Although Colorado Springs was never on my short list of relocation spots, my first impressions were unexpectedly positive. I stopped in the northern part of town to get some routine blood work done at LabCorp. Since I was a bit early, I took a walk through the surrounding neighborhood and was pleasantly surprised by how many rainbow flags I saw flying from porches and lampposts. Coming from western North Carolina--where those symbols of inclusion are far less common--it gave me a quiet sense of joy.

After the blood draw, I made my way a few blocks over to a local café. Sitting by the window with a cup of coffee, I watched runners, cyclists, and adventure vehicles stream by. I felt an immediate connection.

A quick drive through downtown Colorado Springs only reinforced that impression. The city center felt vibrant, clean, and alive with character. I've always loved exploring downtowns--whether in sleepy villages or bustling cities--and this one told me something important: Colorado Springs has more to offer than I expected.

Today's journey began with a stop in Manitou Springs, a quirky little town nestled at the base of the mountains. Equal parts tourist hub and artistic enclave, it was buzzing with energy. I stumbled upon Wheeler Spring, established by Jerome Wheeler--an enterprising man who first struck gold at Macy's in New York before moving west and finding fortune in the mining industry. He built a home in Manitou Springs and marketed the mineral-rich spring water nationwide.

A sign posted nearby warns that the spring is unchlorinated and contains high levels of manganese--unsafe for infants and best consumed in moderation by others. I filled up two water bottles anyway. It has a tangy, mineral taste.

From there, I climbed to Woodland Park, perched at 8,600 feet. The temperature drop was dramatic, and snow still clings to the ground, though the roads are well-plowed. Under a partly cloudy sky, I caught a breathtaking view about halfway up Pikes Peak--even just that partial glimpse was stunning.

I drove to a nearby trailhead to get a feel for spring hiking conditions. The verdict? Snowy, sloppy, and not ideal for biking--maybe a fat bike could handle it, but standard mountain biking is off the table at this time of the year. Still, it's serene up there, a quiet escape surrounded by snow-dusted evergreens.

I checked out a few local properties but wasn't impressed. Despite rising inventory, prices haven't come down. One house bought at the 2022 market peak is now listed for several hundred thousand dollars more--and it's nothing special. Between the inflated prices and lingering snowpack, Woodland Park is off the list for me.

Heading north, I passed the Centennial Trail, a well-maintained paved path that parallels the highway and stretches deep into Pike National Forest. It's a great community asset for walking and biking.

Later, I turned west toward 11 Mile State Park, following a gravel road past lakes and pine forests. I love moments like these--wandering unfamiliar backroads among Ponderosa pines and firs, soaking it all in. The campground at 11 Mile Lake looked inviting; if it had been later in the day, I might have stayed.

Instead, I pushed on to Buena Vista, a town I've been eager to explore. It's an adventurer's dream: mountain biking, gravel cycling, rafting, and kayaking in the warmer months; snowshoeing and skiing in the winter. The Main Street is full of charm--lined with small boutiques, restaurants, and coffee shops. Just beyond it is a new mixed-use development with homes, shops, a dog park, and an amphitheater that reminds me of River Ranch back home.

I explored some hillside neighborhoods like Game Trail, where gravel roads wind past impressive homes perched on the mountainside. Beautiful, yes--but Robin and I have always felt more drawn to valleys, preferring to look up at the mountains rather than down from them. There's something unsettling about houses clinging to steep slopes.

Tonight, I'm camped in a dispersed site in San Isabel National Forest, recommended by my friend Steve. I've got a pullout with a fire ring, sweeping views of the snowcapped mountains, and a refreshing 56-degree evening. Time to raid the fridge--salads, leftovers, and whatever else I can piece together for dinner.

Life on the road is full of contrasts--busy towns, quiet forests, tangy spring water, and snowy trails. And for now, I'm grateful to be out here, taking it all in.