DAY 363: Altitude sickness, or mountain sickness, occurs when you are at a high altitude where the oxygen in the air is thinner. The human body can adjust to the change in oxygen percentage by creating more red blood vessels to bring oxygen to the brain -- it simply takes time. Most people who get altitude sickness get it when they ascend too fast.

The only proven method to cure altitude sickness is to simply descend to a lower altitude; however, there does exist medical and natural remedies to promote more oxygen to the brain. In the Trekker's Lodge in Tengboche I heard people talking about the drug Diamox, but I try to stay away from those kinds of drugs unless I really need it. Tilak said the way I'd been behaving I'd be fine without Diamox and so, I just stuck to the natural remedies that the Nepalis use, one main one being garlic.

"Whoa, that's a lot of garlic in the morning," I said when my garlic toast arrived at breakfast. I was expecting a light sprinkle of garlic powder or something, but I should have known better with the other Sherpa dishes I'd had; they just love using garlic in the mountains, and plenty of it. Crushed garlic was spread on my toast, giving my mouth a pungent odor that could make a yak keel over.

THE SUN ROSE IN THE EAST, slowly reflecting the snow on the peaks to the west of Tengboche. While Nariko would go back down (Tengboche was the farthest she'd go on her first trek) and Manchester Paul and Maria would go east, I continued the trek northbound and upwards with my trusty guide Tilak. The start of the ascent actually started downhill, through a forested tree area.

"Are you okay?" Tilak asked.

"Slight headache, same as yesterday, but it'll go away if I drink water." The water and garlic must have kicked in shortly after because for most of the day I kept an energetic pace on the undulating path, over more wooden bridges (some replaced by sturdier steel ones). The trail hugged the Dudh Kosi River through a valley with an awesome view of the Ama Dablam peak (HiRes 1632x1224), which I swear is the inspiration for the Paramount Pictures logo. Ama Dablam is actually (arguably) the most stunning of the peaks in the Everest region -- Everest is just tall, not particularly pretty -- and word around the trails was that about a dozen teams were at Ama Dablam Base Camp at that very moment, waiting their turn to scale it.

Tilak and I trekked on following the trail that hugged the river (picture above), under the crows flying above and the yaks beside us. By late morning we arrived at Shomare, a little village at 4070m. ASL, at the end of the tree line. From that point on the environment changed to semi-desert, with sand, short grass and tiny shrubs. Without trees to slow the winds down, I prepared myself with a nice bowl of spicy garlic rara (ramen) soup. My breath went from "pungent" to "explosive," and I'm sure it could have made a whole village keel over.

Tilak and I continued on towards the village of Pheriche, along with the dozens of other trekkers going at different paces. I concentrated on my breathing, the way I did up Mount Kilimanjaro and kept a steady pace. Mind you, the trail wasn't entirely uphill all the way.

"You should be able to make it to Gorak Shep with no problem," Tilak told me.

BY 1:30 IN THE AFTERNOON, we reached our goal of the day ahead of schedule, the village of Pheriche at 4200m. ASL.

"[What, are you guiding a Nepali?]" the hotel clerk asked Tilak.

"We look like brothers, don't we?" I interjected.

My Nepali brother brought me down the corridor to my single room, Room #18, which was more like Closet #18 with a bed in it. The claustrophobic space was surrounded by thin sound-traveling walls that let you hear the person breathing behind. No much privacy in that respect, but at least the lodge had an indoor toilet -- an important selling point around those parts.

PHERICHE (PRONOUNCED "PERICHAY") WAS THE LOCATION of the Himalayan Rescue Association Clinic, a totally volunteer medical facility run by British and Canadian doctors to provide aid to trekkers in medical peril. Everyday at three they held a free lecture on altitude sickness and seeing as there was nothing else to do in a town like Pheriche, I dropped in. Dr. Mike, an English doctor who had spent a lot of time in North America (thus obscuring his accent), was already in the middle of the talk -- although there were only two other people there when I arrived, an English couple, Kenny and Julia. Dr. Mike explained in an informal way, the different kinds of altitude sickness, its symptoms -- the first sign usually a severe headache, caused by the brain swelling up against the skull -- and its solutions. The bottom line of the lecture: if you feel you are getting altitude sickness, descend and let your body acclimatize at a lower altitude naturally.

I asked Dr. Mike about Diamox and he said it's perfectly safe; it triggers something in the body that makes it breath more than normal, taking in more oxygen for the brain. I was intrigued. "The only side effects," he said, "is a tingly feeling in the toes and fingertips. Oh, and soda and beer will taste flat."

"Oh forget it then!" I joked. Well, Tilak said I wouldn't need it anyway.

The Himalayan Rescue Association was conducting a study along with other scientists in the world on the effects of altitude sickness in different people -- it is a very variable thing and isn't exactly an exact science. Dr. Mike asked the three of us if we'd be willing to enroll in the study, with a questionnaire and a donation of a DNA sample. Kenny, Julia and I all accepted.

Dr. Mike passed around some forms to fill out. The second page was a disclaimer about donating our DNA to the international research community.

"So basically this says that you can clone us," I said.

"Yeah, but it's anonymous," the doctor answered. "Don't worry, it's only for research."

"Actually, I'm quite excited about the prospect of you cloning me."

"So you could run into yourself? You might not like yourself," he joked.

The DNA collection procedure was simple. I simply had to rub a flat cotton swab thing on both my inner checks and under my tongue. "I have to warn you," I said. "I've had lots of garlic for breakfast and lunch."

"I'm not going to sniff it."

I rubbed the swab in my mouth for about a minute and then gave it back to Dr. Mike. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"That's my DNA?"

"Yeah."

What would happen from there I didn't know.

THE MAIN ROOM IN THE PUMORI LODGE was full of people reading, writing, chatting, eating or sipping on hot tea or hot lemon. I saw that Greg from Canada and George from Brazil had made it there too. I loaded up on natural acclimatization preventatives: garlic soup (with chunks of real garlic!), ginger curry ("Could there be any more ginger in this curry?") and mint tea, which was no match for the overpowering odor now in my mouth. My breath went from "explosive" to "atomic" and would have probably melted the polar ice caps.

A familiar face sat next to me: Wendy, one of the women from Team Portland who reminded me of Sex and the City actress Cynthia Nixon. Due to her tight vacation schedule, she had branched off from the rest, who had all trekked to Ama Dablam Base Camp, to line up as one of the teams to climb to the summit. Turns out they weren't totally dependent on Sherpas after all; beyond Ama Dablam Base Camp they were on their own.

We had a long day ahead of us the next day -- the trail would ascend 700m., the highest change in any day -- and we prepared ourselves with over-hydration. "The problem with all this hydration is you have to go to the bathroom all the time," Wendy said.

She hit it right on the head because that night I must have run to the bathroom four times in the middle of the night to pee. If my clone had been around, I would have gladly had him go for me, no matter how bad his breath was.

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