The hurricane had brought us a day so magnificent it felt apocalyptic. As the huge, ominous storms poured down on the cholla cactus and the mountains, we saw funnels building and dropping, downbursts of fierce rain, lightning bolts striking. Our cameras never stopped clicking.
I’ve had breakdowns and breakthroughs during this experience, but those moments of knowing we’ve genuinely aided our fellow human beings remind me of why we’re on this mission.
It was a terrible, sinking feeling to be in such a remote place, several days away from the mainland, and look out from our boat deck and see large plastic objects bobbing around: balloons, buoys, even a punctured ball. We were in the middle of nowhere, yet there was always something floating near us and microplastics in our water samples.
When I made the decision to stay on this land, I did so with the conviction that it would only be with the mission and purpose of being a bridge between travelers and the indigenous communities of this territory.
When we ride up, the children do not see five overweight people arriving on bicycles; they see the simplicity of our mission. Their eyes light up—they are fascinated by their dreams and excited to share them.
Many stories have moved me since we began using the Champa, but none like that of a boy with reduced mobility who summoned 15 friends to help him climb the Champaquí. They all took turns supporting the bike while the tour organizer led them up the summit, achieving the boy’s dream.
I didn’t know any details about how many had died until days later. When I saw the names of the deceased, everything blurred for an instant. Fear filled me as I realized what I had lived through.
They shoved us into the waters, shouting vulgarities as we crossed. I thought we were going to die, attacked and torn apart by the crocodiles who called the river home.
Before starting the match, I could not hold in my tears. My parents were in attendance, watching that little boy who left home return as a man. I fulfilled my dream, and this is just the beginning.
When the bomb exploded, I went numb and lost consciousness.
Grievously injured, I suffered heavy blood loss and cardiac arrest during transport. Doctors declared me dead on arrival, but I survived.
I hovered in a dream-like state, my body wracked with pain and slipping from sleep to waking and back again as evening approached and the temperature dipped lower. Despair began to set in as I contemplated another long, cold night alone on the mountainside.
I witnessed fellow climbers perish. I heard many screaming for help at the top of their lungs. Sometimes, I stopped dead in my tracks.