Alex is in no doubt that I’m in the throes of altitude sickness and insists we get back down as soon as possible

Summit of the universe

The view from the top of Mauna Kea has no equal. Hundreds of miles of ocean are spread out across the horizon. In the foreground, the vast peak of Mauna Loa sits just below a low sun, beside which the volcanic billows of the Kilauea lava flow diffuse into the sky. It generates in me a sort of infantile wonder that makes it all too clear why the Polynesians who first set foot here considered it the summit of the universe.

I could stand here all day, suspended in a sort of awecoma, but Alex rushes me back into the Jeep. He’s in no doubt that I’m in the throes of altitude sickness and insists we get back down to lower ground as soon as possible. There will be no riding down the mountain I rode up.

I don’t argue. Instead I perch myself onto the passenger seat, and listen as Alex tells stories of his days as a pro, sprinting against Mark Cavendish at the Tour of California. I can’t offer him much in the way of response. The sun is just setting, but as it hovers above the horizon a piercing orange light burns at my eyes, as if the mountain wishes to inflict a final painful farewell.

The low light begins to saturate both land and sky, blurring them into a single deep orange tableau. It all seems such a long, long way beneath us. Peter Stuart is commissioning editor of Cyclist and still wakes up in a cold sweat at the thought of Mauna Kea

The construction of telescopes has caused conflict with native Hawaiians, as the highest peaks of Mauna Kea are considered holy ground. With a stunning view that stretches over the Pacific and the other Hawaiian islands, it’s no wonder