But should they really trust me?

The sun is shining, sweat is pouring, and I am one with the road. The only thing that separates me from the mighty mountains and steep slopes are two sturdy wheels on a solid chassis. The contact I have with the ground allows me to lean deeply into the turns, and with each curve, I feel something unique awakening within me—something primal, wild, and untamed. As I’m pulled out of the turns, I feel the warm air blowing on my face through the helmet's opening, my neck hair fluttering in the wind, and happiness hormones bubbling through my body. For a moment, I forget that there is anything bad in this world. It’s an addictive form of temporary amnesia that I travel across the country to experience. All that exists is me, my bike, and my two buddies cruising alongside me. For a few seconds, there is no such thing as pain, fear, or death. Speed is life. The thrill is limitless. I am unstoppable.

Luke and Kyle are just ahead of me. Because they are experienced motorcyclists, they know how to position themselves to glide as smoothly as possible through the sharp turns. It feels like we are surfing softly and relentlessly through the high mountains. Even without any substances in my body, it feels like I’m in contact with a deeper dimension of reality. The mountains, the sky, the trees, the wind, and the speed merge into one. As I imitate Luke and Kyle’s rhythm and speed in the turns, it feels like all the pieces are falling into place. Everything is connected, and the way I push the bike through the curves is something that completes reality and makes me whole.

Now they’re riding a bit too fast for me. I can’t quite keep up with them, so I decide to stay a little further back to maintain a speed I’m comfortable with. Luke is in the lead, but Kyle follows closely behind; in almost exactly the same track. As I look ahead, I see Kyle sneak around a corner a few bends ahead of me, and I lose sight of them. Because of the bright blue color of Kyle’s helmet, it’s easy to recognize him from a distance. He’s way too proud of that helmet. He’s been talking non-stop all weekend about the great deal he got. He had bought boots, a helmet, a jacket, pants, and a back protector for a bargain. It was a bit annoying to listen to because I knew it was of much better quality than what the rest of us had, but I hadn’t gotten irritated. Nothing can irritate me when I’m on such a rewarding motorcycle trip with my best friends.

I’m practicing finding the same rhythm they had in the turns, without being able to copy their route. It’s working pretty well, and I’m pleased with myself for starting to crack the code. I surf through the turns and roll calmly around the bend where my buddies had disappeared just a few seconds earlier.

To the right, I see a motorcycle lying by the roadside. The front is wrecked, the front wheel is stuck in the guardrail, and the whole bike is hanging halfway over the edge. Damn, I think, someone here has been really unlucky. I look ahead to see how far in front Luke and Kyle are. I only see Luke. As I see his brake light turn on, I glance in the right mirror. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! That’s Kyle’s bike lying there! I come to a complete stop, turn around, drive back, and stop next to his bike. I frantically look around to see if I can spot Kyle. I look down the steep slope. Can’t see him anywhere. "Kyle! Kyle! Kyyyyyylee!" I shout as loudly as I can before jumping off the bike and leaning over the guardrail to look for him. I quickly take off my helmet, and while I continue shouting for Kyle, Luke rides up beside me and jumps off his bike. He also starts yelling for Kyle at the top of his lungs while looking down the mountain.

"I'm climbing down the slope to see if I can find Kyle," Luke exclaims and steps over the guardrail.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? It's incredibly steep, and it's hard to get a good foothold on the sandy ground! Besides, we don't know exactly which direction Kyle went over the edge, and we have no idea how far down he's rolled!"

"I have to try!"

Luke's voice is desperate, and the hope of finding our friend alive has given him a determined posture I’ve never seen in him before. His chest is pushed forward, he’s upright and unfazed by the precipice in front of him, and the helmet still on his head gives him a military and futuristic appearance. Is he no longer mortal?

Luke holds onto the guardrail with one arm while taking off his helmet with the other. He reaches out to me and hands me the helmet. As I take the helmet, I make eye contact with him. His gaze is bloodshot and intense. His confident body language feels like a direct contrast to his fragile and worried facial expression. His reddish, boiling face signals that he’s on the verge of breaking into tears, while his strong and rigid movements communicate that he’s ready to lead an army into battle.

"Wait here while I climb down. If anyone drives by, you need to tell them what’s happened, ask them to drive to a place with coverage, and call 911." Now I hear that the fear hasn’t only set into Luke’s face but has also gripped his voice. His tone is vulnerable and weak. It quivers with a trembling edge instead of carrying across the space like it usually does. Luke is unrecognizable.

