energy bars

Whatever your mode of conveyance, arriving at a hut after a happy day of exertion is a glorious thing.

When, at the end of our first day of riding, we arrive at the Peter Estin Hut - at 11,200 feet, an amphitheater of fall-away meadow and impossible blue - Don briefly considers the view and then turns to more important matters.

"Well, boys, what say you to salmon for dinner?"

That night, we haul our mattresses and full bellies out on the deck and sleep under the stars. A slight headache, a by­product of altitude adjustment, causes me to sleep fitfully. But there is a gift with every trial. Tucked in my sleeping bag, I watch shooting stars trace lightning bug parabolas across the sky. Their thousands-fold brethren choke the rest of the sky, glittering like jewels cast to the bottom of a clear black pond.

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Mountains cover one quarter of our planet. If you have neglected them, it's a shame. Every natural form has its charms. Deserts are austere, beaches salt-swept and sensual, forests shrouded and becalmed. But mountains resonate with a stolid majesty impossible to replicate. They highlight our own silly impermanence and, at the same time, make you damn happy to be here.

Don understands and appreciates this. Throughout our trip he will beckon me to the side of the trail to point out various vistas of showstopping beauty - a dark-blue high mountain lake or maybe a horizon studded with jagged 14,000-foot peaks. Don has poked about in these mountains for 24 years, but their glory is not lost on him. He has a matter-of-fact manner of addressing this beauty, often standing happily transfixed and quiet before uttering the only words that apply.

"Wow, huh?"

I learn that we share the same philosophy on many matters. After another rider's long discourse on the merits of energy bars, Don turns to me.