Getting Older Along the Way to Machu Picchu

“I’m gonna soak up the sun, got my 45 on, so I can rock on.”  Sheryl Crow

The snow-capped mountain stood almost mockingly before me. “I dare you,” whispered the wisps of clouds that snagged on its peak like a shirt on a chain-link fence.

At 20,574 feet, Mount Salkantay is the highest peak in the Willkapampa mountain range in the Peruvian Andes. It is about 40 miles from the town of Cusco where I had just spent two days getting acclimated to the altitude and eating as much pollo saltado as possible. A three-hour bumpy van ride took my buddy Dave and I to our starting point at the bottom of Salkantay. We were with two other Americans, our guide, our cook and his young daughter. We ate lunch in short sleeves under the warm midday sun. The white top of the mountain looked as big as Everest in its setting against the deep blue sky.

We were about to begin a four-day hike to Machu Picchu and in my excitement I may have missed some valuable packing information. Our guide told us we could lighten our backpacks by putting some items on the mules that the cook used to ferry our supplies from camp to camp. Since it was so balmy during lunch, I chose to have the mules carry my heavy fleece coat, hat, and gloves. Not my greatest Edmund Hilary moment.

We walked for a few hours toward the looming mountain when suddenly we changed direction. We didn’t go left or right. Not east or west. We started going up … as in up the mountain. Instantly, as if on cue, it started snowing. Then the wind began swirling. The trail coiled in tight switchbacks and with each turn the temperature seemed to drop 10 degrees. I borrowed an extra jacket from Dave, but it did little to shield me from the wind and cold. Breathing became harder and my steps tougher as the air thinned in the altitude. It was like walking underwater in boots made of concrete.

I trudged into our camp for the night exhausted and freezing. At 15,000 feet my head ached and my stomach was seriously queasy. I crawled into my tent, put on every piece of warm clothing I had brought, and sank into my sleeping bag. I couldn’t sleep. The cocoa tea we drank in Cusco to ward off altitude sickness kept me from barfing but infused me with insomnia. I lay awake all night secretly wishing for a helicopter to take me off that miserable mountain and hoping I wasn’t going to end up in John Krakauer’s next book.

The helicopter didn’t arrive in the morning so I knew that the only way off of the mountain was to walk. Believe me, descending can be just as arduous as ascending, just ask my knees. At least the temperature warmed up and by reaching a lower level in the atmosphere, the air became breathable. We hiked about 15 miles that day and reached camp at nightfall. Despite being physically worn out, I felt better with warmth, food, and sleep.

Once we were off the mountain, the third and fourth days of the journey were delightful. The trail leveled off and took us through lush jungles with waterfalls and rushing rivers. We traded in the heavy coats for shorts and T-shirts. We ended up in secluded train depot where we caught a ride to the town of Aguas Calientes. After a soak in the local hot springs, a pizza, a shower, and a real bed, we entered Machu Picchu early the next morning.

There’s no way to adequately compare what walking into Machu Picchu at sunrise was like. Imagine seeing the Grand Canyon and the Manhattan skyline at the same time. It’s indescribable. I urge you to go. And you don’t have to hike in; you can grab a train from Cusco to Aguas Calientes.

Later this month, it’ll be five years since the trip to Machu Picchu that commemorated turning 40. Now, I’m halfway to 90. Geezer-hood is right around the corner. That’s 45 trips around the sun. Each lap is 584,020,178 miles and come with zero frequent flyer miles from Alec Baldwin.

The Incas, who built Machu Picchu back in the 1400s, were major fans of the sun. Aside from worshipping the sun god, Inti, they considered their king to be a child of the sun. Machu Picchu itself is set up with the sun in mind. Two of its three main structures are known as the Hitching Post of the Sun and the Temple of the Sun. While there, I remember the Hitching Post of the Sun to be extremely fascinating. Similar to a sun dial, it is a stone that points directly at the sun during the two equinoxes. The Incas believed the stone held the sun in its place along its annual path in the sky. At Midday on March 21^st and September 21^st, the sun is almost directly above the pillar. The Incas held ceremonies at the stone in which they “held the sun” to halt its northward movement in the sky.

It’s an amazing feat for a people group who weren’t placing any phone calls to Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo. Wanting to stop the sun is also a pretty interesting concept. It’s sort of like those of us who wish to halt or even reverse the passage of time and the aging process. I’ve never been too concerned with getting older. Milestone birthdays don’t bother me. Maybe it’s because I don’t look or act my age. I’m thankful that I haven’t had to visit an ophthalmologist yet and that I can still go from first to third on a single. I know the days of three-hour basketball sessions are completely in the past, but I can still go 60 minutes with a heavy bag a few days a week. I understand that more vitamins and perhaps a daily prescription or two is par for the course. One of these days my hair might even start graying.

The earth keeps orbiting the sun. There’s no way to halt its course. And when my knees feel creaky and my back hurts, I can remember the hike up Mount Salkantay. Because nothing was that tough. Although, it sure made arriving at our destination all the better. And isn’t that the case with any difficult journey or task? Pain and suffering are replaced by joy and satisfaction. Hiking to Machu Picchu was a trip of a lifetime, but I’d never do it again. Besides, there are other mountains to conquer. Which reminds me, I need to tell Dave that we’re doing Kilimanjaro in five years.