Colorado: Land of Mountains, Moose, and Sporty White Men

The first thing I noticed about Denver was the incredible sky, stacked with magnificent clouds, over breathtaking mountains. The second thing I noticed were hordes of fit, white men jogging or playing volleyball. It felt weird to be surrounded by so much sameness.

After living in Oakland and even San Francisco in comparison, Denver felt notably monotone. If I didn’t bring it up as an observation first, whomever I was speaking to would often mention it immediately as a downside to the city. Sometimes it seemed like I was seeing the same man jogging past me over and over again, like a blip in the matrix. If you can look past the eeriness of ubiquitous sandy brown hair, medium build, toned muscles, the city does have it’s charms.

Dreamy skies above Wonderland Lake, walking distance from my Air BnB.

Denver has more than 250 urban parks and 85 miles of bike paths! This means when it’s green, it’s green everywhere and you can easily make it to a natural area from almost anywhere in the city. Of course I’m told it’s the 6 months of brownness, then snow (which burns off immediately in the sun, apparently) that can be hard about Denver. I caught it at a time of unseasonable thunderstorms that were extending the green beyond it’s normal lifespan. I came for the storied 300 days per year of sun and found that it rained with lightening many of the days I was there. But usually it was sunny in the mornings and the rain was warm.

Garden of the Gods, one of the many amazing parks spitting distance from Denver.

Dance, dance, dance!

Denver is also a great city for dancing! I went dancing more in my two weeks there than I had for years in SF. The first weekend was multiple dance events per day, thanks to a dancer friend who had recently moved to Denver from SF, and by the end of week one I had made a bunch of new friends and actually had people to call and do things with. I had a multi-dance lady date with a couple of adventurous soul sisters, seeing Tuba Skinny and finally dipping a toe into the weird and wonderful world of West Coast Swing.

One fierce female, who winters in Puerto Rico, was part of a semi-nomadic “poly-cule“ with a peacock who’s sparkling personality matched his cabana sets. I met another fully nomadic dance machine swinging his way around the country in his van. I finally got to see Cirque du Soleil and a concert at the incredible Red Rocks Amphitheater with a divine dance diva; I did my first 14er (sort of) hiking to the top of 14,000 foot Mount Evans followed by a chef’s tasting with a view of a lightening storm at the Flagstaff House with Mr. Peacock! I even visited the local tiki bar, Adrift, with friends old and new, and it did not disappoint. I found people to be very friendly and always open to chat or give me good recommendations for things to see and do. This meant I had a good list of hiking trails and restaurants to visit when I moved to Boulder, about 45 min north, and thus a bit closer to the mountains. So close, in fact, that I could squeeze in a 6 mile hike at Rocky Mountain National Park before work if I woke up before dawn.

The Rocky Mountains

Dawn is a magical time to be alive. As a night owl, it’s been historically rare that I experience this liminal space, unless I’ve been up all night, which is even rarer these days. However, in Boulder I found myself eager to rise early and seize the day. Some magic in the thin mountain air invigorated me (or made me a little high?) and I giggled gleefully watching the sun warm the horizon with orange-purple light as I drove the winding road up up up to the Bear Lake trailhead.

Early morning at Rocky Mountain National Park

The trail to Nymph, Dream, and Emerald lakes was a steady climb through forests and on cliffs edge, affording stunning views of the valley below and rolling hills of trees and lakes and mountain peaks as far as the eye could see, sparkeling in the morning sun. There were lots of fearless chipmunks begging for snacks and several imposing Elk, just standing in the trail munching with their young offspring, surrounded by paparazzi.

The real gem was Lake Haiyaha. I had heard it was only accessible through a crazy boulder field that required some scrambling. For me it was all four paws on the rocks to make it over under and through to perch on a massive boulder at the lake’s edge. The water was a bright, cloudy turquoise, looking almost like the Caribbean. Apparently half of the mountain slid into the lake last year and kicked up sediment and minerals that created this Technicolor effect, but it is slowly dissipating. So, now is the time to catch this natural wonder. I wish I had more time to sit and marvel, but work beckoned, and so I tore back down the mountain, feeling quite accomplished as I settled in to officially start my day.

Standing on a huge boulder at Lake Haiyaha, Rocky Mountain National Park

The Yellow Deli

Boulder was so beautiful; A college town with a river running through it, surrounded by parks and mountains. It had its own surprising little quirks, too, like a great salsa night at a big ballroom space that I thoroughly enjoyed, and the cult I mistakenly ate dinner at right on the main shopping street. I walked into the Yellow Deli because it looked warm and inviting: Every piece of furniture was hewn by hand from a tree, still with natural shapes and edges. Every patron (all two of them) was over 75 and a fleet of older, white men manned the register, worked the kitchen, and served the tables, which was odd. “A family establishment?”, I thought. How quaint. When I walked to the counter I was instantly surrounded by three old white men, pointing out things on the menu, like their specializing in hot sandwiches, and that they caught the salmon themselves in Alaska. They made their own bread too and farmed many of their own ingredients. Fantastic! They sat me at a table in the back, and two older women emerged from the back and sat nearby, murmuring. A slow night, apparently.

