A letter from a local
The San Juans do not have an off-season.
From my porch I can be on Horse Gulch singletrack in eight minutes — pedaling, not driving. That's the whole pitch. The trail system starts at the end of Main Avenue and the Animas River runs through the middle of everything like it owns the place. Because it does.
Winter, Purgatory is 35 minutes north and skis way bigger than its name. Spring brings the Animas up to a proper roar and the kayakers bloom like crocuses. Summer is wildflower rides at 11,000 feet, and fall turns the whole valley the color of a struck match. It's a college town, so there's actual life too — music on weekends, more good coffee than 19,000 people deserve, the steam train whistle to set your watch by.
You're worried it's remote. It is — that's load-bearing. It's why the trails are quiet and why the handful of software and outfitting companies here treat good people like gold. They can't recruit you with a skyline, so they recruit you with your actual life.
Get on the plane. I'll pick you up, and we'll have you on the river by four.
— Tony