The Most Terrifying Hour of Our Lives....or..., A Course in Miracles

     Have you ever used the phrases: "Between a rock and a hard place", "the lesser of two evils", or "a double edged sword"?  Johanna and I will certainly be more discriminating in how we throw out these colloquial expressions as we have a new and profound appreciation for their meaning.
     On the third day of hiking out toward Besi Sahar, it became clear just how ill Johanna was.  She was unable to keep food or water down.  She continued to bravely put one foot in front of the next, though it was obvious that she was drawing on the last ounce of reserve she possessed.  We realized that to continue to try to hike the entire way out would be at best irresponsible, at worst downright dangerous.  We needed to evacuate as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately, our location at that time provided us very few opportunities for anything but foot travel.  The canyon was too narrow and no suitable landing sights rendered a helicopter out of the question.  Our best hope was to get to a village that had road access and a jeep that could carry us further on.  We were approaching the village of Chamche.  We remembered from the hike in that a crude road did access Chamche, however we did not recall seeing passenger jeeps when we passed through before.  Realistically, we felt that we would have to continue another 2 or 3 hours beyond Chamche to the village of Syange where we knew that we could hire a passenger jeep to carry us the rest of the way out.
     Finally, after about 7 hours of arduous trekking over challenging terrain, we crested the hill into Chamche and lo and behold, we saw a huge beacon of hope.  Miraculously, on the street between the two guest houses that comprise downtown Chamche, we spotted a parked jeep.  Perhaps, we thought, we could appeal to the human decency of the jeep's driver to give us a lift down the road to Syange.
     Suraj, our porter/guide hurried over to ascertain who the driver was and to see if it would be possible to obtain a ride.  I sat down with / propped up Johanna and watched anxiously as Suraj negotiated with the wirey looking Nepalese man who couldn't have been a day over 20 years old.  Suraj and the driver then came over and sat down across from Jo and I.  At closer inspection, this young man wasn't just wirey, he was shifty.  Almost snake-like in his movements, his eyes beady and intense, though he never looked directly at us while speaking.
     Suraj translated that this man would drive the three of us to Syange, though the fee would be rather hefty.  In addition, he explained that we may have to be dropped off before the town so that the man didn't get in trouble for transporting us in a jeep that was not intended to carry passengers.  At that point, we would have paid any price and accepted whatever conditions were necessary so long as Jo didn't have to walk any further.  Thus, we accepted the inflated fee and grabbed our bags.
     As we heaved our packs into the back of his jeep, it was immediately evident why this was not a passenger jeep.  Jo and I exchanged anxious looks as we positioned our gear amidst no less than 15 unrestrained propane containers.  We then piled into the jeep:  Jo and I crammed in shotgun and middle seat respectively next to Snake Eyes.  Suraj and some other dude hopped up on the roof to ride the rack.  In the back of the jeep our gear was nestled up against enough propane to blast out a whole new road....what could possibly go wrong?!
     Before I answer that, allow me to describe the "road".  Not much of a road really.  A better description would be a "partially leveled single lane path strewn with large rocks and littered with pot holes and patches of shoe sucking mud".  Did I mention that the "road" was carved precariously out of the side of the canyon wall.  To the left, where there was no semblance of a guardrail, the cliff dropped away hundreds of feet to the river bed below.  Now, there is probably no better way to describe the severity of Johanna's illness than to say we found it preferable to risk an hour in a bouncing jeep bomb with the only the skill and judgment of a shifty Nepali teenager to keep us from plummeting hundreds of feet to a fiery end on the canyon floor.
     Before we knew it, we were off:  Bounce, thud, groan, creak, thump!  "Holy Crap!  What did we get ourselves into?!", we both thought.  And we were inside the jeep.  I still don't know how Suraj survived his ride on the roof.  I expected to see him go flying off with each jolt and bump.  In those first few minutes Jo and I exchanged a couple of wide-eyed grimaces, though not a word was spoken.  I think we were both too busy praying.  Multiple times, we both considered yelling at the driver to stop and let us out.  However, in hindsight this probably would have done us no good at all as there was no visible road outside of Jo's window.  I thought I was being chivalrous offering her the window.  Had I known that each sideways glance would afford only a glimpse of the abyss below, perhaps I would have reconsidered.
     So, we stuck with it.  We tried to stay loose and roll with the bounces.  We did our best not to call up images of jeeps careening off of roadways into yawning chasms and exploding into great balls of fire.  I had almost started to relax when I heard the driver animatedly talking to someone.  I looked over and couldn't believe my eyes.  "Are you f'ing kidding me!?" I blurted out before Jo and "shhh" me and say "Please don't piss him off."  At this point, Snake Eyes had one hand on the wheel.  The other hand was holding his cell phone to his ear and he appeared to be having quite a spirited conversation.  As it turns out, our driver either did not speak much English, or, he really was that absorbed with his phone because he seemed unfazed by my outburst.
     Quite miraculously, after 60 minutes that felt like an eternity, we pulled into Syange.  Graciously, Snake Eyes dropped us off right in front of the passenger jeep stand.  After all that, I believe he was actually doing us a favor while he was on the phone.  We arrived in Syange to learn that another Jeep would be available in 30 minutes to drive us the rest of the way.  In one simple transaction, we payed our suicidal propane powered driver and secured our ride for the rest of the way into Besi Sahar.  We felt instantly relieved, not just because we were still alive, but also because we then knew that we could have Jo to a hospital early the next morning.
     We still felt good as the passenger jeep pulled up about 45 minutes later.  Cushioned seats, good tires and no propane tanks.  In addition, Suraj had assured us that the next 3-4 hours of road would be much better than what we had just experienced.  BTW, we had absolutely NO right to complain to Suraj about any part of our journey.  We still don't know how he survived that hour on the roof.....especially since this was the guy that puked 4 times on the bus ride from Kathmandu to Besi Sahar two weeks prior.
     Again, we were on our way.  Now, I know I just said we had no right to complain.  But...it should be noted that to say that this second section of road was better than first would be akin to saying that a shot of whiskey and bullet are better than no anesthesia at all.  Granted, even though the exposure was slightly less for the most part, and the seats slightly more comfortable, it was still quite trying.  Johanna was so brave to endure that with how she was feeling.  She barely uttered a sound as we jigged and jived down the long dark road to Besi Sahar.
     Finally, at about 9:30 pm we were dropped off in front of the guest house in Besi Sahar.  Our joy quickly turned to dread as we saw the gate of the guest house closed and locked and not a sign of life anywhere.  The street was dark as the last few merchants closed up shop around us.  And then another miracle.  A gentleman passing by inquired if we needed assistance.  Amazingly it seemed, he had the guest house owner's phone number on his cell phone and before we knew it he was dialing.  After multiple attempts someone finally picked up the other end of the line.  The gate slid open just as I was contemplating hurling my trekking pole through an upstairs window to try and get someone's attention.  We were greeted by warm smiles and gracious offers to carry our bags.
     As fate would have it, there was only one room left in the inn that night.  We had beds to sleep in.  If that wasn't enough, the inn-keepers generously fired up the stove and made us a huge meal.
     Albert Einstein said, "There are only two ways to live your life.  One is as though nothing is a miracle.  The other is as though everything is a miracle."
     Prior to this experience, I was already leaning toward the latter.  Having now seen what I've seen, it would take unprecedented amounts of irrefutable evidence for me to even consider that life is anything less than a continuous stream of miracles.