On my second day in El Bolson I decided to hike to the top of that 2200 meter Cerro Piltriquitrion to see if I could feel any sparks from one of our so-called “energy centers”. I’m not sure if I felt any different, but I did the hike, normally requiring three to four hours, in just over two. I think this is more testament to my willingness just to suffer solely for bragging rights than to any cosmic caffeine or my physical fitness. A fitness that has already been seriously compromised by three relatively sedentary weeks of red wine, white bread and cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.

I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes I would kill for tofu. Well, maybe not kill. Tofu eaters don’t kill. But maybe I would maim. Or at least use some really strong language.

I digress. The hike itself was spectacular, climbing through thick forests covered in wispy green old man’s beard, past meadows with views of the El Bolson valley, and then up through a rocky, rolling tundra of orange and yellow, along a bubbling little mountain stream lined with green grass and tiny little yellow flowers, all while more of the Patagonian peaks stretched out to the horizon. The hike concluded with a difficult scramble up past the tundra along steep and slippery trails of loose scree and sand. After ten minutes of sliding around and feeling my knees stretch and creak in protest, I opted to rely on the strength of my boots and the balance that comes from nearly ten years of scary Joshua Tree descents and scrambling along the rocky trails of climbing crags and picked my way up through the larger rocks along the trail. Twenty minutes later I was sitting on the windy summit, rewarded with a view that stretched all the way to Chile. To my left I could see the gorgeous Lago Puelo and to my right the summit of Perrito Moreno. Behind me, a dramatic drop of nearly a thousand feet into a green valley between more craggy, granitic peaks punctuated by little alpine lakes of emerald water.

I’ve been running up various mountains on various occasions for a while now. Despite all the obvious metaphors for living one can derive from a climber’s life, I admit I have never found any real zen upon mountain tops. I have, however, found panoramas that have left me speechless, and rewards so fulfilling that once I actually wept. I have found that everything generally looks better from the top of a mountain, and that maybe life is best spent looking outward than inward.

I have also found it’s best not to attempt a mountaintop without a big jar of Advil and a willingness to wobble around for a day or two afterwards.

So that’s what I did. I slept late, hobbled my abused legs down to the park, sat in the sunshine after a pizza and a beer, took of my shirt and shoes, turned on my iPod and just watched the day slide by.