The Chain-Up Forecast

The east side knows a storm is coming before the forecast commits to it.

It starts as a sound. Jake brakes working down the grade off Vail Pass. Then the hiss and clank of trucks pulling over to chain up at the bottom, diesel idling in the cold. That's not weather yet. It's the opening act.

When the trucks start chaining up in East Vail, the mountain usually has something to say.

Maybe it's a foot of fresh.
Maybe the pass closes.
Maybe traffic turns around at the top and the interstate goes quiet.
Maybe tomorrow belongs to the people who were already here.

When the truckers chain up, the skiers smile.

Let's be clear about that smile. Nobody's rooting for a jackknifed semi or a family stuck on the wrong side of the pass at midnight. A closed pass is a rough night for a lot of people, and that part isn't the story.

The story is quieter. It's the good luck of already being home — of having come up on Tuesday instead of Friday, of waking on the east side while the pass is still deciding whether to let anyone else in.

That's the trade East Vail makes all winter. The sun clocks out early; you get your shade before the village does. The chain stations and the Jake brake symphony come with the address. In return, you're the first stop after the pass — and on the right morning, that's the whole ballgame.

Watch the pass, not the forecast.

You know the drill by now. You know which way to point the car when the report lights up. You don't need us to tell you it's going to be good.

The trucks already did.

So set the coffee the night before. And if the chains come out down on the frontage road — that's a Chain Up Pow Day.

First tracks?