowl of ramen I’d cooked in the hostel kitchen. The bar was packed with locals and travelers alike, and Denver beat Buffalo in an overtime game that had the whole room on its feet. The next day after skiing Copper I caught the end of the Seahawks defeating the 49ers. Then another exciting OT game — Rams over the Bears. I was pulling for Da Bears.

For now: good football, good food cooked in a hostel kitchen. I booked five more nights and finalized arrangements for a condo the week after in Winter Park with my daughter April and her two boys — Grandsons 11 and 8. I couldn’t wait to get back on the mountain with all three of them.

Copper Mountain became my mountain for the week.

I’d never skied Copper before, so the first morning I was in such a hurry that I skipped the bus and clunked across the parking lot and along a path to the Super Bee lift. I spent much of that first day getting a feel for that side of the mountain. The second day I waited for the bus and pushed across to explore more terrain. By day three I’d discovered the West Village — just a quick bus ride from the parking area — and that became my base for the final two days. The full mountain, top to bottom, side to side. I failed to track my days at Copper on the Ikon app but did on AllTrails, showing about 120 miles and 58,000 ft of elevation change. (AllTrails link to follow.)

When you ski a mountain five days in a week you stop being a tourist and start learning it. By the end of the week Copper felt like mine. Except this Double Black that had me flat on my back. Note to self, you’re not skilled enough to ski Double Black!

My two non-skiing days I used well: oil change for the Tahoe, laundry, skis tuned at a local shop, bought a new to me ski coat at a thrift store and several visits to the hot tub. There was a barrel sauna and cold plunge on site out the back door of the Block — a separate business — but I decided to save my money. What I didn’t save my money on was dinner one evening at the Mint Steakhouse. If you’re ever in Silverthorne and you like to grill your own dinner, look it up. Worth every penny of the $60 I left there.

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[Photo: Mint Steakhouse — grill your own setup]

My last morning in Silverthorne, Friday January 23, 2026, I was relaxing at the Block when my phone rang. It was my oldest brother — 66 to my 62 — calling from Red Lodge, Montana. He had given me dates he’d be there and I’d been thinking about routes and timing that would coordinate with his schedule. On January 17th we’d started a group text with our sister to see if she could make the trip up for a few days of skiing. The hook: she could see and ski with her son, who works as a snowboard instructor at Big Sky. By the 18th she’d confirmed — flights booked. I’d pick her up in Bozeman on February 6th after my first day at Big Sky. But I’m getting way ahead of myself.

On the phone that morning my brother reported that snow conditions at Red Lodge were poor, barely a third of the mountain open. We talked through contingencies: maybe Bridger Bowl near Bozeman if things stayed thin, or Showdown Montana as a backup. The Ski Camino, it turned out, was quietly becoming a family reunion.

I was still on the phone when I walked out to the Tahoe and started driving.

We rendezvoused at Empire Junction off Highway 40 near I-70. My daughter April had decided to leave a day early to get ahead of a winter storm threatening Kansas — possibly 12 inches on the plains if she waited. I cut my hostel stay a day short and booked a night at YMCA of the Rockies Snow Mountain Ranch — two queen beds, two bunk beds, perfect for four.

After we met and fueled up the vehicles, the 8 year old jumped into my truck and we caravanned over Berthoud Pass together, the mountains enormous and white around us.

It was the first night of the trip I went to bed with the sound of kids jumping off bunk beds and laughing. No TVs at Snow Mountain Ranch — just kids being kids. The next morning we made full use of the place before heading for Winter Park: indoor rock climbing, roller skating, ping-pong, air hockey, and outdoor ice skating complete with an impromptu curling competition that nobody won and everybody claimed to have won.

Then we loaded up, stopped at Safeway to stock $200 worth of groceries for the week — breakfast, lunch, and dinner for four — and pointed the trucks toward Winter Park.

The solo pilgrim chapter of the Ski Camino was temporarily and wonderfully over. Ahead: a slopeside condo, a hot tub, two grandsons who ski faster than they should, and five days on the mountain with April and the boys.

The best kind of detour.

💡 Ski Camino Tips — Chapter 2

Check out my profile on AllTrails:
https://www.alltrails.com/en/members/scott-marr-2?utm_campaign=mobile-iphone&sh=k9pdkw

Beat the parking fee at A-Basin: A-Basin charges $20 for arrivals before 1pm on weekends. Arrive after 1pm and you park free. The afternoon skiing is excellent and the crowds thin out. Plan accordingly.

Always ask for the lower bunk: If you’re 50+ and doing hostel dorms, always request a lower bunk at check-in. Most places will accommodate if you explain — and if they can’t immediately, ask them to keep you in mind. Worth the conversation every time.

Block Hotel & Commons, Silverthorne: A fantastic home base for skiing Copper, Keystone, Breckenridge, or A-Basin. More upscale than a traditional hostel but a fraction of resort lodging prices. Full kitchen, great bar, multiple room types. Highly recommended.

Use the hostel kitchen: Between the kitchen and the free breakfast, I kept food costs to almost nothing most days. Ramen, grilled cheese, and a peanut butter sandwich made from the breakfast bar became my standard kit.

Copper Mountain: Wait for the bus and remember your bus stop name and/or color.

Skiing 101: Don’t get over your skis or ski over your ability. It’s more fun!

Mint Steakhouse, Silverthorne: If you’re in the area and enjoy grilling your own dinner, the Mint Steakhouse is worth the splurge. A great reward after a week on the mountain.

YMCA of the Rockies — Snow Mountain Ranch: A hidden gem a few miles past Winter Park. Family-friendly, affordable, and packed with activities — ice skating, rock climbing, roller skating, games. Perfect one-night stop with kids before hitting the slopes. No TVs — which turns out to be a feature, not a bug.

The Ikon Base pass: Your pilgrim’s credential. Research which mountains are included at your tier before you go — some premium resorts require an upgrade or offer partner discounts. Knowing in advance saves money and surprises on the road.

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). One of the best deals in skiing if you’re bringing grandkids to Colorado.

Next: Chapter 3 — Zephyr Lodge, Winter Park & Skiing with the Grandsons