Places RobNZ Wants to Go

Two creeks flow out of either end of this canyon in opposite directions.

The world's largest sticker ball weighs in at a mighty 231 pounds.

The site of the "Bone Wars" between two rival paleontologists during the dinosaur rush of the 19th century.

It's easy to forget what century it is as you wander this rustic homestead.

This was once the home of Gahan's Saloon, Denver's most storied speakeasy.

According to local legend, a tree grew from the stake that killed this alleged vampire. In reality, he probably died from influenza.

Possibly the world's only drive-in movie theater with an attached motel.

A river runs through this remote valley in a very unexpected way.

Neal Cassady may still have an open tab at one of Denver’s oldest watering holes.

A futuristic hovertrain is parked unceremoniously alongside a nondescript road.

A research lab and hands-on museum where visitors can experiment with retro technology.

Once an unstoppable source of gold and silver, this town came to a grinding stop when the groundwater proved deadly.

In the early 1900s, hundreds of Black Americans found opportunity in this now-abandoned rural community.

“You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.” ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Unlike most arches, this geological oddity formed in a volcanic dike.

This razorback ridgeline has doubled as a scenic drive since the early 1900s.

Small teepee-like houses built for TB patients have become sheds, studios, and bus stops around Colorado Springs.

A recreation of an Old West apothecary full of curios.

This interpretive path lets you get up close and personal with dinosaur bones.

Even in death, he's still your huckleberry.

In the middle of a suburban Denver neighborhood is a cave that once provided solace for a prominent Ute chief and his family.

A collection of fading fantasy tchotchkes lines this dirt road in the Colorado wilderness.

The spot in the Mile-High City that's exactly 5,280 feet above sea level (at least for now).

The scene of one of the darkest moments in American labor history has been left essentially untouched since the tragedy.