In Denver, they have what they call “Mountain Weather.” It took me just three days to fully grasp what that entailed.

On my first full day in the Mile-High City, I thought I would die of heat. I was already sunburned, and the warmth seemed to radiate out of the pavement of Denver’s wide streets. Six lanes of traffic made straight for the mountains, carving a path into the craggy backdrop of the Colorado Rockies. From the lanes of cars to the colossal mountains – and even the heat itself – the breadth of Denver stretched wide. I ducked into a cafe looking for a brief respite in air conditioning and caffeine.

Drinking my coffee and breathing the cooler air, I struck up a conversation with a local woman at the table next to me about (what else?) the weather.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” she said. “Too bad it wasn’t like this two days ago. I was determined to get my garden in this weekend. I got out there on Saturday, hoe in hand, and would you believe it? It started to snow.”

I laughed incredulously. Of course it didn’t really snow, I thought to myself. I bought sunscreen.

The next morning, having learned my lesson in Colorado heat, I put on a sundress and sandals. Minutes later, I was waiting outside for a shuttle – in the snow. “That’s Mountain Weather!” I was told cheerfully.

Denver is home to the United States Antarctic Program offices, or more specifically, the Headquarters for the Raytheon Polar Services support staff. During the summer months, they employ individuals with “ice time”- usually men and women who have just finished working an Antarctic summer season – to do the necessary office work for the next season: parts ordering, hiring, project planning, etc. It makes sense to recruit Antarctic veterans for these short-term office jobs, largely because of their experience in what challenges the continent presents. Someone who has worked at the South Pole, for instance, would not make the mistake of ordering a plastic part which, while cost-effective, undoubtedly would shatter in the cold.

While I’m in Colorado for a few weeks, I get the chance to see several of my old Antarctic friends doing this “temporary duty” work. For the first time, we meet in “the real world” of a United States office building – quite the contrast to our previous context of acquaintance. If I found “Mountain Weather” a bit, well, distinct, the experience of walking into the Polar Services offices wasn’t exactly run-of-the-mill either.

“Hey!” I said, spotting one of my better friends from Amundsen-Scott Station. “Wow. Parkaless and Carhartt-free. You look so – different!”

“You have toes,” she said simply. “I had no idea.”

Office wear among Antarctic veterans varied. I did not recognize my own former supervisor, Martin. I had never seen him without his large, ear-muffed hat, and there he was with reading glasses and a tie. Others were easier to spot: One friend had donned a button-up shirt, but tucked his hiking boot-clad feet under his desk.

At lunchtime we gathered around the break room, compiling what we knew of those wintering over. Someone had been sent photos of the auroras, while another had snapshots of a recent South Pole party. We passed around these photos of our night-locked friends, trading speculations about how they were faring.

Some U.S. Antarctic Program participants actually reside in Denver. I stopped to talk to Adam, the head of the power plant, for whom I briefly had worked at the South Pole. “I’m having a housewarming on Saturday,” he said. “You should come.” I’m meeting, at last, a few of the families and homes that my co-workers were so anxious to go back to, the families they had to leave behind to go to Antarctica.

On Thursday, I get ready to walk the short quarter-mile to the grocery store. This time, I think I am prepared: raincoat, fleece and (of course) sunscreen. But the wind gradually picks up in intensity until it is peeling the leaves back on their doubled-over branches. Tornadoes rip through the state, touching down just 50 miles north of me.

“Mountain Weather,” I say, shaking my head. “What a fitting place for the Antarctic offices.

“And we thought we were extreme.”

Meg Adams, who grew up in Holden and graduated from John Bapst Memorial High School in Bangor, shares her experiences with readers each Friday. For more about her adventures and to e-mail questions to her, go to the BDN Web site: bangordailynews.com