I know, talking about peaks he no longer attempts, once told me, “Gravity wins in the end.” His words came back to me recently as I lay on my back on an icy path in the Poconos, wondering how much damage I’d done. The fall happened so fast that my walking stick remained upright for a second before it fell too. It was one of those old-man-in-a-bathtub falls—unexpected, uncoordinated, and uncushioned. By the time my companion returned from around a bend ahead, I was again upright. “Are you OK?” she asked. It was a stupid thought, but it’s the one I had.