When we moved from Evanston to Boulder almost five years ago (we did not know at the time that Evanston and Boulder are on the same circuit - the lefty circuit) we moved into Sunshine Canyon. You can't believe the views we had. We were walking distance from Pearl Street, far down on the west end, but in our own world too. We fell into the canyon mystique pit.
Later on we figured out that our 30-degree-pitch driveway left something to be desired. We had friends who literally couldn't walk down our driveway from the street OR manage the rickety railroad-tie stairs through the front yard. We had no sidewalks of course, and almost no on-street parking for our friends. Forget about carting anything - like a Thanksgiving casserole or even a large birthday present - down that treacherous driveway.
One time, I had our twins in the Volvo wagon (there's a Boulder staple) and tried to back up the driveway to the street. But the driveway was icy and I nearly went over the side, about an eight-foot drop. The car was teetering on the edge. I pushed the twins up, out the passenger-side door, and got out of the teetering vehicle myself, then called a tow truck. Wrong: two tow trucks, because of the way the car was perched on the edge of the cliff between my driveway and my neighbors' yard.
A year ago we moved into town. We have sidewalks and a fenced yard for our dogs and coffee and groceries within walking distance. A bus route. Snowplows. A bring-the-garbage-cans-to-the-curb task that will not put my husband in traction. We like it.