Ultimate Colorado: big mountains. Wild rivers. Unforgettable beauty. Three fast friends test, themselves on a 10-day trip through the Rockies

Sunset, June, 2005 by Lisa Taggart

Thirty feet above the ground, my friend Samantha clings to a granite cliff, her face a mix of determination and desperation. A rope at her hips connects her to the rock and, ultimately, to climbing instructor Ashley Woods, standing on solid ground below.

"So," Sam asks plaintively, "am I up enough?"

This is hardly the brazen attitude we took in planning our 10-day Girls-Take-Colorado outdoor adventure. But here at the start of our journey in a canyon west of Boulder, Sam has a demon to slay. Last time she went rock climbing, in a beginner class, she was labeled "Noodle Arms."

"You can stop now if you want," Ashley advises. Diplomacy is as much a part of her work as teaching fingerholds. "But I bet you can make it to the top."

Our friend Kate has already bounded up the cliff face in about three moves. She watches with an experienced climber's confidence: "You can do it," she calls.

Sam reaches out and, in a burst of strength, pulls herself to the cliff's upper edge. Noodle arms begone; Ashley was right all along.

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2 Days

35 Miles

Boulder to Rocky Mountain National Park

Sam, Kate, and I have come from the West Coast to Colorado to, in effect, prove ourselves. Our 690-mile road trip tackles a sporty smorgasbord of this most rugged Western state, from horseback riding to mountaineering, biking to river rafting. We're cutting a long fish-hook from the Plains to the Rockies, Boulder to Durango to Buena Vista. With no husbands, in territory unfamiliar to all, we are on a quest to find the great adventure of the West.

The first night, fresh from our triumph on the cliff face, we strut through Boulder's pedestrian mall. But my victory glow doesn't last. Sure, I had mastered that cliff--or, if mastered is too strong a word, at least I'd made it to the top, shakily. But Boulder's cafe tables are full of fit, beautiful college students--sports hounds who, I realize, would scoff at our beginner climb.

Perhaps we aren't exactly going to take this place by storm. I don't mention to the other two my concern that the Rocky Mountains are possibly far bigger and badder than we are.

Northwest of Boulder, at what would become 415-square-mile Rocky Mountain National Park, intrepid English-woman Isabella Bird wrote, "This is no region for tourists and women." At the time, 1873, the world traveler was, in fact, both things, and she went on to climb the park's crown, 14,255-foot Longs Peak--in a skirt. She was also awed: "Never, nowhere, have I seen anything to equal the view ..."

We too are amazed at the beauty of this place. We drive past wildflower meadows and a herd of bighorn sheep to meet up with our afternoon rides at Hi Country Stables: Cactus Jack, Pepper, and Lotsa Dots.

Sam, Kate, and I have purchased cow-boy hats for the event. "This is the kind of sport I like," I tell our guide, recent college grad Melissa Day, as I settle into the saddle atop Cactus Jack. "You get to wear cool clothes." I tap my new brim.

Surprisingly, Melissa fails to comment on my cute hat. She smiles weakly and nudges her horse up the trail.

We ride to Upper Beaver Meadows, stepping around quaking aspens and purple lupine. We ride through a dense lodgepole pine forest; with the rows of equidistant, narrow trunks, it's like entering an M.C. Escher painting.

A four-hour ride, however, makes for difficult walking afterward. I step achingly around our campground. Kate boasts that she will prepare "the perfect camping meal": couscous with lentils and spinach. It is delicious. Maybe Kate's a better cook than I knew, or maybe anything tastes fantastic around a campfire after a day of horseback riding.

2 Days

185 Miles

Rocky Mountain National Park to Aspen

Driving is tiring in Colorado, not just because of the twisting mountain roads but because every place is so beautiful that it drains your concentration.

We already have our routine in the station wagon: Kate takes the wheel, Sam runs the music, and I check the map and rock out in back. At high points, we play Outkast's "Hey Ya!" Andre 3000 calls out, "Okay, now ladies ... we're going to break this down," as we descend from 12,095-foot Independence Pass through shimmering forests into Aspen.

In this famously rich town, we'll face the biggest challenge yet. At dawn the next day, we meet up with Gabe Metzger to, in local parlance, bag a fourteener.

Mountain climbers make lifetime sport of tackling peaks above 14,000 feet in the Rockies. No adventurer could really say she'd experienced Colorado without attempting to summit one. But climbing that high is not to be underestimated. We chose Castle Peak, one of the area's less challenging climbs, and hired an Aspen Expeditions guide to take us. In a move that would upset traditionalists, we also drive up to 12,000 feet to start.

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The drive is frightening enough. Gabe's truck has a name--Munson--and appears not to be affected by the gravitational forces that limit other vehicles. We negotiate a rutted dirt path that rises nearly straight up. We pitch to the right, then tilt 40[degrees] to the left, providing a nose-to-glass view of the sheer drop inches away. I yelp. A couple has joined us, so Gabe has five passengers. All five of us yelp. Gabe is calm. He seems confused: Why the commotion?