No sooner had I opened my new book than my salad appeared with a chunk of their fresh bread, hot on the side. I was happy as a clam reading for quite a while, listening to calming fiddle music, when I decided to try the handmade desserts, carrot cake I believe they mentioned. I gazed around and one of the women came over, I thought to take my order. But instead she asked me some personal questions, then sat down next to me and began to tell me how they all live together in the service of God and that they are the chosen people. She hesitated when I asked her religious affiliation, and she said they were not a major religion, but that they had a network of delis, farms, and hostels AROUND THE WORLD that supported their community. They called themselves the 12 Tribes and they formed in the 70’s as part of the free love movement. “We all LOVE each other. It’s just about love, together.” She had been 30, and a single mother when she found the “group”, and she saw that relationships with a single person were doomed to fail, but that love of the group was forever. So she gave up all of her personal possessions and, 40 years later, had raised her daughters in the group and they were fighting against the insidious evil overtaking the world. Well, she was not wrong. The world is going to shit, and relationships do seem to be doomed. But I felt compelled to order my carrot cake and get the hell out of Dodge. It was then I looked up and saw the enormous religious mural on the ceiling that somehow I’d missed before. She wished me luck on my journey, gave me several informational pamphlets about the Tribes, and walked away, murmuring, “Travelers are very special”.

The writing on the walls: The Yellow Deli, Boulder

Cosmic News

Sunset over Boulder, Chautauqua State Park

When I couldn’t make it to the bigger parks, I’d drive the 10 minutes to Chautauqua Park, where I’d watch the sunset over the jagged Flatirons. People free climb these nearly vertical rocky teeth without ropes or equipment. The first time I stopped there, I was all gussied up for my Flagstaff date, and knew he had stopped by that park, so I also stopped by. I missed him by a couple of minutes, but the sunset was crimson and golden and STUNNING so I tottered out onto the dirt path in my heels. “ Wow! Boulder is beautiful.” I said to the woman standing in her equally inappropriate footware next to me. We looked at each other, and she told me she had just moved there yesterday! So we made our way to a rock and sat down to chat. She’d just moved there for grad school to study somatic therapy, focusing on trauma yoga. She also read tarot and, later I saw on her Insta that one of her predictions for my sign totally called my break-up the day before it happened. At any rate, I instantly liked her and we connected so we could meet up later that week. The universe provides!

In other cosmic news, my friend and co-worker of 10 years had moved to Denver, and we had a blast trying different yoga classes, eating delicious healthy meals, and hiking. My Aunt connected me with a family member I didn’t know I had who also lived in Denver. She was a super cool woman my age in the wine business, and we hit it off, planning to meet someday in Memphis. And, my Van Life friend, who I met on the trail in Glacier, Montana, happened to be in Denver that month as well. We were finally able to reunite over yoga and sushi, and she had her very first bite of seaweed salad in my company. Her posts are influencer level, and so we chatted logistics, and life, and love, and she showed me her super sweet van. My very favorite hike in Colorado was one that she had recommended to me in the Brainard Lake Recreation area from Mitchel Lake to Blue Lake.

Misty Moosey Morning

Again I awoke before dawn and drove up Hidden Road to 10,300 feet where the air was cold and thin. Mist rose from Brainard lake as the sun crested the horizon, shooting golden light through mountain reflections, looking like the whole thing was floating on air. As I began my ascent, ice remained on the boards that traversed the rocky path and I lamented not bringing gloves. I hiked up past several misty lakes, over rushing streams, past waterfalls, through boulder fields popping with wildflowers of every color, across rocky tundra where where pockets of snow and ice still remained. And it was a MOOSE-A-POLOOZA. I’d been to several national parks at that point, and had still never seen a moose and I wanted too, so badly. My first ever moose sighting was a momma and calf sitting in a clearing, and later after traversing a small ice flow, I came upon three bull moose magnificently grazing atop a glacial waterfall. They evaded my capture as I fumbled with my hiking poles and phone camera, squealing with a pure zeal only evoked by the thrill of seeing the last of the mega fauna in its natural habitat. “FUCKING MOOSE!” I declared with excitement to the two young men hiking up behind me, binoculars in hand.

The only terrible picture I got of three moose on the waterfall!

I finally made it to Blue Lake, nestled in a glacial valley, surrounded by boulders with wildflowers shooting up from the crevices due to little rivulets of ice water streaming through the rocks from all directions. Small waterfalls streamed into the lake at the far end and I could see the trail continued up to another lake hidden in a nearby valley. The moose men were on their way there, and we chatted timing and compared maps, but in the end I knew I needed to get back to work, so I sat and ate breakfast gazing out over the crystal blue waters. I even saw two more bull moose in another lake on my way down, as well as some rangers carrying huge planks of wood on their shoulders up the trail.

Breakfast at Blue Lake, Brainard Lake Recreation Area

Absolutely high on my moosey morning, I asked “How do I get this job?! You get paid to hike all day in the most beautiful places in the world!” She told me where I could apply, and that indeed it was a pretty sweet gig, before trudging on shouldering her pile of two by fours. Could I become a ranger at 40 with a bad knee? I could help build a bridge in the wilderness surrounded by moose! I have to say, I have definitely fallen in love with the mountains in Colorado. It seems unlikely, but not impossible. A girl can dream.