I've been driving past Boise for years, partly because I grew up in Sun Valley and inherited some of its snobbery, and partly because, from I-84, the city doesn’t beckon—there’s no striking skyline, no great monument, no illuminated tower. At 70 miles per hour, Boise is just a streak of green, an outlet mall, some mountains, and then it’s gone. Hardly a city at all, it seems. But what I learned recently is that Boise happily hides its charms from those of us who happen to be flying past (or over) on our way to better-known places.

I’m hardly the first to make this discovery. Boise (population: 215,000) is ranked regularly on those ubiquitous lists: Eighth Most Underrated City in the West (Life), Fourth Best Place for Women (Women’s Health), Best City for Men (Men’s Health), Best Town in the Western U.S. (Outside Magazine), etc. Wherever it ranks, I should have come sooner. Almost immediately after turning off the highway, I’m struck by how quickly the noise of the interstate vanishes and how green it all is. I cross the river, turn west, and find my way to The Modern Hotel and Bar. In 2006, Elizabeth Tullis bought a seedy Travelodge, renovated it, and, in what was then a cultural dead zone, turned that Travelodge into the city’s most stylish hotel—comfortable, smartly conceived, and inexpensive. It also has one of the best bars in Boise, where friendly and talented bartenders mix great drinks (I recommend the Hemingway Daiquiri).

But what really distinguishes The Modern, not only from other hotels in Boise but from other hotels anywhere, is its support of artists. On any given evening, outside among the fire pits in the lovely courtyard, locals and guests gather to hear musicians play or writers read as part of The Modern’s “Campfire Stories” series.

On this warm, windy evening, after that daiquiri, I walk into down- town, which, like more and more small American cities these days, is full of independent businesses and is bustling with people. Restaurants and cafés are jammed. I stop at Rediscovered Books, a thoughtfully stocked bookstore, before meeting an old friend for dinner at the nearby Juniper. We sit at the bar and eat delicious bison meatballs and grilled kale salad with pancetta and fried eggs.

The next morning, I wake up early and go for a run on the Greenbelt, a lush, serene park that stretches 25 miles along the Boise River. Bikers glide past on their way to work, students sit beneath trees reading, a couple eat breakfast on a bench, watching the water flow by. The park, which is impeccably maintained, is a surprise because it feels hidden, like the rest of the city—a pretty secret that no one is all that interested in sharing.

After breakfast in The Modern’s courtyard, I wander back downtown. I’m beginning to understand why Boise consistently ranks so high on those amorphous lists. It’s one of those rare places, not unlike Boulder, where both outdoor and urban lifestyles are possible. Set between the Rocky Mountains and the Great Basin Desert and at the convergence of three rivers, the city is a gateway to remarkable hiking, skiing, rafting, and mountain biking. It’s no wonder there’s a palpable sense of optimism and pride shared by everyone I meet.