I realise that continually trying to push the bike up the bank, from the side, is not going to work. Gripping for dear life on the handlebars, knuckle bones, tendons, muscles wanting to break through my sun cured, leathered, skin from the desert sun. I move my body very slowly and carefully to the front of the bike.
Attempting to awkwardly straddle the front wheel between my thighs, but still a bit lopsided to the left. The water is well up to my waist, as I stand at 6’ tall. Breathe, relax, concentrate, PUSH.
NO.
Looking up. Am I praying for the helicopter to drop a ladder like I’ve watched on those rescue shows or for the Gods in the heavens to save me? Wanting to raise my arms to wave for help, I know this is impossible as I will lose the bike, my stance, and that I will be swept away before my palms leave the handlebars.
Do I let go of the bike? Do I sacrifice all my gear and let her go? The only possessions in my life for years to be swept away simply because of a completely ignorant and irrational decision?
Did Ego come to play with me by the river that afternoon?
The camera! Just not the camera…my digital files! A year of photos and files are in that back rack bag. The water is not over the rear bags, yet, but if I press my front wheel down the water rushes against my bar bag that has my DSLR, passport, and cell phone.
I look downstream where the river crashes against stone cliffs and then turns left at a nearly 90 degree angle.
Turning my face to the sky and scream “HELP!!” like I’ve never screamed in my entire life. I suddenly realise that I am going to die…my life is going to end, right here, NOW. There is no way my body will survive that abrupt bend in the river. I imagine my body hanging onto the floating bike until it crashes against the stones. How long would I go down the river with my bike…imagining my greatest possessions in life being bashed against stones, thrown around the river, until my lifeless body gives up and nothing would be recognizable?
Long, loud, and wailing screams of help are being released into the canyon, echoing and bouncing around the mountaintops. Finally I see three men watching from the mining area I had been earlier.
“Please, help me, I’m going to die!!!! Help me, PLEASE!!!”
They stand there watching and I know there is no way I can hold this up even if they do come to help.
“PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAASE!!! HELP ME!!!!!!” I had tried to bring up my Russian to clarify my meaning but I couldn’t grab the necessary words from the air spilling from my terrified body.
I begin to have images of my mother and father. There is a feeling rushing over me, almost like their presence is near. The images alternate between them; my childhood home and town. It’s more a feeling than imagery. I am going to die, this is the end. With another near death experience in my past because of a car wreck, I know this feeling and it’s growing stronger every moment.
My personal fears are overtaken with the realization my parents will NEVER see me again. They will never be able to say goodbye; not one last hug or kiss. The crashing water will dismantle my undernourished body and they will never see the physical presence of what they had created. I am not fearing my disappearance but the pain I will cause my dear mother and father. Losing my life WILL kill them. I must figure this out, not for my own livelihood but for the sake of those that made the sacrifice of their own lives for mine.
It’s guilt that overwhelms my consciousnesses during those last moments of life. I’ve been selfish. Leaving my friends years ago, ending a long love affair, and not being closer to my parents. Not being a better daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend…a better person.
This would be the ultimate act of selfishness, to let my life be taken away and leave those behind to suffer.
What’s the most important thing on my bike? I’m going to have to try and remove the bags and throw them up on the bank and hopefully lighten the pressure of nature beating against me.
The bar bag: it holds my passport, camera, cell phone, and money. How am I going to manage this balancing act and release the bag to toss onto the river bank? Am I even going to be able to get enough force behind the launch of these essential items? I’m no longer even thinking about the hard drive and year’s worth of files in the back bag. Thousands of photographic images of the persecuted Uyghur minority of Xinjiang, would now be lost and destroyed forever.
A split second after I release my hand to reach for the bar bag release, the bike is thrown on top of me and I’m pinned under the freezing water with the top tube against my collarbones.
All my gear is completely submerged and I visualize my photo gear and files being flooded by the brown silt-filled water. The current turns me counterclockwise and I’m facing my death, heading straight towards the bend in the river and the unforgiving stone wall.
My parents are now standing before me in a grayish and hazy cloud, arm in arm as I remember them from my childhood. This is the end, you will never see me again. It’s over. This is going to kill you both, so much more pain for you two and I will realize none of it.
I can’t…it just can’t happen this way.
Two meters down the river and somehow I’m pulling myself out on my back, with my eyes finally opening, I crawl onto the bank with my face to the sky and the bike still on top of me.
The plastic bin that holds my food, cooking supplies, and a book had been pushed out from a tight bungee cord and are now moving swiftly down the river.
Within a few more seconds the bike is clearly out of the water and I’m examining myself for serious wounds and seeing the water line on my shirt nearly hitting my shoulders.
There is no time to cry, no time to panic, not even a chance for recovery and to smack myself to see if I’m actually still ALIVE because the bags have been flooded and I have to get my gear out to dry.
Unloading the bags trembling, shaking, teeth chattering, absolutely exhausted. This shouldn’t be happening, but it has and it’s my fault. I should have known better, I’m an idiot. Beginning to cry, the first in years…not heavy and heaving because I’m too exhausted...but silently with big crocodile tears rolling down my sunburned cheeks.