But there's an in-between time after the ski season closes in April and before summer emerges in full bloom in June. Hotel prices drop, restaurateurs go on holiday and ski towns virtually shut down. But this doesn't mean Colorado is bereft of activities - in fact the peace and quiet means you can explore this state of superlatives at your leisure.

My two week tour of Colorado began in late May, a.k.a. the off season. Being from sea level, I decided to spend a few days in Denver to acclimatize, before heading into the oxygen-deprived High Country. As the ninth largest metropolis in the US, I presumed that there must be something to do in the Mile High City and its environs - other than adjust to the altitude that is. Colorado is the highest state in the nation. In fact, its lowest point is higher than the highest point in 22 other states. It appears that this loftiness, or perhaps the altitude, has affected the heads of the powers-that-be in Colorado. The state bears numerous altitude- and size-related superlatives, so with all this size and stature, there must be something for a sea-level-living outdoors enthusiast to do.

And there is, although I learned quickly that some of Colorado's premiere natural attractions are best enjoyed in the winter or summer months. I toured Denver Botanic Gardens: "23 acres of fragrance and foliage any time of the year." Well, not exactly. Most of the flowers weren't blooming in late May and I strolled through acres of fragrance-free empty flower beds, feeling dispirited. The roses, perennials and other colorful flora I'd eagerly anticipated would not bloom until June. It wasn't summer here yet.

After not stopping to smell the flowers, I visited the Colorado History Museum. The museum is actually a series of exhibits depicting Colorado's frontier past. I expected a quiet couple of hours here but I was surprised as a large group of schoolkids on a summer school field trip, who had pretty much taken over the museum. So much for summer not being here yet.

The next day I went to see Red Rocks Park, but unfortunately could not tour its famous ampitheater as a high school graduation was underway. Instead I explored the park's outskirts and hiked the Trading Post Loop, which provided excellent viewing of the famous red rocks. Next was a journey along the trip's first altitude related superlative - a drive up The Highest Paved Road In America to the summit of Mount Evans. I lucked out on this expedition as the country's highest expanse of pavement had only opened for the season the previous day. The Mt. Evans scenic byway is generally open Memorial Day to Labor Day, weather permitting. However, the Colorado Department of Transportation, despite several late season snowstorms, managed to plow the road and open the road before Memorial Day.

The 14 mile narrow winding road climbed steeply to the summit and involved negotiating hairpin turns, which meant alternating between driving alongside a wall of snow that looked like it could fall any minute and bury me within the confines of my rental car, and confronting a sheer drop just inches from my tires from which the vehicle and I would plummet if I were to oversteer.

Occasionally, I would brave a darting sideward glance to gaze upon lush valleys, masses of spruce and fir trees and the neighboring towering snowcapped magesties. I proceeded as calmly as a flatlander could, stopping to say hello to the mountain goats who share portions of the road with Mt. Evans drivers. My bravado was further tested along this scenic yet sinuous trek when I attempted to photograph a lone goat. The animal eyed me up as I stopped the car and rolled down the window. But its curiosity quickly turned to ire and, as I activated my digital camera and the lens whirred outward, the goat began charging towards me. I abandoned the photo opportunity and quickly drove on, reminding myself that this wasn't a petting zoo.

Perhaps it was the drive, or the high walls of snow flanking the road, or my near violent encounter with a wild animal, but I began to feel dizzy as I reached the summit. I was experiencing the onset of altitude sickness, a condition someone who lives at sea level would likely encounter after gaining height so quickly, with or without having angered a mountain goat. When I reached the end of the road I parked and walked around, hoping the chilly air would help, but it only seemed to exacerbate what I'd been informed was a potentially dangerous condition. I was unable to walk the remaining 130 feet to the official summit of Mt. Evans. But the views from near the top were still incredible.

After that excitement, I scheduled a day of whitewater rafting. The rivers were at their highest in years due to the previous winter's heavy snowfall. High river runoff led to an exceptional, albeit just above freezing, whitewater experience. Well, I guess that depends on your perception of what makes for an exceptional experience. I suppose exposing oneself to hypothermic conditions may be some people's idea of fun. I was uncertain about whitewater rafting from the outset, but after arriving at Clear Creek Rafting Company and being handed a helmet, I became even more apprehensive. Hypothermia was one thing, but a helmet? Did I really want to experience white water rafting so badly that I was prepared to risk life, limb and now head?

"What's that for?" I shakily asked the guide.

"It will protect your head in case you fall out of the boat," he explained.

I was not comforted by the possibility that I was about to engage in an activity for which I needed to take precautions against blunt trauma to my cranial area. " How often does that happen?"

He shrugged, "not very."

I suppose "not very often" is good odds for some things, but not voluntary activities that involve the risk of a fractured skull. Besides, I was here to have fun, not court the odds. Since this was only day three, there was still plenty of time for other recreational activities where a trip to the emergency room was not a possibility. I handed the helmet back and said I'd pass on the experience. Since I had already paid, the good folks at Clear Creek Rafting graciously offered me the opportunity to return at a later date, should I "work up the courage to come back". I said I'd be in touch and headed back to Denver, where hypothermia was unlikely in late May and helmet wearing was restricted to construction sites.