I have a thing about mountains. I am not particularly adept at getting up them, but up them I must get. It may take a few tries, and records shall not be set, but I've got a "Nearer My God to Thee" wish, or an "I Hate Civilization" thing, or maybe its one of those inexplicable phenomena, an "Idea", in the philosophical sense. The Germans have a knack for inventing long words that acknowledges the Idea, but I don't know what the German word is. Besides, this takes place in Mexico.

I've always loved that country, and have been in more than half its states. I'd read about Popocatepetl, I think National Geographic did a thing on it (twenty years ago), and it seemed like a place that ought to be investigated. I should say that this thing I did took place in 1984, and although it doesn't seem that long ago, still I am fuzzy on some of it. But I remember that after I did the Ironman in '81, and although it was a great experience, I didn't feel at the time like it was a stopping place for me. I look back on this climb of Popocatepetl, something I did on my own, as equal in substance to the Ironman, not necessarily in difficulty, or stature, strictly as a life experience.

The climb is conical, you can walk up it. You can also roll down it end over end (not desired or recommended), so no one climbs it without at ice axe and crampons during the last couple thousand vertical feet.

But this isn't one of those hairy climbs where you're looking straight down to some ant-sized boulders that are actually the size of Volkswagons, with some thousands of feet of air betwen you and it. The only thing you have to worry about here is altitude sickness, which I've gotten twice on this mountain, and there is no flu, or food poisoning, or wrath from hell that compares with a man-sized case of that.

My thinking was, if it is reasonable, though difficult, to climb it in one day from its "base" at 12,800', it ought to be a nice challenge to climb it in one day from its true base, at Amecameca, which sits on the central plateau at 7,800'. But the first 5000' vertical is a gentler climb, taking seventeen miles on a smallish, twisty, but very rideable road. You can't reasonably expect to do the whole thing on foot, but you could ride the road, and climb the rest. Such was my plan.

I did spend a few days acclimatizing myself, spending the night at the mid-point camp, Las Cruces they call it, and it sits right about 15,000', just below the glacier.

When I started the actual ascent, at about 7AM one October morning (I don't remember the date), it was the oddest feeling to get up and get going, no one watching, no one even knowing what I was up to. Quite a different sensation vs lining up with a bunch of likeminded athletes. It's much scarier, in a way, when you don't know what to expect. When you don't know if you can make it, or really if it's even makeable. There is no sag wagon or medical tent. In short, it's so thoroughly satisfying, in retrospect, when there is no safety net.

The ride was the part I was most concerned about, because I had done the climb from the base camp earlier in the week (over two days). But I tried the ride and, frankly, couldn't get up the hill. I used a road bike, quite satisfactory, I just wasn't in the best shape of my life and it was too steep, too high, and I turned the bike around at 11,000'. I felt I would have no real problem making it up the mountain on foot, but the climb had me concerned.

While it was certainly not easy, it was not as hard as I thought it would be. The odd sensation was going from a semi-tropical climate, at the start, to one which became colder, more alpine, and ending, just before 9AM, on a frozen stretch of pavement.

I ditched my bike in a pre-arranged spot at the top of the road and started running on the volcanic ash path that takes you from just under 13,000' to right at 16,000'. This is difficult terrain, as it is akin to ascending sand dunes. You can only climb this mountain successfully in and around the month of October, as it is the right combination of packed ice and ash, i.e., no deep snow on the top, and you don't want to try to climb this ash up to the top either.

The glacier starts right above Las Cruces, roughly the halfway point of the "on foot" part of the climb, and gladly where the glacier dips down to meet the climbers on their way up. I changed from running shoes into boots, strapped on crampons, and started up with a piolet (ice axe) which you use like a cane when walking, but it's the thing that saves your life if you lose your balance. With it you self-arrest, which I fortunately never had to do.

Altitude is a weird animal. What you can easily do at even 12,000', which is fairly high anyway, becomes impossible at 17,000'. I can just imagine ten thousand feet higher in the Himalayas! At the very top of this mountain I was counting twenty steps before I had to stop and catch my breath. But altitude is just one of the obstacles a person can face in an endurance effort. It was no worse than trying to make it from aid station to aid station in the Ironman. Just different.

Valerie Silk was not at the top to hang a lei around my neck. Oh well. I was actually pretty tired, and not particularly relieved. I has been thinking about time, not in the competitive sense, more like in the survival sense. It's not a place you want to be in the dark. So I got there, farted around for about twenty seconds, and started back down. I had originally thought I'd telemark down, and when I came up earlier in the week I had my telemark skis strapped to my back. Hah! The Mexican climbers gave me odd looks on the way up that I understood as I tried to ski down. That idea died in a hurry over an icy slope that was pure black diamond and way out of my league.

So I got down the ice, ran down the ash, and could not believe how painful a descent could be on a bike where no pedalling was involved. My ass was fine, my muscles were fine. I was just so beat that even sitting on a bike pointed down hurt. I finished at 5PM. Seven hours up, three down.

No massage. No awards. I'm sure I enjoyed a chicken mole or Carne Asada or something, and in two days I was stateside. I do believe this non-event played a large part in what became of me afterward. It was the first time I really colored outside the lines. Ironman was great, and it was wild, but even in '81 it was still establishment. This was all mine.