Yesterday, I decided to eschew the Denver of wine bars and ceviche joints, and head out to the older, and some would say, truer Denver. This other Denver is a place where the men drink Pabst Blue Ribbon without irony and the women can still kick the ass of sissified city boy like me. Thus I packed up my Smith & Wesson .357 and headed to the gun range.

What? A blog-writing urban dandy who is often mistaken for gay can’t possibly enjoy unloading a few rounds downrange, can he? In fact, going to the gun range is one of the most therapeutic and enjoyable ways to pass a lazy Sunday afternoon. My particular range – there are several in Denver from which to choose – sits at the end of a quiet residential street off Santa Fe. It’s an unassuming place until you step inside and hear the distinctive reports from handguns being fired in the basement.

No special permit is required. Just show up with your ID, and if you don’t have a gun of your own, select from a large range of handguns available for rent. While connoisseurs go for the traditional paper targets, beginners tend to opt for the cheesier ones –Osama bin Laden with assault rifle, for example, or the menacing masked burglar wielding a pipe. Experts in NRA-issued hats abound, but newbies are welcome. The range master is quick with her advice and you should never feel shy about asking for help.

After emptying two boxes of ammo, I felt refreshed and energized, like I had just gotten a massage at a pricey spa. It occurs to me that this would be an excellent date destination for adventurous Denver couples eager to step off the restaurant and cocktail lounge circuit for an evening and try something fun, new, and a little bit sexy. Men will look tough and women, well, what guy isn’t attracted to a woman packing a little extra heat?