The journey from El Arbor de Piedra to the next refugio was a reasonably long one, and most of us are taking the opportunity to get some shut eye. I'm in the front passenger seat, relaxed; I never fall asleep as easily as some.
And so its with open eyes that I watch our path veer to the right, out of the wheel tracks, a lapse in concentration by our driver. Travelling at what I'd guess to be around 60km/hr, our wheels immediately dig into the much softer, desert sand, and the vehicle is pulled further off route. It's not long before the diverting paths of our momentum and our wheels reach an unsatisfactory separation, and the vehicle commences to roll to its left.
It's this first stage of the crash - the point at which its certainty is realised - that produces the strongest feeling in me. It's beyond my control, beyond anybodies control, now. It's like being on a roller coaster, about to loop the loop, then all of a sudden you know its going to go horribly wrong. It's awful. Not so much a feeling of fear, though. Fear-invoking activities can produce a certain thrill - when you're in control. This complete lack of control, stirs a type of sadness in me, knowing whats about to happen. I feel empty.
Initially I grab something and brace. We start rolling. The noise is loud, and unnatural. Somewhere in these early stages I realise my best bet is to completely relax. It's Bolivia - they don't know what seat belts are. It's going to be a rough ride. Relax. And, I'm surprised, it really works. Maybe the altitude and lack of sleep help - I don't know. My body goes limp.
A couple of rolls and we come to a rest on our roof. I'm the first one out, via my smashed window. There's blood on my left hand, and I grab a conveniently expelled beanie to put on it. I'm thinking worst-case-scenario and wondering how absolutely fucked some of the others could be. I try and help the others out, but its more of a token effort - Rafael & Gonzalo help the rest out. My leg hurts as well, I'm limping.
Everyone is conscious, out of the vehicle, and seemingly without critical injuries - it's amazing. Neither Rafael nor Gonzalo have major injuries, and they're doing a stellar effort assisting everyone. Gonzalo brings me a bottle of water and a clean white t-shirt. I dump the beanie and pour water over the back of my hand. I can see 3 white things running up to my fingers, in amongst all the red. I quickly wrap the t-shirt around it all as best I can, and try not to think about it.
Instead I think about what to do next. I give myself a secondary check for further injuries. I try and find out what injuries the others have, what we're dealing with. I ask Francisco if he's got a radio. Of course not. We were behind most of the other 4WDs, including those of our compatriots. And so from doing what I can, I go to realising there's nothing we can do. I make myself comfortable against my pack, and sling my passport around my shoulder so that whatever happens - I have my essentials. And I set to waiting, in the desert, for the next 4WD that happens to come our way...
And so its with open eyes that I watch our path veer to the right, out of the wheel tracks, a lapse in concentration by our driver. Travelling at what I'd guess to be around 60km/hr, our wheels immediately dig into the much softer, desert sand, and the vehicle is pulled further off route. It's not long before the diverting paths of our momentum and our wheels reach an unsatisfactory separation, and the vehicle commences to roll to its left.
It's this first stage of the crash - the point at which its certainty is realised - that produces the strongest feeling in me. It's beyond my control, beyond anybodies control, now. It's like being on a roller coaster, about to loop the loop, then all of a sudden you know its going to go horribly wrong. It's awful. Not so much a feeling of fear, though. Fear-invoking activities can produce a certain thrill - when you're in control. This complete lack of control, stirs a type of sadness in me, knowing whats about to happen. I feel empty.
Initially I grab something and brace. We start rolling. The noise is loud, and unnatural. Somewhere in these early stages I realise my best bet is to completely relax. It's Bolivia - they don't know what seat belts are. It's going to be a rough ride. Relax. And, I'm surprised, it really works. Maybe the altitude and lack of sleep help - I don't know. My body goes limp.
A couple of rolls and we come to a rest on our roof. I'm the first one out, via my smashed window. There's blood on my left hand, and I grab a conveniently expelled beanie to put on it. I'm thinking worst-case-scenario and wondering how absolutely fucked some of the others could be. I try and help the others out, but its more of a token effort - Rafael & Gonzalo help the rest out. My leg hurts as well, I'm limping.
Everyone is conscious, out of the vehicle, and seemingly without critical injuries - it's amazing. Neither Rafael nor Gonzalo have major injuries, and they're doing a stellar effort assisting everyone. Gonzalo brings me a bottle of water and a clean white t-shirt. I dump the beanie and pour water over the back of my hand. I can see 3 white things running up to my fingers, in amongst all the red. I quickly wrap the t-shirt around it all as best I can, and try not to think about it.
Instead I think about what to do next. I give myself a secondary check for further injuries. I try and find out what injuries the others have, what we're dealing with. I ask Francisco if he's got a radio. Of course not. We were behind most of the other 4WDs, including those of our compatriots. And so from doing what I can, I go to realising there's nothing we can do. I make myself comfortable against my pack, and sling my passport around my shoulder so that whatever happens - I have my essentials. And I set to waiting, in the desert, for the next 4WD that happens to come our way...
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