PERU

The next morning, to help us prepare for the seven-mile climb, Manu pulled out a bag of coca leaves and passed them out to the group -- an Inca ritual asking for divine assistance in our day's journey. And for a more earthy kick, he showed some of us how to chew the raw coca leaves for some additional Inca energy. Besides a mild numbing of my cheek, I didn't notice much of an effect, although chewing the stuff did take my mind off my screaming quadriceps. The leaves are legal in Peru, but don't try to bring some back home to the United States.

As we headed straight up toward Dead Woman's Pass, the trail became congested as we joined other groups of trekkers. A rare flat grassy spot made a good lunch stop, but dozens, if not hundreds, of trekkers chowing on PowerBars and gulping Gatorade detracted from the vistas.

Farther up the trail, hot steamy jungle air turned to cold mountain wind. At the top of the pass, after hours of marching straight up, we took in the views of snow-capped mountains and two valleys, and felt a true sense of accomplishment. We cheered each other on as we climbed the last few steps of the pass.

And then it was straight down, a knee-crunching series of rocky steps and gravel slopes that tested already rubbery legs. At the bottom, we stopped for a snack and a well-deserved nap. But rangers said that night's designated campsite farther along the trail was full with other groups. We had to stay along the valley floor, adding an hour of uphill climb to the next day's journey.

The new trail regulations are designed to limit overcrowding on the trail and protect the delicate mountain environment. Only 500 people per day, including guides and porters, are allowed on the trail. And the entire trail is now closed during February, to help nature recover.

Our sore legs were tested again the next day as we hiked 10 more miles, but our heads were buzzing with the beauty of the misty valleys, dotted with exotic, colorful flowers. The Inca ruins at Sayacmarca and Phuyupatamarca, long-abandoned outposts seemingly carved into the mountains, were astounding not only for their location but for the excellent engineering. The water systems still worked, as small streams trickled along stone-carved channels into ceremonial pools.

On the final day of our trek, we awoke at 4 a.m. and hiked for more than an hour by flashlight. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the ground in front of my feet, not on the sheer drop-off immediately to my right.

As light began to define the clouds, we made a turn and there it was: Machu Picchu, looking like a stage set in the middle of the sky, surrounded by an auditorium of mountain cliffs. It was difficult to take in all the beauty -- the emerging sunrise, the amazing setting, the view of the finish line.

But there were plenty of others around to share our moment. As we stood at the Sun Gate, waiting for the city to open to visitors, dozens of fellow trekkers jockeyed for photo spots that didn't include the crowds, in the process trampling over grasses and climbing on rocks set by Incan stonemasons centuries ago.

For the next few hours we wandered around the mountaintop city, bounding up itsancient stone steps, staggered as much by the location as the city itself. Minute by minute the weather changed, as the clouds and the sun altered every vista. It was almost too much for one set of eyes to take in.

Later, at a goodbye lunch with our group, there were beers, photos and promises to keep in touch. My wife and I realized that being part of the group was one of the biggest highlights of the trip, even though we'd been forced into it. Even Ron, that Arizona know-it-all, had grown on us, a testament to the unexpected bonding that a tough ordeal can bring on.

By the end, we even found ourselves joining in the chorus, offering "tequila for our men and beer for our horses."