No commitment—not even the one to your SO—is as binding as that of the belay. When you hold the rope, your partner’s life is in your hands. Screw up this marriage and you give new meaning to the vow “till death do us part.”

John Bachar laces up his boots and cinches the sling on his chalk bag. “Ready?” Only then do I realize he means to climb all two thousand feet solo, without a rope. To save face, I agree, thinking: Well, if he suggests something too crazy, I’ll just draw the line. I was the first to start soloing out at Josh anyhow.

It took the spotlight of the Petzl Roctrip to show what the locals already knew: The Red River Gorge is America's Best Climbing Area.

Chris Schulte, born in Bandera, Texas, after his three siblings were grown, was an uncle before birth. When his father retired, Chris at 15 informed his parents that they were all moving to Durango, Colorado, so he could race mountain bikes.

The scorched desert expanse surrounding Las Vegas smears together into one terrible brown color as Chris Sharma, Dalia Ojeda, Miguel and I whiz along at 90 miles per hour in an old Jeep Grand Cherokee. The American West, this celebrated frontier, as tame as it has become with commercialism and super highways, is still the last good place I know of for real adventure.

THIS SPRING, MAMMUT LAUNCHED A NEW LINE of backpacks for alpine and rock climbing. The Neon 45 joins the rock fleet, and it’s one of the best “crag packs” I’ve used.