I Thought I Was Done Exploring Uncharted Territory. I Was Wrong.
By: Christine M. Estel
Tags: Writing, Adulthood, Travel

Photo by Mark Potterton on Unsplash

We stood close together, dressed in our heavy coats and pants atop Haleakalā, waiting for the sunrise. In the frigid air, the snot ran from my nose — a normal reaction, I was told. I incessantly wiped, using the tissues I’d shoved in my pocket, but my tour driver playfully laughed with me, asking, “It just keeps goin’, eh?” When I sheepishly looked up at him, he said, “No worries. It’s a temporary cold you have. You’ll be over it at the bottom.”

He’d picked me up from my hotel in the middle of the night, his last pickup. When I got on, I saw everyone else was paired up. Some were honeymooners and others were members of family groups. I was a party-of-one who’d traveled to Maui for a week-long break from my internship on O‘ahu during the summer after my freshman year of college. At first, I was concerned I was alone because I was far from athletic, I hadn’t been on a bike in years, and I’d considered myself acrophobic. Who'd be there for me if I got hurt or froze up, completely unable to continue? But, I pushed the idea away, convincing myself that I’d regret giving up the adventure if I quit before trying; that there is no time like the present.

So, I chose my seat, and we started the drive, along which, before reaching the apex of the 10,000-foot volcano, we layered up with lots of gear to protect us from the rapid change in temperature and air pressure. Midway through the drive, my ambivalence returned. I concocted a wild story in my head about my own demise and ruminated over how they’d handle my dead body once they found it hanging on the cliff somewhere. At one point I considered staying on the bus so I wouldn’t embarrass — or kill — myself.

Our driver told us that we’d have plenty of time to marvel at the majestic oranges, pinks, yellows, and blues before the bike ride. He also mentioned that the bike ride is considered no more dangerous than any other bike ride, unless the rider is driving recklessly. But, for someone like me, who had little athletic ability, even with recently climbing Diamond Head in Honolulu, this was a risky feat.

The bike leader noticed my apprehension, and said, “Talk to me.” I told him how afraid I was of heights (other than being in a plane) and that I was scared I’d be the victim of some freak accident and I’d be left for dead. He assured me that once I got moving, all would be fine, and he promised he would not let anything bad happen to me.

Still apprehensive, I decided that getting on the bike. A colleague had coordinated my entire Maui itinerary, including this bike tour, and I didn’t want to disappoint her or waste her hard work. But,more importantly, I needed to stand in my autonomy, separate from my family and friends’ expectations of me, and do something for myself.

With a little push of my right foot and then quickly pulling it up to the pedal, I sped down the initial leg of the trail. Unstable initially, my body bounced along, the vibrations, competing with my pounding heart and fearful panting, ricocheted from my toes up through my cheeks, which had already turned flush. The decline, though insignificant, felt immense to me, and my sweaty palms frantically tried to gain control before I fell forward and scraped my face on the asphalt. I concentrated on looking forward, allowing the momentum to pull me so I wouldn’t have to exert energy on pedaling.

Within the first several miles, the leader told us to brake and pull over for our first stop. Relieved, I did as instructed, and hopped off my bike. While the breathtaking view invigorated me — the beautiful shades of greens below and the crystal blue sky above — I also remembered my location, high above flat land below, and I felt frightened. Yet, I encouraged myself with logic: You’ve gone this far already; you’re already a third there.

Some of the honeymooners took pictures, while the rest of us gazed into the scenery, and then we mounted our bikes again, continuing our descent.

I found it hard to enjoy the biking part; I was too engrossed in not flipping over. However, with each stop, I stepped closer to the edge of the new platform and landing, forcing myself to, at the very least, admire the wonder from my new vantage point. By the time I reached the bottom, I felt accomplished and grateful I’d seen the ride to the end without allowing my fear to overtake me.

That’s the funny thing about youth — we do things and take risks that we wouldn’t necessarily do later in life, putting ourselves out there for a thrill or even simple curiosity. Over the next few years I traveled to a few new places, testing myself with new challenges, like traveling to Mexico with friends where I rode a stubborn and slow donkey down a rocky mountainside, or taking a semester abroad. No matter where I went or what new experiences I had, I always recalled the girl on the bike — the one who told fear to “get lost” and did the thing anyway.