From my resting point high up on a mountain pass in the Vosges Mountains of France, under a cloudless sky, I’m finding it impossible to imagine French and German soldiers battling here in World War I. How were they able to resist the temptation to set down their arms, agree to shake hands, and drink up these splendid views?
I have other thoughts, too, as I plop down on the rocky ground, breathing heavily after the long climb to get here on such an unseasonably warm day. How did the Tour de France riders of 1949 ever make their way up this grueling climb on two rickety wheels when I’ve struggled in my state-of-the-art hiking boots? And, how is it possible that just four weeks ago, 2,700 UTMB runners came over this pass in trail running shoes and didn't leave a mark?
