Best Things to Do in Colorado

Colorado contains most of the southern Rocky Mountains and is named for the powerful river that rushes through it.

Colorado doesn’t just give you scenery...it gives you space. Space to breathe, to be small in the best way, and to fall headlong into adventure or stillness depending on the day. During my many trips here, I traveled across the state from canyons to cities, mountaintop gondolas to hidden gardens, and every place felt like a conversation between land and sky. Somewhere between the edge of a suspension bridge and a train echoing through the Rockies, I thought, "Colorado doesn’t try to impress, it just shows up as itself, and that’s enough."

Best Things to Do in Colorado

Denver Color & Contrast

I started the day at The Corner Office, tucked just off the bustle of downtown. The vibe was sleek but playful. “Okay,” I thought, sipping a citrusy house juice, “this is how to set a pace.” Denver felt vibrant, but also layered, lush, architectural, electric in pockets.

From there, I walked off breakfast through the Denver Botanic Gardens. I stood at the edge of a koi pond and thought, “I needed this softness.”

Midafternoon brought a second pause, this time at Syrup, for a quick sweet bite. I ordered their famous banana pudding pancakes.

Evening came as I reached Larimer Square. Strings of lights hung overhead like a canopy, and shops spilled music onto the sidewalk. I stopped at Tacos Tequila Whiskey, carne asada tacos, crisp-edged and bright with lime. Then dinner at ChoLon Modern Asian Bistro, where the French onion soup dumplings came out steaming.

I ended the night at Black Shirt Brewing Co., tucked into a quiet courtyard, the air turning cool, conversation drifting like music.

A downside? The altitude took some adjusting. Even walking a few blocks uphill left me catching my breath, and drinking extra water became a necessity. It wasn’t enough to dim the trip, but it reminded me to slow down.

Colorado Springs Stillness

We drove south from Denver, just over an hour along I-25. The mountains shifted closer with every mile, Pike’s Peak looming larger until it seemed to rise straight from the edge of town.

My plan for the day was layered: take in natural beauty at Garden of the Gods, find a moment of history, and sit down for a meal that felt rooted in Colorado Springs. It was a mix of the outdoors, reflection, and comfort.

Colorado Springs felt open and dramatic, the red rocks glowing against snow. A admired dusted peaks, neighborhoods tucked into foothills, the city spreading wide beneath the mountains. The horizon here was never still.

Later in the day, I stood among the sandstone towers at Garden of the Gods (free), the sky blazing blue overhead, and thought, “Nature doesn’t need to be grand to humble you, but here, it chooses to be both.”

I enjoyed the hike through the Central Garden Trail, where every turn brought new angles of red stone, jagged and tall. Families stopped for photos, climbers inched up rock faces, and ravens circled in the sky above.

A downside? The popularity of Garden of the Gods meant parking lots filled quickly, even in the morning. I

Steamboat Springs History

We drove northwest from Denver, about three and a half hours over mountain passes and winding roads. The scenery kept shifting, high plains giving way to evergreens, and finally the wide Yampa Valley opened, with Steamboat nestled in its fold.

My plan for Steamboat was a balance: explore history at the Tread of Pioneers Museum, linger over a meal, and end the day with something casual and local. I wanted our trip to feel like a mix of past and present, mountain life told in stories and flavors.

Steamboat itself felt like a town with two hearts, one rooted in ranching and history, the other alive with modern ski-town energy. Both pulsed together, giving the streets a mix of grit and polish.

Where I Ate Dinner at Aurum Food & Wine was memorable. I ordered the pan-seared scallops with a parsnip puree and roasted vegetables. The restaurant overlooked the Yampa River, the sound of water drifting beneath the conversations around me.

Later that evening I headed to Mountain Tap Brewery, where the atmosphere was relaxed and communal. I ordered a wood-fired pizza with roasted mushrooms and shared a flight of local beers. The pizza came out crisp and smoky, the mushrooms earthy against melted cheese, and the beers carried everything from citrus brightness to malty depth. It felt like a perfect balance to Aurum’s refinement earlier in the night.

A downside? The drive into Steamboat, while beautiful, was long and winding.

Fort Collins Blooms

We drove north from Denver, about an hour on I-25. The plains stretched wide, and as we approached Fort Collins, the foothills of the Rockies framed the view. The town felt both youthful and historic, anchored by Colorado State University.

My plan was simple: walk through the CSU Annual Flower Trial Gardens, find a meal downtown, and leave space to explore Fort Collins’ slower pace. I was looking for color, flavor, and calm all in one day.

Fort Collins felt welcoming and bright, bikes rolled past, and students hurried to class.

Where to Eat: Lunch downtown at Ginger and Baker was delightful. The café buzzed with conversation, but my table by the window felt tucked away and calm.

A downside? Summer afternoons in Fort Collins could be hot, and by midday the gardens offered little shade. I found myself darting between patches of shadow to keep cool.

