Just like I had done with Reed several years ago. Again, shit out of luck and hanging on for dear life.

I couldn’t see Jen. She had taken a different route. Although my fingers were dry, my shoes temporarily seemed to smear into the rock, my head felt dizzy and light.

The trail we had originally followed, somehow wound its’ way to the top of these signature Boulder rock walls. In theory. It was gone now. As it had disappeared before me on another such warm day.

Currently, there were climbers next to Jen and I. Real climbers clipped into lead ropes ascending routes. Jen and I were in hiking boots on the same rock What had I gotten us into?

Climbing up those 5.3 or whatever they were, wasn’t like climbing a real 5.9, or 5.10 route on a climbers scale of 6.  Those routes were impossible without the right shoes, chalk, ropes, training, etc. This wasn’t as hairy except for one thing; Hard rock feels the same on your head if you fall.

These rock walls weren’t really tilted enough for what we were doing. If it seemed difficult "bouldering" up these huge monoliths, going back down was absolutely impossible.

It’s hard to explain, why going up, getting those tiny footholds, and tiny cracks one can barely slide fingers into, while balancing weight in such away that gravity helps the inevitable rock hug in the dance for life, where looking down is impossible, and going forward, no matter how high one gets, is the only way; But it is.

But all the time I kept thinking, I had already made this same mistake once with Reed. How could have I done it again?

I had to rest. I was really scared. I probably wouldn’t die. I’d just drop my camera, scrape up my face, break a few limbs and hopefully, narrowly, escape serious spinal injury. Most places are wheelchair accessible now aren’t they?

Oh yea, what did you do this weekend? I’m getting too old for this shit!

I took a few deep breaths. Jen by this time was already on the rock above me looking down. Somehow, she had gotten there on another route that I couldn’t even see. She had no idea how scared I was. I couldn’t make the pitch up to her. It got real, real, steep.

I couldn’t go down, and the spot that I saw from below, which looked like I could laterally move over to some safer stuff, that got me in this position in the first place, suddenly looked much more difficult as I climbed up to it.

My feet were at different heights, each balancing on about a half of inch of tiny rock crack. My fingers held tightly in little slits and creases only big enough for one or two fingers. Yet it was one of the more safe positions I had been in the last few seconds. I balanced with all I could.

I took a big breath and tried to relax. "Are you OK?" Jen yelled down.

What could I say?

Go get help for your crazy boyfriend that wasn’t smart enough to follow you? No.

Please have the real climbers cut over and evacuate me off this landmark of the Colorado West in the next few hours? No.

"I’m fine." I yelled back.

There were a couple indents in the rock an arms length away. Not holds by any stretch of the imagination. The were like dinner plate size, Frisbee deep, gradual sinkholes that I couldn’t grip onto anything, but hoped the weight of me hugging this dear rock for life, would smear my feet into enough, to keep the majority of my weight balanced, while I lunged across this red rock for a better lateral hold.

I said a small prayer and lunged.

From there I made a couple more sketchy moves and a moment or two later was standing upright on a ledge as wide as a front doorstep. It felt as wide as a football field compared to what I had just crossed. I barely had a scratch.

I had made it. I had lived.

I waved to Jen. And then realized she could never make it over to me. This was still a major problem.

The part of the flat iron she was in was much more to the south. Much higher, and much smoother. She couldn’t cross it. And she couldn’t go down either.

I waved again and said, let me walk around and see what is above you. I yelled that it might get easier over to me, up a little higher.

She too couldn’t go back down. I lost sight of her, I kept echoing yells across the massive stone. I said another prayer; this time for her.

I lost visual of her for at least 15 minuets while she carefully picked her way up and gradually moved over the rock faces. Finally I heard her voice and knew she was close. When I saw her head pop up only twenty feet from me, I knew she was going to be ok.

I think she picked an easier route. She was scrambling and bouldering. I don’t think she’ll ever know how much serious danger I had just been in. Then again, I’ll never know for sure, because I’ll never make that mistake a third time.

From now on I stick to the trails in the Flat Irons. Life’s short, but hanging on up there, the slogan is rock hard.