Mountain roads

I drove to Crested Butte last month. There was a pattern to the route: flat gusty plains followed by a winding mountain pass over and over again. Every uphill seemed to have more curves than the last and then at the top: a vista of snow-topped peaks. It felt beautiful and vast and remote.
And there was another feeling but it was hard to pin down.
What was that other feeling exactly?
The feeling of wanting to be the mountain.

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