This clean picture is just that - too clean. But after a week on the mountain we were all feeling the need for it. But where are the pictures of the climb down? Where's the evidence of the mud, the puddles, the mud caked boots, legs and clothes? They are not pictured here. Or anywhere. It's pretty damn hard to take pictures when you're concentrating on each and every step. If getting up the mountain was a pain, what was getting down?

Painfully difficult that for sure. Cut to night 4. The scene, the mess tent. The conversation was about pain. "Do we all possess that gene that makes us forget pain?" A study done by Tashi and a group of medical researchers who put mice on hotplates say's? "Yes, we all have the gene that makes us forget." It will be debated.

Months later I don't remember the pain. Somehow I remember the fun, the adventure, the excitement, the camaraderie. I remember, my shoes didn't fit great and that peanuts from 3rd world countries contain a carcinogenic mold. I remember Doug's, retort to Tashi seconds after he told us that "Pass the peanut butter." I remember 19 intrepid strangers, who became a band of brothers, who cheered for each other, who shared with each other, who, are forever bound by climbing 19,460 feet together. For about a week, the bottom of Moshii waited. I remember turning around and looking up after we reached the open arms of Moshii. Looking up, there was nothing to see but tree tops. The mountain had disappeared, and so were all climbers walking into it while we were walking out it. Thousandss of people will conquer Kilimajaro this year, and thousands more will conquer it next year, but Kilimanjaro will not be conquered by the same group again. Pity, the mountain enjoyed having us and we all enjoyed having each other and as they say in Tanzania, "Peace."