The last (and only) time I was there, it was on a train stop of a cross-country rail trip. (Fine, we got off in Salt Lake City, so technically not fully across the country. It was the middle of night and the twelve of us wandered the streets looking for lodging, watching for roving gangs of Mormons.)
After packing too much in Boston (this was pre-InterFuture, okay?), I was miserable with my awkward assemblage of bags - a duffel bag with wheels and a useless handle, a sleeping bag, and a food bag (all required items, but in too large a scale). In Chicago there were no little wheelie luggage carts to be found anywhere in or around our Union Station stop. I would've paid a small fortune for one. But alas, no. [Insert tears here.]
Denver will always have a special place in my heart for its Office Max that carried luggage carts and was within a twenty minute walk of the train station. The love I felt for this town, measured in suitcases, would've broken that little cart, which neatly carried all my crap for the remainder of the two-week trip. When the cart broke a few years later, after helping me with countless apartment moves, I said a little prayer of gratitude for it (and for Denver) before tossing the mangled, metal carcass into the trash.
By the way, there was nothing else in downtown Denver. Seriously. It was about 6p when we rolled into town and everything else had closed. Try not to get knocked up out of boredom.
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