Five... roads lead out from the city of Luzern, Switzerland like bent spokes on a bike wheel. After a grey morning shivering through the Medieval streets, ducking out of the rain to browse centuries-old bookstores and contemporary clothing boutiques, we stand on the edge of the ice blue lake and look up into the mountains.

"It's raining," says my Uncle in a light, educated German accent.
I look at him and nod - on the far side of the lake, ancient mountains rise to the ashen sky like spiked lemon meringue.

"I mean, we could always hope it clears up, right?" After the early morning drive from Zurich, I would be damned to miss my chance to scale one of the most infamous mountain ranges in the world. "I want to try," I say with determination.

"Gleichfalls."

Of the five roads, we take Swiss Autobahn 2, which leads south to the small village of Hergiswil - nothing more than a scattering of chalets and barns resting precariously between Lake Luzern and the hulking giant of Mount Pilatus.

Up a little dirt road and we arrive at the base of the mountain. I step out of the Volkswagon and notice that the weather has turned a complete 180. The storms come and go quickly at these altitudes and while the sudden sunshine is a welcome change of events, being caught on a unsheltered cliff when gale force winds tear back in could mean certain death - even on this warm July day.

We load up our rucksacks and board the room-sized ski gondola that will take us halfway up the mountain. As we begin to rise and the valley floor stretches out beneath us, I can't help but feel as if I'm flying. Below, the patchwork of pastoral colors makes my head swoon. Swatches of green fields lay like a quilt against the edges of the bluest lake I have ever seen. I look further up mountain - my heart almost drops as I see the tether wires dissapear into thick fog. Suddenly we are in a cloud - I mean INSIDE of a cloud - and all is quiet as water droplets condense on the gondola's windows.

We are out of the cloud once more and slowly pulling into the docking station. From here we take another ski lift, this one the kind of outdoor, swinging bench variety that we're used to in the States. As we clamber up the green hill side, I can hear the tinkle of cowbells below. Somehow every summer, these valuable milking cows are brought up to pastures thousands of meters above sea level, where the young grasses and clover is said to give Swiss cheeses, milks and chocolate their legendary richness.

Finally to the drop off point and the view is spectacular. From the lodge on Pilatus you can see the Swiss Alps in 360 degrees, rising above the cloud cover. The locals believe that these mountains are inhabited by dragons - and here at the top of the world, where earth touches heaven, I'm nearly convinced.

We take off on foot now and the trails shimmy along what little earth sticks to the rock face. It's basically spring up here and the mountain side is covered in delicate wildflowers and fresh grasses. Here and there patches of ice and snow corner themselves into the shadows, deftly defying the summer sun until the winter returns them to their full glory.

We head southwest along the mountainside. The air is crisp, clear and thin - every step feels like two. After an hour we come to a little plateau on which rests a 20-foot wooden cross. Below, between two slits of Swiss blue water sits the traveler Mecca of Interlaken. It's from here that adventure travelers find every natural high imaginable, from hang gliding to mountain climbing to skydiving. Everything looks so peaceful from these heights. We snap photos and rest our weary legs and lungs before continuing to the summit.

As we reach the apex, I feel for the first time that I am at the top of the world. In the distance, between cloud cover, I can just make out the menacing face of the Matterhorn - one of the deadliest mountains on earth. As if as a warning to stay away, dark clouds loom to the east like floating pit bulls, barring their teeth. Time to descend.

On the way down to the lodge we are met by a curious creature. Looking like a minature Yetti, I assume this tiny red-headed beast is the lodge owner's pet mutt. Like a mountain spirit, he follows closely to our heels, as if it's his duty to escort us safely home.

After a quick kaffe and one last view we board the descending lifts and reach our car just as the first frozen drops of rain began to fall. My uncle drives us back through the little towns that dot the countryside as the rain falls benignly across the fields. I am content to sit back and rest my weary legs - watching the mountains retreat in the rearview - dragons, playful mountain spirits and all.