Powder, Peaks and Pure Bliss—Telluride Delivers!

Sunset gondola rides to San Sophia: The free gondola is my favorite “front-row seat” to the box canyon—especially at golden hour when the peaks blush pink and town lights flicker on. I love stepping out at San Sophia, breathing in that crisp, piney air, and watching stars prick the sky before drifting down to dinner in town.

Long, playful laps in Prospect Bowl: When I want wide-open turns and that floaty, weightless feeling, I head straight for Prospect Bowl. I grew up learning to trust my edges on those forgiving pitches—now it’s where I go to reset, find rhythm, and let the views do their quiet magic.

“See Forever” to “Lower Lookout” top-to-bottom cruise: Linking a See Forever panorama with a gentle finish into town is my version of a love letter to this mountain. On clear days, the San Juans seem to stretch into tomorrow, and I catch myself smiling under my buff like a kid.

Via Ferrata with a trusted guide: Clipping into the iron rungs along the sheer face is equal parts focus and euphoria. The exposure is real, the views are outrageous, and that steady, shared breath with your guide turns the whole cliffside traverse into a memory you can feel in your bones.

Bear Creek Falls hike from the end of Pine Street: I never tire of the steady climb through spruce-scented forest to the thunder of the falls. In summer I pack a simple picnic—in shoulder season I linger to watch mist turn to diamonds in the afternoon light.

Lunch at Alpino Vino, lingering for one more glass: Nothing beats slipping off your gloves for a truffled panini and a glass of Barolo while snow feathers past the windows. It’s cozy, civilized, and somehow still unpretentious—my kind of mountain lunch.

Apéritifs at Allred’s, then a slow ride down: I book a sunset table, order something bright and alpine, and let the canyon do the talking. Afterwards, the gondola ride feels like floating through a snow globe—quiet, suspended, and impossibly beautiful.

Nordic glide on the Valley Floor: When I need to reset, I trade chairlifts for cross-country tracks and follow the river’s hush across the meadow. The light skims low, fox tracks stitch the snow, and the whole world narrows to breath and glide.

Sheridan Opera House, and a nightcap at the New Sheridan Bar: I adore catching a show in that intimate, historic jewel box—creaky floors, velvet seats, a sense of occasion. Afterwards, I celebrate with a proper cocktail under pressed tin ceilings, feeling folded into Telluride’s living history.

Bluebird mornings with my parents’ tradition: I still honor our ritual—first chair, a warm-up on Galloping Goose, and hot chocolate with too much whipped cream. It’s simple, it’s ours, and it’s why this place feels like home no matter how polished the itinerary becomes.

Allred’s (gondola mid-station): This is my sunset ritual—warm light, floor-to-ceiling canyon views, and a martini that tastes like celebration. I book early, linger over elk or scallops, and ride the gondola down feeling like I’ve floated through a snow globe.

Alpino Vino (on-mountain lunch): Nothing beats slipping off gloves for a truffled fontina panini and a glass of Barolo while snow feathers past the windows. It’s civilized and cozy without pretense, and I always end up staying for “one more” because the room hums with contentment.

Marmotte (French country soul): Candlelight, creaky floors, and honest French cooking that feels like a love letter—think silky pâté and perfectly sauced duck. I go when I want a meal that invites conversation and leaves me glowing all the way back to the hotel.

The National (modern, polished, playful): This is where I let the team surprise me—seasonal plates with texture and restraint, plus cocktails that feel like mountain air in a glass. I always trust the server’s nudge here; their instincts are spot on.

221 South Oak (chef-driven, intimate): I come for the warmth and the sense of being personally cooked for—vegetable-forward dishes that don’t whisper, they sing. It’s the spot I choose for milestone dinners when I want grace and wow in the same bite.

New Sheridan Chop House + Bar (heritage and martinis): Dinner is classic—succulent steaks, proper sides, and service that snaps in the best way. Afterwards, I slide into the historic bar for a nightcap under pressed-tin ceilings and feel stitched into Telluride’s living history.

Cosmopolitan (sushi and steaks done right): I love the confident menu range—rolls with pristine fish, a beautiful steak, and cocktails that stay balanced to the last sip. It’s my “please everyone but still delight me” option, and it never misses.

There… (quirky, inventive, fun): It’s small, a touch wild, and always memorable—shareable plates with unexpected pops of flavor and a bar team that reads the room. I go when I want a little mischief with my mezcal.

Brown Dog Pizza (Detroit-style comfort): When the craving hits, it’s all about the crisp-edged, airy-crusted squares with molten cheese that pulls like a promise. I’ve demolished a slice in ski boots more than once and called it self-care.

Baked in Telluride (casual mornings and late-night fixes): My day starts here: a still-warm bagel, strong coffee, and locals trading snow intel at the counter. It’s also where I sneak a late-night cookie that tastes like childhood after a bluebird day.