The bus ride from the Denver airport to Boulder takes about 45 minutes, at least if you do it after rush hour. For the second straight year, I loaded up at 10:30 and found a window seat on the left side. I was tired, it being the end of a work day and my body still back on EST. So tempting to just close my eyes and rest, but unlike the explorers and frontiersmen that traveled west over 200 years ago, I knew what was coming. It's really the only thing that distinguishes the eastern third of Colorado from the whole of Kansas.

Almost 6 years ago, I took another bus from southwest Ohio to Aspen. Somewhere near hour 24, we noticed a slight white break in the vast khaki landscape ahead. What we instinctively thought at first were clouds turned out to be snow and a few seconds later, we knew we were looking at that main difference between the two states: thousands of feet. In retrospect I wish I was a hitchhiker with a camera at that very moment, that split second of recognition where the west truly begins. But to me there's more excitement in arriving at night than in daylight. Whatever it is you're there to see, you can only see part of it, extending the anticipation for another few hours. That glimpse, that excitement is why I'm still awake. Before too long, the Denver skyline in all it's plain and rectangular glory blurs by and soon a more rugged silhouette appears. My friend sends me a message asking where I am. I'm where I can somehow see moon-reflected snow on the front range; only minutes away. "Welcome to life west of the Mississippi," he says. Life is good.

I spent the same amount of time in Boulder the year before, but really only ventured out for a hike up Sanitas and lunch at Illegal Pete's. This time I made more of an effort to explore. The next morning we headed out and over to Trident for a Bhakti chai and a view of the hills. The idea was to sample Boulder's laptop and coffee shop heavy culture; to catch up on work and news while our hosts were on the job and the rest of our friends still due to land. But instead I found my eyes lifting periodically to the sights and sounds of Pearl Street; dogs, bikes and students back and forth in constant flow. Plus, every minute or so, the mountains just to the left seemed to telepathically whisper, 'Hey, we're still here..'

Though winter in Boulder can be mild, it's still winter, and we were sitting in the shade. Our fingers starting to get clumsy, so we moved across the street to Saxy's and found some outlets for the next hour and a half. It's hard to play favorites.. where Trident's chai reigns supreme, Saxy's got the atmosphere and decor. Of the ten or twelve chandeliers that hung overhead, no two were the same. After a while, the internet started to wear on us like it usually does. Luckily another wave of friends had landed and everyone was hungry, so we headed east on Pearl and sat down at Mountain Sun Pub for what will always been known as the three-stout lunch.

Just by their nature, you can only average about a stout an hour, and so along with food and long-lost conversation among great friends, we held the fort for most, if not all of the afternoon. It reminded me a lot of Europe (since most of us on the trip traveled together over there anyway) and brought back to mind the need for more meals like that; savor over speed. Afterwards a few headed back to the house to recharge while a couple of us opted to squeeze in another local favorite and thus took a seat at Amante, our friend's go-to hotspot to surf the net and watch some soccer. And as promised, when we arrived the lone TV was showing a club match between two English squads. The mood was mellow but exactly what we needed to kill an hour of web and another chai before packing up regrouping back at the house.

For the night cap we ultimately landed at Sundowner, which now that I think about it, could pass as a compromise between the lounge feel of George's and dive vibe of Pearl St Pub; the former we hit for trivia and the latter for food. The "Sundown Saloon" (if you're counting) is a great place to disappear for a few hours, between pool table row and a few cozy booths to enjoy good conversation over a creative drink menu. When w arrived we were greeted by a PBR with a shot of whiskey on special, then moved into the crafts. A lot of beers out there make it back east, but a lot don't. So we took advantage of the westerly selection and sipped IPAs from Avery and Russian River, and previewed the weekend ahead.

The next morning we walked over to Moe's for a breakfast burrito and a panoramic view of the front range. North Boulder, with the right mix of distance and elevation, affords the best look at the mountains from town, in my opinion. With the profile of the flatirons just to the left, the loom factor is at its highest when you walk out and can't help but stare. Because of it, breakfast could've lasted as long as lunch the day before, but we had to mobilize and get on the road to Keystone.