We
arrived at night. But our minibus couldn’t make it up the
mountain because of the recent rain. Our travel day had not been the
longest, but after enduring a midnight bus ride, a break down, switch
to another bus, waiting at least 10 hours at ye-ole Johannesburg bus
station, and a van ride of several more hours, we prepared to spend
the night sitting just where we were. However, this was not to
be. Our drivers were anxious to get to their own homes, and after a
while a man arrived from El Shaddai to drive us up the mountain.
The truck was a small Toyota,
and it took three trips to get all 16 of us, our packs, and our
groceries up the mountain.
In the dark we piled into the
covered back of the truck. My daypak was propped between my knees, my
body wedged between the tailgate and a teammate. We began our ascent.
The night was dark and all I could see out the windows was black and
the deeper darkness of bushes that swept by on occasion. Thus began
the slip and slide roller-coaster ride up the mountain. The back of
the truck was filled with laughter and prayers as we considered how
this is what we thought the whole race would be like.
Once we reached the compound, we
crashed gratefully onto bunk beds, and fell asleep to the sweeping
lullaby of rain and exhaustion.
We woke up to find this
out our window.
