I find a flatironette.
It's not the first or second flatiron, directly in between, and only a fraction of the size.
Maybe it will be good training for the big dogs.
I lean my hands against the rock, find a foothold, and start climbing.
Nevermind that I'm in thick treaded trail runners.
Nevermind that I've been climbing 3 months.
I'm the next fucking Honnald!
At about the halfway point it dawns on me that I may need to downclimb the way I came.
After 2 steps down there are no holds.
"No, it's cool" my mind reminds me.
I see boulders near the top, maybe they're close enough to bridge the gap.
Reach the top.
Cliff on all sides.
Descent starts slow but stable.
Then I reach the stopping point, again.
Damn near vertical (DNV) in my book.
What if I try this?
It comes time for one bold move that will succeed or fail.
Feet are on dirt.
All is wonderful, all is grand.
I remember the older woman I passed earlier on the trail.
Her parting words?
"You be safe out there."