I go to the mountain, mountain comes to me

So what is it like to be 14000 feet up?
It’s exhilarating. It’s cold. And it is, in a word, fun.
And it is exhausting.
I didn’t walk up. I’m resting, remember? I rode up to the top, or near the top with Frank Turner, Sandy Butler and Bette Mathisen, in Frank’s Jeep Cherokee. We rode for what seemed like hours, following a narrow but paved roads to the parking area near Summit Lake at the top of Mount Evans. It is the highest paved highway in the USA and it seemed like it. As the smaller hills fell away, the reality of climbing up almost 20 miles of twisting and winding hairpin turns hit. One second, I’d be looking out my window at rock walls, the next, after a hairpin turn, a sheer drop of hundreds of feet, and not a guardrail or fence in sight. Nervous drivers need not apply here. The cars are only allowed to go so far, and then a winding switchback walking trail takes you the few hundred feet further to the summit. It’s still almost a mile of walking, I estimate, and it’s a tough mile. But with proper rest, it’s easily do-able.
There were a surprising number of people who paid 18 dollars to enter the road up to the mountain top. Many were on bicycles, and they were, to a person, noticeably wheezing and huffing and puffing. It was not that they were out of shape, just not used to the altitude. The altitude, to a “flatlander” like myself, can be daunting and a huge obstacle. Signs warning of altitude sickness were present in several places. What happens when you climb ever higher is that the amount of oxygen in the air isn’t what your body is used to, and your brain, when deprived of its usual amount, begins to play tricks on you. You might feel dizzy and lightheaded. You might feel nauseous, get headaches or nosebleeds. You might even pass out. And you definitely will get tired quickly. I found that by breathing deeper, and more slowly, the symptoms went away fairly easily. And by the time I was at the very peak of the mountain I was good to go, as they say. The other factor that didn’t affect me, but did others, was the cold and wind. A little common sense goes a long way here, and though the temperature didn’t get much below 45 degrees at the top, there were a lot of shorts-wearing tourist types, shivering, and schlumping around in inappropriate sandals or other skimpy footwear, risking a bad fall or slip at each step. This mountain, while easily accessible, does not do it for you. You need to be prepared, and a little bit of planning goes a long, long way. It’s not a place to prove how tough or daring you are. You need to know your limits, listen to your body, and act accordingly.
The above said, I did listen to my body, and when I got lightheaded, I drank water, a recommended step, as well as breathed in a bit deeper and rested a bit longer. And eventually I left my companions behind, and made it to the summit, where a brass marker is embedded in the rock. The wind was strong but not terribly so. The cold was tolerable and the view was spectacular, too much so to describe, except to use the words of my friend Steve Ennenga---It’s like you are looking out of an airplane. He was right. Snowy peaks to one side, green forested hills to the other, and a lot of glacial lakes to see, some still iced over in spots, some rippled from the winds. White hairy old mountain goats grazing on the hillsides, mountain sheep doing the same, large birds throwing shadows from the sun, as they passed in front of it, beautiful mountain wild flowers, and in the distance, small cars climbing the winding snake roads and little ant sized people strolling about. And , save for the winds and the slight sounds of awe from fellow peak climbers, a beautiful silence, 14000 feet above the din and hubbub of everyday life.
I’m fortunate to have had this moment in the sun and wind, in the company of friends and strangers. Damned fortunate.