Right past this little overlook, the trail really did disappear. The metal cord continued on, straight across a sheer cliff face dotted with metal rungs.
"You ready?" Dave asked. I couldn't see the end of the cliff face I was supposed to traverse, which meant I could be clinging to the side of this mountain for possibly the rest of my life. Or, maybe a mile. They might as well have been the same thing.
Again, Dave went first, and again, he made traversing metal rungs that stuck 6in out from a cliff look like walking to the refrigerator.
"Just put your feet on the rungs and step your way along," he said, sounding a little like Bob Ross telling me to paint happy trees. Everyone in Colorado seems to talk like this.
The first few were surprisingly simple. After about 50 yards, the two rows' rungs -- which are ostensibly put at hand and foot height -- suddenly squeezed in, just 2ft apart.
"You're going to have to scrunch up a little bit," Dave said as he folded himself in half and scurried across the rungs like a spider monkey. I was not so graceful.