climbing and falling

On Monday, Shelly and I hiked the incline (a.k.a. the old cog railway) with her dog, Flower. We did pretty well, and only declined going the last third because of a late start and a setting sun. Colorado never ceases to amaze me. You can be sweating in a t-shirt one moment, and as soon as the sun dips behind the summit you are ascending, no amount of clothing (or red beanies) can keep you warm. We came back down the Barr Trail after taking an ice-covered switchback. Handholds dug into crunchy, solid snow have the odd effect of making your fingers sting, rather than feel cold. Fine motor skills are impeded, hampering the ability to use normal objects like plastic belt clips or shoe laces. Lessons are learned- if hiking in snow again, bring gloves and bungee a fleece jacket onto my hydration pack.

Coming down was perhaps more dangerous than climbing up. There are wooden railroad ties that serve as steps as you ascend, albeit sometimes quite haphazardly. The Barr Trail, however, is a loose mixture of gravel, packed dirt, and at this time of year, ice/snow combinations. Add a rather excited smallish dog into the mix, and things quickly become amusing.

The whole affair reminded me of a rather embarrasing incident in college, which of course I had to share with Shelly immediately. A crisp Sunday morning my freshman year, probably in J-Term but for sure in winter, Leah Coon and I were leaving the basement of Wright, headed out to the F(ing) lot to climb in her rusty Chevy S-10. She was wearing heels (something that amused me- she never had a problem with the clutch in the old truck with those things on) and I was in customary flats, being much too clumsy to ever attempt any sort of artificial height enhancement. I offered her my arm, assuring her that the traction on my shoes would ensure that we wouldn't fall. She gratefully accepted, and we began mincing our way across the ice-covered sidewalk, along with many other students all headed out to church. About this time, my feet left the ground. Within .05 of a second, all five feet nine inches of both of us, with hosiery and skirts and woolen pea coats and all came crashing down onto the very cold, firm and final ice-covered pavement. After making sure nothing indecent on a Sunday morning was showing, we scooped ourselves up, and laughing, continued out to the far side of the PERC. I have not since offered stability on the ice to a single soul. Be warned. I'm dangerous.