Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
we would run out of fuel, water and
food before we got there.
Juan and I agreed that he
should take his water, turn
around and hope to hell he had
enough fuel to make it back to
the highway at the point we'd left
it, then get some fuel and come
back with provisions to rescue
me. In the meantime, thinking of
nothing but making up time and
kilometres, I decided to keep
running. I took Juan's backpack:
in it were 4 litres of water and
some snacks.
By nightfall, Juan had not
returned. I was down to half a
litre of water and a chocolate
bar. I reached the mountain
range. I could either run around it to meet the highway, a distance of
90 kilometres, or I could go over the top and down the other side to the
highway, a mere 75 kilometres. Running out of sustenance, I thought
time was of the essence, so I started clambering up the mountain in
my way. By the time I made it to the top, my hands were cut and blis-
tered from climbing. I was exhausted, parched and hungry.
This, I knew for certain, had become a matter of life and death.
Without liquid I would not survive the night. So I urinated into what
remained of my water and sipped the liquid through the night. It
tasted bloody awful—bitter and salty—but I didn't care. By midnight
the temperature had plunged and I was freezing. I curled up as best I
could under my backpack, although it only just covered my legs, and
shivered through the night. I didn't sleep.
As I lay there in a crevice on the mountain, I reflected on the dire
predicament in which I had found myself, and I had an epiphany.
Believing that you are about to die tends to focus your thoughts. I
became aware in a blinding flash that this project was not worth per-
ishing for. Not worth it for me, and certainly not worth it for my crew. I
have said many times that I would die before quitting, but I knew then
Juan
, who
shar
ed m
y des
ert o
rdea
l.
