“You can’t get too much winter in the winter.” — Robert Frost

Colorado harbors a bit of a secret.

It’s a secret the ritzy resorts aren’t eager to share and one the westward masses seem largely uninterested in learning. But it’s a fact that bears repeating, even at the risk of spoiling what makes it so incredibly special.

Bluebird days are not restricted to skiers and snowboarders.

No, on the contrary, bluebird days are a winter gift for all to cherish. With fresh, fluffy powder and blue, cloudless skies, what’s not to love?

On a day just like that over Presidents Day weekend, my wife and I push past the skis and poles hanging on the garage wall and pull down two pairs of snowshoes. We grab water and snacks, then load into the Xterra.

The fuel gauge shows less than half a tank, but that is more than enough gas to get where we are going. In 15 minutes, we will be standing on the west side of Pikes Peak, dozens of miles from the nearest ski resort and seemingly thousands of miles from the nearest ski crowd.

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(The Colorado Department of Transportation reports more than 1 million motorists travel through the Eisenhower-Johnson Memorial Tunnels each February, with the holiday weekend being the busiest stretch of the month.)

The crowd on this Saturday at the winter trailhead for The Crags includes four vehicles. Four vehicles, yet no signs of life.

The air is crisp, carrying a bite that cuts through our thin layers of clothing. The scene is one of stillness and also one of postcards — frosty pines, sparkling snow, a small field of white. Three inches have fallen overnight, adding to a hefty base.

We strap on our snowshoes and move quickly past the gate. We have hiked up this road many times in the fall and summer, and once before in the winter — two weeks earlier during a storm that dropped more than a foot of snow.

The tight, carved path is noticeably easier to navigate on this morning, trampled down by other hikers, and our speed is noticeably faster. We make our way through the campground, its picnic tables and fire pits mostly buried by snow.

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Upon reaching the fork to Devils Playground, the conditions suddenly become more difficult. The early-morning groups have veered toward the summit of Pikes Peak, leaving the rest of the trail untraveled.

We are now making our own first tracks. And these tracks didn’t require a $200 lift ticket.

The path snakes from forest to meadow to forest to meadow, with deep drifts of snow being the only constant. It’s a far different look from summer. The aspens are now naked, the bushes and grasses now hidden. It’s a far different sound as well, the buzz of hummingbirds, rustle of leaves, trill of chipmunks and calm of the creek having gone quiet.

Silence. That’s the prevailing sound on this bluebird day. Simply put, peace and tranquility.

Much to our surprise — and relief — that doesn’t change when we reach the top of the iconic rock formations. The wind is unusually calm. The views are especially magnificent.

We can see for miles and miles. And the only clouds we see forming are way in the distance, over the mountains to the west. Over there with the skiers and snowboarders.