BOULDER CANYON — On most Wednesdays, I leave my abode on Capitol Hill in Denver slightly earlier than usual for my morning commute. To the common 9-to-5er, the mere presence of an “earlier than usual” start—midway through the workweek, no less—triggers a response akin to being told you forgot a document by a DMV employee, or having your pilot say over the intercom, “We need thirty minutes to de-ice the wings of the plane.” I shudder at the thought.

In the case of my once-weekly trek to Nederland, Colorado, where I take a break from my usual post at the Caribou Current office in Boulder to work in person with The Mountain-Ear crew, it’s a 90-minute drive that I adore. This is partly due to my affinity for a blip of alone time, but more so for the landscape of the drive itself—particularly the section cutting straight through Boulder Canyon.

It's me and a winding road, with walls of rock and greenery on either side, running parallel to Boulder Creek, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything on the planet. Let’s take a drive. 

Shit gets real when the "No Service" icon pops up in the top left of your phone display. Not that we’d need to be checking our phone on a drive that requires this much attention anyway, but it’s refreshing each time this 30-minute stretch cuts off all incoming notifications.

I’ll download an album for each drive: “The Singer in My Band” by This is Lorelai aided my journey last week, and “Brothers and Sisters” by The Allman Brothers was the choice the week before. Yesterday, I let a podcast critique of the Denver Broncos Monday night stinker, courtesy of DNVR network, wash over me as I trekked up the hill.

If it’s nice out, the first thing you’ll notice is the creek-players: Students, runners, and bikers let the cool, rushing water be their setting for the day. The further into the canyon you get, the less populated it becomes, until finally, it’s just you in nature’s gut. You might see a fly fisherman casting for brown trout next to Hawkin Gulch, or a pack of hikers gearing up at Chapman Drive trailhead.

A notable curiosity is the building at mile 37 of Highway 119, whose unlit neon sign reads “El Vado.” An old decommissioned motel, before that a mill for mining lodes, this charming structure once was thought to be renovated into cabins. But like all good things, the County shut it down, so there it sits, like an abandoned structure in an old Western. If you feel inclined to take a closer look (out front: it’s private property), a bunch of “junk art” fills the plot.

Up the way a little further there’s a grey granite climbing route called The Bihedral, perfect for moderate sport climbers looking to bask in Boulder Canyon’s glory. Another mile or two west sits Colorado’s second most famous Castle Rock. My favorite thing to do at any notch in the road that allows for a pull-off is to get out, park, and let the sights and sounds overwhelm me.

There’s no purer noise than the one Boulder Creek emits, and just above it, wind whistles through the pines. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch an extended moment where no cars whiz by. Earth, free from noise pollution, is in the palm of your hand, just for a moment. It’ll make your week. 

Emerging from Boulder Canyon Drive’s mouth on the other end, you’re given a final destination reward of Barker Meadow Reservoir. Nederland looks so still from here.

By this time, my nerves are calmed, despite the busy workday ahead. Finding solace in a period of time dreaded by most working Americans is difficult. I understand this isn’t your typical commute. But there’s beauty everywhere if you slow down. The speed limit is 45, after all, so we’re in no rush.

The best part? When that last email is sent and the office door is locked for the night, I get to do it again.