Vail Cool Air & Screenlight

We drove west from Denver, about two hours along I-70. The highway wound through canyons and past rushing rivers, each turn climbing higher into the Rockies.

Our itinerary was casual: wander the cobblestone streets, take in the mountain scenery, and enjoy a meal that carried both European and Colorado flavor. It was a mix of outdoor calm and village charm.

Vail felt like stepping into a storybook with flower boxes spilling color from wooden balconies, the sound of water from rushing creeks, and the cool mountain air wrapping everything in freshness.

I stood at the edge of Gore Creek, water rushing over rocks, and thought, “This place is designed for both stillness and motion.”

I enjoyed walking through the pedestrian village, past shops with warm lights glowing inside. The mountains framed every view, and even in summer, I could imagine how alive the slopes would be with snow.

A downside? Prices in Vail were high across the board, including meals, lodging, even parking.

Delta Time & Riverlight

“It’s quieter here, but the surrounding nature is stunning,” I thought, watching my son skip a stone across the Gunnison River. The sky was wide and clear, the kind of blue that made everything look freshly painted.

What I Loved Most: The way nature and life blended together. There were playgrounds and produce stands, murals downtown, riverbanks to rest beside.

We wandered through Confluence Park, where you can walk along the water or watch geese move across the shoreline. In the fall, we came for apples and cider from local farm stands.

One downside? If you don't enjoy the great outdoors, Delta is not the best option because activities here are all about going outside.

I spent the night at Riverwood Resort on the Gunnison which had very friendly staff. I noticed that the private, fenced-in patios were a big hit with dog owners.

Palisade Quiet & Vine-Wrapped Calm

We drove west from Vail, about three hours along I-70, the road hugging cliffs and the Colorado River. By the time we reached Palisade, the mountains had softened into orchards and vineyards. The valley glowed in the late sun, rows of vines stretching toward the Book Cliffs.

The plan was simple: visit a local vineyard, taste the fruit of the valley, and soak up the slower rhythm of Colorado’s wine country.

Palisade felt like a place where time moved differently with tractors humming in orchards, cyclists coasting between wineries, the scent of peaches mixing with warm desert air.

A downside? The valley grew hot in the afternoon sun, and shaded spots were limited outside.

Loveland Wonder & Easy Joy

We drove north from Denver, about an hour on I-25. The Front Range mountains sat off to the west, steady and blue, while Loveland unfolded in quiet neighborhoods and open fields. By the time we reached Chapungu Sculpture Park, the pace of the city had softened into something more contemplative.

My plan was straightforward: spend time walking among the sculptures, notice how art and landscape worked together, and find a meal nearby that carried a bit of local comfort.

Loveland felt artistic and grounded, the kind of town where creativity shows up in public spaces and nature provides the frame. The park itself stretched wide, dotted with trees, ponds, and pathways.

Where We Ate: I stopped at Door 222 Food & Drink in downtown Loveland. I ordered Colorado lamb sliders with rosemary aioli and a side of truffle fries. The sliders were tender and savory, with herbs that lingered in each bite.

A downside? The park’s location near a shopping center meant traffic noise occasionally drifted in.

Canon City Sky & Stone

The wind felt different up there, hot but fast, carrying dust and distance. I stood on the Royal Gorge Bridge, looking down at the Arkansas River cutting deep through the canyon, and thought, “This is what awe feels like without needing words.” The bridge creaked softly beneath my feet, and all I could hear was wind and the call of a raven far below.

What I Loved Most: The space. The quiet that came from standing above something so impossibly wide and deep.

My highlights? A slow afternoon at The Winery At Holy Cross Abbey, where I sat beneath a pergola with a view of the former monastery building. I ordered a small charcuterie plate. The air smelled faintly of sage and sun-warmed brick.

Afterwards I drove through town, windows down. Cañon City had that dry, Western hush.

One downside? I wished I had more time to ride the Royal Gorge Route Railroad. It's definitely something I plan to do next time when I visit in the summer!

Morrison Sunset & Stone

The foothills rose around me like a quiet amphitheater, their edges warm in the late sun. I wandered through Morrison’s main street, where time felt slow and the red rock held onto heat. “This town leans into its history without trying too hard,” I thought, pausing in front of a weathered storefront with music spilling faintly through the door.

What I Loved Most: The golden hour light hitting the rock faces, like the town was carved into place just to catch that glow.

My highlights? Dinner at The Fort, a clay-colored adobe structure perched just above town. I ordered the bison sirloin, cooked medium rare and served with seasonal vegetables and a hint of smoky spice. The meat was rich but clean, with a fire-grilled scent that lingered in the cool evening air. I ate on the patio, watching dusk settle over the hills. Morrison felt both rugged and intentional, the kind of place where history isn’t behind glass, it’s part of the architecture, part of the menu, part of the silence between moments.

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