The whole situation is unrecognizable. This doesn’t resemble anything I’ve seen before. Is this really happening? Have I learned what to do in a situation like this? Should I contact Kyle's parents and tell them their son is probably dead? How am I supposed to do that politely? These thoughts racing through my mind lead me to think I’m a failed friend who is thinking about my own role in the middle of this chaos. Instead of using all my strength at this moment to search for my friend who is somewhere down the slope, I’m using part of my brain capacity to reflect on what people will think of my handling of this crisis. Even when my best friend has been thrown down a mountainside, I’m thinking mostly about myself.

I watch Luke as he lets go of the guardrail and begins to climb down slowly. It doesn’t look like he has much to hold onto. Technically, it should be possible to get down there, but I don’t know how stable the ground is. The slope is rocky and sandy, and it’s possible everything could suddenly collapse. Luke takes one deliberate step at a time, leaning the front of his body against the mountainside. The steady steps make it look like he’s done this before. With every step he takes, I imagine him slipping and falling. What would I do? If Luke loses his footing and falls, I’ll be here all alone with two friends who may have lost their lives. Then it’s up to me to figure it all out. The fate of two fantastic men will be decided by a simple, urban guy with a fear of heights. What will people say if I can’t save them? Should I change the sequence of events when I tell others about the accident so that I appear more heroic?

Once again, I’m thinking about myself. My two best friends are in mortal danger, and I’m fantasizing about how to tell others about this incident in a way that puts me in the best light. Is that even possible?

I always thought adrenaline in a crisis situation would make me sharp and focused. In a similar way to how I’ve heard about pregnant mothers gaining the strength to lift cars to prevent their child from being crushed, I had hoped some primitive instincts would kick in for me now. I always believed that if I ever found myself in a life-threatening situation, I would connect with the part of me that knew what to do. Somehow, I thought I would be able to recall all the information I’d ever heard about survival and lifesaving and be filled with the courage to act quickly and effectively. This isn’t happening. What I’m doing in a life-threatening crisis is critically reflecting on a meta-level about my presence. I do this so thoroughly that I almost forget the crisis is here and now. It is in this second that Kyle’s body is somewhere down the mountain slope. Maybe dead. Maybe alive, but in that case, in mortal danger. Right now, Luke is taking his fourth determined step down the slope, breathing deeply. He plants his foot firmly on what looks like a small ledge, and he uses his entire body weight as glue against the steep mountainside.

It’s time to be present in the moment. Watch out for any cars coming by. Keep looking for Kyle. I should probably keep shouting for him too.

“Kyyyyyyleee! Kyyyyyleeee! Can you hear me?”

I remember I need to shut up and listen to see if he responds too.

I hear nothing but my own rapid breathing. I also notice my heart is pounding so hard and fast that I wonder if I might spit it out with my next heavy breath. I turn around and scan the road below for any oncoming cars.

“AAAAAH FUCK!”

It was Luke who screamed. I quickly turn back around and see Luke falling with a thud and a crash down the slope.

He’s falling fast.

I’ve never seen anything like this before. Probably never will again. To think this would be the day I’d see my best friend die right before my eyes. Why did he take off his helmet?

He’s falling for a long time.

Some rocks and sand are cascading down with him, but they look very small compared to his large, built body. He's being tossed around so much that you could believe he's been thrown down. It's as if an Olympic athlete grabbed his legs, charged up by spinning five or six progressively faster rounds, and let go when the speed and height reached their full potential.

I know Luke wasn't thrown. He slipped and fell. And he continues to fall. Until he falls no more.

I take out a joint I have in my left pants pocket, light it with a lighter I have in my right jacket pocket, and take three deep drags. My chest becomes warm and tangy. The air I breathe in up in the high mountains is so pure. I have five beads of sweat running down my face. Two on my forehead, one on my cheek, and two over my cheek, next to my eyes, but not quite at the hairline. The pollution and noise from city traffic don't reach up here to the mountain. It's completely calm and quiet here. The mountain is unaware of all the stress and hassle that exists just a few miles away. The mountain is blissfully ignorant, whole in its being, even though it stands up here all alone. It still has the sun, which reaches all the way to the ground with its rays of life, and it can always feel the fresh breath of the wind through the leaves of its trees.

Did I hear something more? I thought I heard someone call my name.