A couple of back to back meetings regarding some new medications in my field of diabetes care brought me to Denver for  couple of days, a city I’d not been to since 1982. This was so different than the many times of my youth- in the 70’s and 80’s, I’d grown up taking annual ski trips to Colorado with my parents and sisters (actually, even before my youngest sister was born) to places like Winter Park, Copper Mountain, Breckenridge, and Vail. My Uncle had done some ski instructing when he was attending the University of Colorado in Boulder, and my initiation to the slopes was on a sunny spring day in 1970 at Lake Eldora where he worked. The first time is always full of tumbles, but by the end of the day I was able to control it enough to really enjoy it. I never thought I was a very “cool” kid, but these trips helped me in that department (at least I thought so!).

These family excursions evolved into adventures with my friends by the time I was 16 in 1976. Favorite albums and songs on cassettes, some curated for the trip, provided memorable soundtracks riding from the plains of the Platte River Valley to the heart of the Rockies and back. Later as we got into college, often a few of us would leave Kearney on a Thursday night or Friday morning, make the 6 hour drive, and cram in as much skiing that we could by the times the lifts closed at 4pm on Sunday with our heads full of snow and sun. As the shadows crossed the moguls on the final run of the day, it was always a race to be the last one on the lift before it closed. These times were usually full of college-type debauchery; side trips sometimes took us to Rocky Mountain National Park to cross country ski or just a drive high in the Poudre Valley.

Loading up on cases of Coors beer (you couldn’t buy it in Nebraska then), the return trips home were full of stories about our triumphs for the weekend. Driving through the dusk into evening with occasional pull overs at a truck stop or roadside bar, we would arrive into the early reaches of morning for our return to classes on Monday.

My meetings stretched many hours each day, and I had no intent to even really go out. A friend from a different era reached out to me, so I decided to spend a couple of unexpected hours in the city. As I walked on Welton St to the 16th Street mall, thinking of those times, back then not able to imagine that they’d ever end. I could see the mountains as I headed west to a bar to meet, catch up and watch a ball game (we are both hardcore Cub fans). My mind is filled with these memories while the Cubs win their playoff game on this beautiful night, I know I’ll need to return sooner than another 33 years.