I clung fast to Rafael’s broad waist and concentrated on keeping my feet on the pegs, which were rattling with each bump and lurch of the bike. I leaned into the turns with Rafael as we zoomed around rocks and other obstructions. I prayed each time we hit a bump and were airborne for a second or two—to which spirit or god, I wasn’t sure. But at the same time, I felt exhilarated. The warm wind whipped through my hair and ballooned out the back of my jacket. The smell of desert dust and motorcycle exhaust filled my nostrils. I could sense Rafael’s eager joy at the wildness of our ride. It was infectious, and I couldn’t help but give in to it. I whooped, and he fed the bike more gas, sending it scrambling up a low rise with a high, throaty engine whine.