Dear Editor,
I pen this missive in response to the wild and unbridled belief that Denver, Colorado is a ski town, an idea that is as frustrating as a drive down I-70. Allow me to elucidate the truth—Denver, dear reader, is not the hedonistic paradise of powder and alpine adventures that so many perceive.
Picture it: Denver, perched on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, a city that gazes longingly at the peaks but fails to grasp the very essence of a ski town. True ski towns, my friends, nestle deep within the mountains, akin to hidden enclaves where eccentricity and a profound connection with nature intertwine. Denver, on the other hand, basks in the hazy glow of the plains, merely serving as a gateway to the sublime slopes that lie beyond.
The elevation, the thin air that mingles with the smoke of recreational indulgences, is often touted as evidence of Denver’s ski-town credentials. But let us not be swayed by such fallacies. While Denver boasts an elevation of 5,280 feet (or one mile, for the numerically challenged), it pales in comparison to the dizzying heights of true ski towns. Places like Aspen, Vail, and Breckenridge soar to elevations that rival the ego of an intoxicated rock star, where oxygen-starved lungs gasp for breath and the thin line between bliss and madness is blurred.
And what of the climate, my brethren? Denver’s weather, a kaleidoscope of unpredictability, does little to embody the snow-cloaked, frostbitten tales of ski town lore. Yes, there are fleeting moments when flakes fall from the heavens, but these are but ephemeral kisses from the snow gods, not the relentless blizzards that blanket ski towns in an intoxicating white powder. Denver’s climate is a fickle mistress, ever teasing the senses, but ultimately leaving the true devotees of winter disenchanted and yearning for more.
Ah, access! The golden key that unlocks the gates of ski town glory. Alas, Denver holds no such key. It is a city of highways and airports, a transportation hub that caters to the wanderlust of those seeking the sacred slopes. But to call Denver itself a ski town is a blasphemous act, a betrayal of the very essence of what it means to be nestled within the mountains. Ski towns are havens of chairlifts and gondolas that ferry riders to dizzying heights, mere steps away from powdery nirvana. Denver, my friends, lacks this divine proximity.
So let us not succumb to the siren song of delusion. Denver, Colorado is a city of metropolitan pleasures, a realm where urban extravagances dance hand in hand with the allure of the mountains. It may serve as a launching pad for those embarking on alpine odysseys, but it is not, and shall never be, a true ski town. Let us embrace Denver for what it is—a unique blend of urban excitement and tantalizing proximity to the ski town utopias that await us just beyond its borders.
In the words of Hunter S Thompson, “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” But let us be clear: the ride leads to Denver, not a ski town.
Yours frenetically,
Joseph from Crested Butte