Back up Sunday for my yearly pilgrimage to the summit of Mt. Wachusett. The last stretch of most mountains is always an out body experience–the height and exhaustion and the giddiness of the top are a prelude to heaven. Nothing quite like the modest crown of Wachusett to clear the head–especially with the endorphins spreading through the body from the vicious last quarter mile of hand over hand climbing. You have fought the good fight, and run the good race, and you know it. There, up top, you realize you live in a sea of cloud-soaked air–and below and in the midst of this oxygen ocean we swim in, the machines slowly (or perhaps not so slowly) strangling us with carbon fumes.