
Riding Mt. Blue Sky
There was fire in the air on the last day of July. The morning felt thick with haze from the three Front Range blazes as I rolled my bike outside. Colorado has been lucky the last few years, but there’s always the chance that fire season will mar my otherwise favorite time to live here. At least the air doesn’t smell like smoke yet, I thought as I swung a leg over and pushed off. The day would be long and the air thin enough where I was headed: from my home in Boulder all the way up to the 14,0...