Cherry Creek State Park

This used to be the perfect nearby spot to watch the stars and the moon, but now you can’t be here after 10pm unless you’re camping, which is a bummer. That said, it’s still a great place to sit by the water and read. There’s a pretty cool model airfield, lots of picnic tables, and plenty of bike trails with nice scenery for being right in town. It’s especially peaceful in the off season. Summer, however, is way too crowded. The jet skis are often inconsiderate of their wake near the swimming areas! Also on several occasions they’ve come in fast and way too close, forcing people to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. The entrance line also gets ridiculous. I wouldn’t plan a full lake day here during peak season, but I do come often just to sit by the water and watch the wildlife, which is still really nice. The water is questionable for swimming, though plenty of people still do. All that to say this if you just need a quick nature fix it’s super convenient. Would I go camping or plan a day here ? Very slim chances. Colorado literally has over 4000 lakes to choose from other than this .

I needed nature. Indoors for three days, I needed to stretch and move. They say it is good for the parasympathetic nervous system. I don't know about that, but I felt flattened out and stiff. I was not prepared for the gorgeous prairie with the grasses and occasional wetlands populated by birds. Cherry Creek would take weeks to explore and enjoy, and then there is boating in the summer months and a model plane field where a teen attempted to fire a rocket 🚀 but we never saw the launch. It didn't matter, the views and the breezes revived me and then, darting across the road, I saw a coyote, something rare and exotic to someone from the Northeast. Bring a lunch. Walk. Chill. Enjoy

One of the top five parks I’ve ever visited—and I’ve been to a lot of places. It’s amazing how close it is to the city, yet it feels so peaceful. No traffic noise, no sirens—just calm and nature. The sunsets are truly breathtaking. You can hear geese and ducks flying by while you’re grilling. Honestly, you can’t ask for more than that.

I still measure my weekends by the moment the skyline shrinks in the rear-view and the first glimpse of Cherry Creek’s water blinks back at me like it remembers my name. I roll through the east entrance—windows down, bike rack rattling a little hello—and the ranger hands me a map with the same grin I get every time, as if she’s in on the secret that this is my reset button, not just a park. The paved trail peels away from the lot and I swear it’s been combed overnight; no stray bottle, no rogue wrapper—just the smell of sun-warmed cottonwoods and the distant hush of lapping water. I pedal south, past the mile-marker where I once surprised a mule deer chewing dandelions like they were bubble-gum. She didn’t flinch; we just shared the morning for a breath, then moved on. By the time I hit the dam I’ve shed the city’s static—no honk, no ping, no endless scroll. I lock the bike, scramble down the riprap, and let my sneakers dangle above the mirror-blue skin of the reservoir. Somewhere out there, a paddle-boarder drifts in slow motion and a red-tailed hawk stitches the sky. I breathe in until my ribs feel roomy, then exhale the week in one long, grateful sigh. Later I’ll grill near site 137, the one that backs up to the cottonwood with the heart-shaped scar. My dog will circle the picnic table like it’s a campfire story waiting to happen, and when the sun drops behind the ridge, the water turns molten copper and I’ll wonder—again—how this place is still only twenty minutes from downtown Denver. Cherry Creek isn’t just my favorite park; it’s the mute button on life’s remote, the stretch of trail that keeps my pulse from flat-lining, the lake that reflects a better version of me. I leave with sandy shoelaces, one last lungful of pine, and the quiet promise that I’ll be back before the skyline forgets my name.