Smiles poured over us. We had made the top. After a 3½-day road trip, countless miles on I-80 through America’s vast and endless cornfields, motels, and McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches, even a stop at the world’s largest truckstop in Iowa, we sat atop the trail of the Flatirons.
We had arrived the afternoon before in Boulder, Colo., where Peter will spend his next few years studying at the university. Now, by climbing the city’s iconic Flatirons, we were greeting his new home with enthusiasm.
The Flatirons are sandstone rock-slab pinnacles. They jut upward from the tree-covered slope at the forefront of the foothills to the Rockies. They are guardians, it seems, of both the city and of the great mountain chain to the west.
Blue sky and sunlight with a few pleasant clouds filled the sky. Folks milled about amid the rocks. Some had climbed further, to a high and narrow, uneven terrace. We were content where we were, and rested on large, squared-off rocks.
We began about a mile and a half and 1,500 feet below at the Chautauqua trailhead. Lots of folks were out to test themselves against the challenging trail on the August day. Temperatures were a dry 90ish in the city. The trail started out on red-colored paving.
In no time, I breathed hard from the incline. We had started at about 6,000 feet — a good deal higher than the Vineyard. I was feeling the elevation. Peter, on the other hand, younger and stronger, was unaffected.
We climbed through open grassland. Stray trees and small groups of trees dotted the upper reach of the valley. The sharp-pointed pyramid-shaped Flatirons with sheer rock faces loomed above.
Soon we entered the treeline of tall ponderosa pine. We stopped in the shade for a drink of water. I commented to Peter that we were making good time. His good-natured response was, “Yeah, we’re chugging along.” I took the reply favorably.
The trail now was the packed dirt and rocks of the earth. We climbed upward. We came to a talus field. The rock- and boulder-strewn fall was clear of trees. We traversed across.
After not too much more than a half-hour of hard climbing, we came to the beginning of the loop trail. We went right for the first and second Flatirons. The trail steepened. Rock steps were in places. We went back and forth up through the woods.
Bare-chested trailrunners — young men in their 20s — passed us on their way up and down. Couples were out. One man had his young baby in a front pack with a towel draped over. Folks were out with their dogs.
At the turn of a switchback, we met a Canadian couple. They wore helmets, and many carabiners were attached to their belts. The man had a long line in a coil over his neck and shoulders. They planned to rock-climb the final ascent.
Near the top we came to a somewhat intimidating scramble. The flat steep section of rock was maybe 15 or 20 feet high. A fall would not be good here. We waited for some folks to come down. I girded myself and felt the nervousness in my breathing.
Fortunately, it was not as bad as it seemed. Foot placements were worn into the rock. I found handholds, and followed Peter up. We kept going. The trail continued with increasing elevation.
A final steep-but-easy scramble was at the top. There were plenty of good handholds and footholds. I climbed over the final rock. The top of the trail lay just ahead.
We found a place, and sat a few moments. We had a drink of water, and basked in the sun and sky. The giddiness of reaching the top of Boulder’s iconic Flatirons filled us. Other folks were about. Some were nestled onto rocks higher above.
We were in a saddle of sorts between Flatirons One and Two. We were far removed from life’s day-to-day challenges. The rocky summits reached and pointed into the sky. We took in the peace that existed between them.
After enjoying our fill, we headed down. The Canadian couple had arrived, and were surmising how to ascend the final wall of rock. Peter went first. I gingerly left my perch.
The challenge of the climb was not over, by any means. A descent can be more difficult and dangerous than the ascent. I focused on keeping my focus and not turning an ankle. There were many rocks to navigate. And gravity encourages increased speed.
We made good time down the switchbacks. The intimidating scramble was an easy and careful descent on one’s rear. We came back across the talus field. Not long later we came out of the woods.
The city of Boulder, with the cluster of red-roofed buildings of the university, spread out below. My feet were sore, and I was sweaty, tired, and dusty. The blue sky shone warmly over the valley.
