On a fairly regular basis, when wanderlust strikes us, my wife and I pack suitcases and climb aboard our time machine, leaving Omaha and the real world far behind.
The time machine is cleverly disguised in the form of a Honda SUV, lest any of our suburban neighbors become suspicious and start nosing around our garage.
Without subterfuge, the neighbors and our “Honda” would likely go missing — transported to a distant dimension in space. Photos of their children would appear on milk cartons, under the caption, “Have you seen me?”
Time machines have accessories you’ll never find in an earthbound vehicle. Ours was customized with several unusual options. Instead of the standard gears, such as “Years Forward” and “Back Home,” our machine has destination buttons.
Our favorite destination? Boulder, Co., where we have a second home.
We push the “BC” button, close our eyes, and in about eight hours wake up in an intergalactic region called Mountain Time Zone, a strange and distant dimension in space.
Boulder is as close to heaven as we can get. Without, you know, dying.
The city isn’t like any other place. It reeks — literally and figuratively — of counterculture. Boulder is one of the few places in the country where you don’t pull weeds out of your garden — you mix them into your brownies.
You gotta love a city that everyone refers to as, “The People’s Republic of Boulder.”
Last year, heeding the advice of our tax guru, we purchased a condo in Boulder. A lovely two bedroom, two bath condo in a small complex designed to evoke an Italian villa, with two common courtyard plazas and gurgling fountains. In summer, Mary and I sit outside in the plaza with a bottle of Chardonnay and gaze up toward the other heaven.
Sitting at my desk, I can see the Flatiron Mountains shadowing Boulder, foothills of the majestic Rockies. Behind the Flatirons are white-capped mountain peaks that literally take your breath away. And your lungs are filled with fresh clean air that flows down from mountain tops.
Welcome to Boulder. Switzerland, with addytude.
We are only 1 mile away from the main campus of the University of Colorado. Not surprisingly, there are bike lanes all over town, and we regularly peddle over to Pearl Street to shop and dine at some of the great gourmet restaurants.
There isn’t another city in America that tops annual lists of best cities the way Boulder does.
According to Wikipedia, Boulder has ranked No. 1 in the country in such varied categories as: Top Ten Happiest Cities; Gallup-Hathaways Well-Being Index; Top Brainiest Cities; Best Cities to Raise an Outdoor Kid; America’s Top 25 towns to live well; LGBT Family-Friendly Cities; and America’s “Foodiest” towns. And that doesn’t include Boulder’s inclusion in other top ten national lists.
We love it here. The day may come when we sell our house in Omaha and move to Boulder permanently; but we’re not ready for that. Everything in its own time.
Boulder remains special as a vacation retreat from our primary residence. Every day in Boulder feels unique. We are indeed blessed.
But all good things end eventually. In another day or two, we’ll repack our suitcases and climb back into our time machine. I’ll fiddle with the dials, and hopefully we’ll end up back in the city Peyton Manning made famous: “Omaha! Omaha!”
If something goes awry and we find ourselves in another time dimension, you’ll know why. Blame it on a cleverly disguised “Honda.”
Look for me on a side panel of your milk carton.
And you’ll think to yourself, Hey! I recognize that guy!
R. Michael Owens, of Boulder and Omaha, is a retired Philadelphia lawyer. E-mail him at Rmykl@comcast.net.
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