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Robin Chotzinoff

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Fuel Cafe helps energize the RiNo neighborhood

By Robin Chotzinoff
May 6, 2010

It's not quite spring, but there's hope: Ramps and morels are on the menu. If the weather wasn't so cold and rainy, the waiter could open the glass garage door that separates our table from the patio. Soon, he says. Beyond the patio and the parking lot, everything's dark —...
End of the Line

For decades, folks along Highway 40 left the driving to Greyhound. Now they've been left behind.

By Robin Chotzinoff
Aug 12, 2004

Fletcher Stumph will drive a Greyhound bus between Steamboat Springs and Salt Lake City for six more days. After that, the route, along with 260 stops in thirteen northern states, will disappear. The price of gas is up and ridership is down -- that's what Greyhound management says, and Stumph...
The Ride of Their Lives

These women are going downhill fast.

By Robin Chotzinoff
Mar 4, 2004

Dena Melinn's right foot has a nasty reddish look, barely bends at the ankle and is twice as big around as her left, as though the swelling from two years ago never really subsided. "I shattered my heel jumping a big, big gap," she says. "I broke it in thirty...
Just the 'Fax, man

Thirty miles of developments, drunks and dreams -- the ultimate road trip.

By Laura Bond, Patricia Calhoun, Robin Chotzinoff, Eric Dexheimer, Julie Dunn, Bill Gallo, Amy Haimerl, Jason Heller, Dave Herrera, David Holthouse, Julie Jargon, Marty Jones, Alan Prendergast, Michael Roberts, Jason Sheehan, Stuart Steers and Ernie Tucker
Jan 22, 2004

Amid the nourishing chaos of city life, we urban dwellers find ourselves brain-deep in startling juxtapositions. Mid-morning one Tuesday, a formation of squawking geese sweeps its shadow across a used-bookstore window, dimming the dog-eared covers of The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen, and Dead Souls, by Nikolai Gogol. An instant later,...
Bare Necessities

Sometimes a girl -- even an almost-naked girl -- just needs a mom.

By Robin Chotzinoff
Jul 10, 2003

The Bullard family has leased the building at 1443 Stout Street for 35 years, most of which were seriously downscale. "It was nothing but a joint all those years," Rusty Bullard, now forty, admits. And until five years ago, that joint was divided down the middle into two clubs: the...

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