One Subaru-driving writer grapples with his sense of identity as he realizes his dream state isn’t what he thought it would be.
By Jeff Waraniak | 5280 DENVER’S MILE HIGH MAGAZINE
There’s a certain sound I associate with Colorado. It’s not the swoosh of skis on groomers or the plunky intro to John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High.” It’s something even more familiar to Centennial State citizens: the chirp of a Subaru unlocking at a trailhead.
I purchased my khaki-colored Subaru Crosstrek in 2014 while still living in my home state of Michigan, where the top-selling vehicle typically rotates between a Ford and a Chevy. So when I bought my Japanese-made Subie, I was ecstatic. I loved its wealth of cargo space, impressive fuel efficiency, and reliable all-wheel drive that—after an intense mountain biking session—maintained purchase on even the muddiest roads. And, to be honest, the shallow part of me was proud of what the car said about its owner. That starry emblem let it be known that not only was I my own man (unswayed by the Big Three), but I was also a rugged outdoorsman in hipster-heavy Detroit.
Then, in 2017, I moved to Denver, lured by a new job, a growing city, and a chance to live among my own kind: Ford and Toyota might make the top-selling rides in 32 states, but in Colorado, Subaru is king. I assumed my Crosstrek and I would feel at home in the Mile High City—and we did. Everywhere. In breweries, cycling shops, and Sprouts Farmers Market parking lots, twenty- or thirty-something Subaru owners were eager to commune over the shared capabilities of our cars. The guests at each dinner party I attended, it seemed, were Subaru-driving Midwest transplants who had moved west to run or ride too. I was thrilled. (Fellow hikers! Mountain bikers! Friends!) At least at first.
