Stopping my Jeep in the middle of yet another narrow and chaotic path, I pulled up the last comment posted in Climbers Anon. I’d screenshot it a few hours ago before my internet blinked out, scanning for clues on the boulders location.

Turn off the main drag after you’ve passed the tree that looks like Harry Potter’s scar. Go over the stream, up the hill, travel to the left when you find three rock formations covered in moss, then keep driving until you find the drop-off. You’ll have to walk from there.

Well, as far as I could tell, I’d followed the instructions. I’d found a weird lightning bolt-shaped tree. I’d turned down the overgrown trail, I’d tracked over a small river, I’d crawled past three rocks that had transformed into green molehills instead of glittering granite, and now, here I was, sitting in the forest hopelessly lost.

Josh is going to kill me.

The shared app that gave him my location always sent a snooty text when it dropped out of range, tattling on me for disappearing.

Ah, well...I guess this is the end of the road.

Inhaling, I turned off the engine and narrowed my eyes, studying the green haze of the forest. Birds flittered in spiels of sunlight, butterflies fluttered past my window while enjoying their exceedingly short existence, and a peaceful, heavy silence fell, surrounding me, enveloping me, blocking out any hint that I’d just escaped from a city.

You couldn’t find this sort of silence anywhere else. It didn’t exist if buildings were present. It didn’t deafen you in suburbia. This thick, impenetrable silence was created by the trees themselves. The rustle of their leaves was the white noise, the imposing height of their trunks the distortion of all other sounds.

This silence was both religious and rare, and goosebumps sprang down my arms as I opened my door and stepped out.

Bird song interrupted the silence. I found their twills and chirps better than any music on the radio.

I stepped forward, entranced.

Mud squelched over my hiking boots as I stood in the middle of nowhere and breathed.

Tart greenery.

Sodden bracken.

Fragrant flowers.

Heaven.

All that was missing was the sharp scent of stone and the powdery smell of climbing chalk.

Time to go deeper.

As I turned to open the back door to grab my gear, a flutter of yellow caught my eye.

Aha!

Dashing forward, I grabbed the satin. I’d expected bright yellow—something new and fresh. Instead, this marker was weathered. Sun-bleached and rain-splotched, it was more cream than yellow. Whoever had posted in the forum had made it sound like it had been a recent discovery, yet this ribbon spoke of history and waiting.

Huh.

I frowned, running the ribbon through my fingers, wincing as it tore from being so brittle. A chill scattered down my spine despite the hot sun. A sense of adventure and uncertainty tingled in my belly.

Looking up, I spotted another frayed ribbon hanging despondently deeper in the undergrowth. Just as old, just as impatient to be found.

Stupidly, the faded ribbons affected me. It made me sad to think of them being left to rot in the middle of nowhere, their only job to guide someone to a climb that had somehow come to mean more to me than just a YouTube video and speared me right in my heart.

I didn’t know if it was from the podcast I’d listened to on Mammoth Cave National Park on the long drive over here. If the stories of vast interconnected cave systems, historic landmarks, ghost warnings, and fantastical folklore had infiltrated my blood instead of my business brain, but I needed to climb this boulder.

Not for likes or subscribers, not for ad revenue or fame.

But because I felt a kindred spirit to something hidden away, happy in its seclusion, harboring a loneliness despite its wild perfection.

Turning my back on the ribbon, an urgency crackled in my legs.

I need to go.

I have to see what’s out there.

Rushing to slip deeper into this new world, I dragged my backpack from the Jeep and placed it on the little hill out of the muck. Leaning into the back seat, I pulled out my bedroll, sleeping bag, and tent, followed by long lengths of rope, a mess of carabiners, cams, and quickdraws. I never knew what sort of terrain I’d find. Sometimes, the boulder was straight forward after a good clean and assessment of its crags. Other times, a boulder turned out to be a cliff face, requiring spring-loaded cams and ropes to keep me safe.

The ropes and carabiners were heavy, but they were my lifeline, and I wouldn’t leave necessary gear behind. My climbing shoes and chalk bag were tucked inside a spare set of clothes, which completed my basic staples.

Opening the large container in the tailgate, I grabbed enough granola bars, packet pastas, Fruit Roll-Ups, chocolate bars, and electrolytes to last two days. The rest of my rations I left. If I couldn’t hike to the boulder and back in a couple of days, then I always had more supplies here.

I never went into the wilderness without at least a week’s worth of food, plus reserves. I had eighty liters of water in containers, and I had a medical bag full of needles, antibiotics, and bandages that I’d taken a course on how to use. The knowledge of how to set a bone, stitch a wound, and self-treat to stay alive until I could find a doctor was a skill I was glad to have.

Taking my stash, I diligently strapped, stuffed, and tied everything to my backpack before hoisting the heavy weight onto my back.

Carabiners clanked together, rope cord flopped over my shoulder, and my water bottle hung from the front strap. It was cumbersome and top-heavy, but better to take precautions now than be sorry later.

My last task before I left my trusty steed was to pull up the hood and unhook the car battery. I’d learned that the hard way. Nothing worse than returning after a week of exploring only to find your battery had died.

Choosing the tree with the first ribbon tied to it, I dug a shallow hole beneath and placed my keys into it, covering it with a small rock that I scratched with my penknife for visibility.

I didn’t like climbing with my keys. Taking them with me might mean I lost them. Leaving them at the base of a climb might mean they’d get stolen. This way, I knew where they were. Safe and waiting for my return.

There.

Is that everything?

My receptionless phone was in one legging pocket. My PLB—personal locator beacon—was in another. The cumbersome size stretched my Lycra, but it’d been grilled into me to always, always have the PLB on your person and not in your backpack. You never knew when you might need it or what sort of injury could occur.

Tapping the bottom of my backpack, where my recording devices were packed and protected by clothing, I took a deep breath. I would carry substantial weight on my adventure, but at least I would be prepared.

I’m ready.

Running over my mental checklist again, I buckled the backpack around my waist and strode happily into the thicket.

* * * * *

You have to admit defeat. For tonight at least.

I sighed as I unbuckled my backpack and allowed it to slip from my aching shoulders. It crashed against the earth, sounding almost disappointed in me.

How did this happen?

I’d followed the ribbon. I’d kept going until all scraps of faded yellow were gone, pushing onward in the hopes of finding the path again. I’d doubled back. I’d stopped and looked at my compass. I’d swept the landscape for any sign of a valley holding a boulder that some stranger had posted in an anonymous forum.

I’d taken their word. I’d gone on a wild goose chase that ended with me alone, in the middle of nowhere, utterly vulnerable to anyone who thought they’d have a joke.