Published June 26, 2026 12:27PM
“You’re spending your weekend where?”
It was a fair question. Aside from one Broadway-obsessed friend, most of the people I told about my upcoming weekend trip had never heard of such a place.
Laramie, Wyoming. Even the Buffalo Bills’ superfans I told were unfamiliar (for those not from Western New York, all-star quarterback Josh Allen’s alma mater is the University of Wyoming).
So, why was I spending a perfectly good weekend flying to Denver, picking up a rental car, and driving two hours to this city of 32,000 in southeastern Wyoming? It’s not like I have any ties to the university, and Laramie isn’t a ski town … or so I thought.
When we think of great college ski towns, the obvious ones come to mind. Boulder, home to the flagship campus of the University of Colorado, is a stone’s throw from Eldora. The University of Utah, which is about an hour from the Cottonwood resorts without traffic. In the East, Dartmouth and Middlebury each have their own ski area, and of course, the University of Vermont.
But Laramie never seems to make the list. The Medicine Bow National Forest, a playground for outdoor lovers, surrounds the town itself. In the winter, it takes less than 30 minutes to reach some pristine backcountry and cross-country skiing. There’s also Snowy Range Ski Area, just 32 miles from town.
Best of all, Laramie is easily accessible by car, charming, and affordable, and there’s no shortage of Wyoming’s wild, wild Western flair.
Late Friday, I arrived at Denver International Airport. Laramie does have a small regional airport, but Denver was more convenient (and cost-effective). I hopped in a rental car and made the swift drive up north—but not without a stop at the Johnstown, Colorado, Buc-ee’s, where I couldn’t help but spend a little too long deciding what flavor of warm nut to try.
As dawn drew over the Wyoming skies, I was determined to have a dual-discipline ski day: Downhill in the morning and cross-country in the afternoon, with a plan to make it back before nightfall. After a quick hotel breakfast, I drove the 30ish miles out of town and into Snowy Range’s dirt parking lot, immediately showcasing the resort’s family-run charm.
Snowy Range offered me something I wasn’t expecting: nostalgia. Standing inside the ticket office ($54 weekdays for adults, $64 weekends and holidays) brought me right back to the small resort where I learned to ski, Titus Mountain in upstate New York.
The Snowy Range staff were thrilled to announce that, despite the poor snow year, they had only very recently closed a run, rendering the resort almost completely open. I took delight in spending my morning on the creaky green chairlifts of yesteryear. I’m all for advancements in the ski industry, but there’s something so pure and simple about a resort stuck in time.
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I couldn’t stay too long, though—I was on a mission. I warmed up for a few quick moments with some tea, and then it was back to my car.
Now, I wish I could say that the rest of the day flowed as smoothly as I’d planned, but I hate to lie.
I departed Snowy Range with the coordinates of the trailhead parking lot in Medicine Bow National Forest. In such wide-open country, I knew I was going in the right direction because I was heading toward the mountains. However, a 30-minute detour on a dirt road forced me to question said coordinates. Unfortunately, by then I was out of cell service.
Not stressing in the least, I continued driving toward the mountains and eventually stopped at a restaurant that was friendly enough to correct my directional wrongs and let me use their bathroom.
Less than 20 minutes later, I was booting up in the proper parking lot. Should you ever indulge in a double ski day, I suggest you end with cross-country skiing. Lacing up the soft boots was a treat compared to my stiff downhill boots. To do the opposite would feel like a chore.
As was typical of the winter handed to me, there wasn’t a tremendous amount of terrain to ski, but I still got a few miles in. I don’t cross-country ski as much as I used to, but every time I click into skinny skis, I’m immediately reminded of my love for the sport.
The end of the ski day brought me back to downtown Laramie before dark. I had received a recommendation for Sweet Melissa’s, a vegetarian comfort-food restaurant, and decided what better time than the present to check it out.
Sweet Melissa’s is a microcosm of Laramie. Inside, I was a visitor who felt like a local. Maybe they took me for a college kid typing away on a laptop, or Laramie’s own Pete Wells. Either way, I wasn’t invisible; the staff made me feel like I mattered. The same can be said of the town itself. Laramie has a way of making you feel like you belong—perhaps because it’s the kind of place where everyone really does. It’s a town where no one is anonymous, not even the strangers. It might have look like home, but after a weekend in town, it certainly felt that way.
