The first time I saw the Back Bowls of Vail was in 1987. I was an eager teenager from Minnesota who had learned to ski on oversized piles of dirt referred to as “hills.” As I stood there in my all-too-cool Obermeyer jacket and rear-entry boots, there was a little hesitation. It was my first time skiing into fresh powder and I imagined myself gliding through the trees like a scene from a Warren Miller movie. I dug in, lunged forward, picked up some speed and watched my skis disappear under the blanket of snow. It was a magical momentfor about 10 secondsuntil my skis caught and I kept going.

I count that time as one of my top three wipeouts. After I dug around for my skis for about 20 minutes, I sat down out of frustration and took a breather. And in that brief moment, I had one of those connect-with-nature experiences that sounds cheesy when you describe it, but was incredible at the time. There was this gentle stillness as I glanced at the exposed cliffs and jagged peaks along the horizon. If I would have known how to chant “om” I would have, but instead I let out a quiet “wow.”

I live in Denver and love the city lifestyle and all it has to offer. But the best thing about being here is the ease in which you can escape to the mountains. No matter what time of the year it is, there’s always a new destination to explore or an old favorite to rediscover.

As I ride up chairlifts with people from France or Kansas, I am reminded how lucky I am to have this winter playground in my backyard. There’s a certain pride in being a Colorado resident and waking up on a weekend to fresh snow and blue skies. Sitting in a fish-house on a frozen lake in Minnesota doesn’t really compare with this. Trust me.

And I admit, despite my Midwestern values, the natural beauty sometimes inspires a little selfishness in me. Won’t it be nice if there was a new law that required all ski resorts to create “locals only” lift lines? I must say, I would be delighted to shuffle past wildcards from Texas and get first dibs on a powder day.

But I realize that everyone has their own unique Colorado winter moments, whether they occur in the solitude of the outdoors or in the buzzing scene of a ski bar. And just the other week, I returned to the top of the Back Bowls and reverted back to the first time I fell in love with the mountains. I dug in, lunged forward, picked up some speed and watched my skis disappear under the blanket of snow. It was the same feeling, only this time my skis flew down the slope with me.