Back Breaker in Colombia

Keep your head up, remember you can still walk!

It was the first day of March and questions were ping-ponging around in my brain, standing on the mountain top in San Felix, Colombia. Properly secured to 25 meters of parachute material via spectra lines, now resembling that of a crows nest, as I stand safely on the ground looking to the sky. Moments before Rachelle made an approach but overshot the intended landing zone as I stood admiring her paragliding skills from the ground. The last 90 minutes of our lives were spent together in the sky above Medellin, Colombia, a city once dominated by the powerful drug lord, Pablo Escobar. Pablo’s foot print is strong in the history of the city, originating the Medellin Cartel, at one time responsible for 80% of all cocaine smuggled into the USA. Medellin, the place where Pablo took his last breath on December 2, 1993, along with Colombia as a whole, has been working diligently to disprove the global perception of nearly a quarter century ago, while rebuilding the reputation of this beautiful country.

Overlooking the city of Medellin from 9500 feet!

From launch at 7900 feet the views of Medellin were all encompassing through a translucent haze settling over the city from above. With strong lift and confident piloting, after 10 days flying in Roldanillo, both Rachelle and I found ourselves at 9500 ft now exchanging our objective of going up to descending towards the earth as the site restricted flying above 9000 ft since it was active airspace for much bigger and powerful forms of flight…747 jet wash = throw your reserve! Sending the glider into a spiral the blood flow favored my feet, bleeding altitude and increasing endorphins before softly touching down in my original origin. There goes Rachelle over shooting the landing as I un-hook myself from my personal airplane, stowing electronics, as my mental seat belt sign de-luminates. This is when the questions initiate and only rapidly increase as I look to the sky. “Where is Rachelle? Did she decide to go back up? Maybe she is just out of sight flying?” As my head sits erect rotating while surveying the sky her purple glider is no where to be seen. Not content with waiting on the ground I hook back into my glider, double checking my leg straps, chest strap, reserve handle while spreading my limp glider across the grassy knoll. “Launch,” I proclaim as air fills my glider with life, transforming this limp piece of nylon into a capable aviation method. Once in the air it became utterly clear where Rachelle had gone and it was not up or behind the tall trees…she went down as her purple glider lay out stretched on the hillside still attached to her petite frame. Flying closer she sat slumped over on a steep hill and the only thing I thought to yell was, “Are you okay!? Are you okay!?” She was conscious but lacked an audible response to my somewhat trivial question, as thoughts began to race through my skull bouncing back and forth as to what happened. Without the advantage of communication, perceived answers attempted to prove fact to my personal theory. “Did she sprain or break her ankle? Her knee? Leg?” Finally a response came in the form of a whisper, call it an inside voice, in this outside venue. “No,” a simple word electing a powerful, emotional, focused response. My immediate desire had me on the ground as soon as possible as I assessed landing right next to her. Fortunately my logical thinking overrode my emotional impatience concluding if she crashed here why would my fate be any different? Grabbing the next thermal I elevated away from her with the main landing zone my only conscious thought utilizing all my skills in order to safely but rapidly get to the ground.

In the bottom left is the Launch and Landing Zone at San Felix

{Excerpt from Rachelle}
"As I nonchalantly overshot the primary launch and landing zone, no concern was in my mind. Confident that I could fly out and regain altitude by the nearby thermal, that I had utilized several times already. The thermal was not currently working and I was losing altitude quick. Irrationally I decided on Plan B, a small thermic sidehill landing. Setting up to land on my feet, only a moment prior to touching down I realized the wind had shifted to my back and I was accelerating fast. Pulling up my feet to protect the knee I fractured skiing 2 years prior (to the month), taking the impact with the seat airbag of my harness but mostly my bottom. Landing hard, I immediately heard a pop and crunch but soon was overwhelmed with extreme difficulty to breathe (the injured muscles spasmed around my airway). After what felt like forever I finally was able to sip small amounts of air and attempted to say 'Help!' over the radio. Realizing that the radio battery was no longer charged, I tried reaching for my cellphone in my harness. Once painfully obtaining my phone, managed to send a 'Help!' message which quickly was denied by lack of reception. Repositioning a bit more comfortably while moving as little as possible, I waited for someone to eventually find me. Accessing my situation, pain, and possible injuries I knew for the second time in my life I had seriously injured myself. However, I could feel my legs and arms without numbness or tingling....I was not paralyzed. As the pain continued to increase, my breathing became especially bothersome and difficult, while the thoughts of potential spinal cord damage (through further movement) raced in my mind. Finally, Jeremy flew over head, ignoring the cardinal signal of a injured paragliding pilot (paraglider wing still laying fully out on the ground) and insisting on asking me the question of 'Are you ok?'. Even in my injured state relieved at his sight, all I could think is 'You idiot, obviously I'm not ok.' Classic Rachelle style, my natural born fight was still intact. After trying several attempts, I finally was able to get out 'No!' as an audible reply. My injured nightmare had just begun."

All smiles from the brave one

{Jeremy} Un-hooking myself from the confines of my glider, I threw my harness on top of my wing, leaving my flight instruments, GPS, and GoPro exposed on my flight deck as I made the run down the mountain steps across the road to where Rachelle still lay. Arriving she was not alone as three other paraglider pilots simultaneously began tending to her as I realized the extent of her pain. Her back…oh no as I immediately surveyed her extremities searching for movement within them as a proportion of her discomfort was attributed to her awkward sitting position on the side of the mountain. We all know the drill, do not move anyone with a back injury as another local pilot asked for my blessing to call the medic, “Si, por favor,” I replied. Time seemed to creep by as we supported Rachelle’s body while she recalled what happened translating it into Spanish so other pilots could understand.

Our ambulance...a guy with a pick up truck

In what seemed to me like a reasonable amount of time, a single medic arrived on his personal motorcycle. My Spanish medical vocabulary was somewhat limited but improved greatly as it was mandatory learning given the medic spoke solely his native language. After many physical tests the medic asked, “Puedes caminar?” (Can you walk?). Not yet testing this theory Rachelle responded, “No se?” (I don’t know). Trusting the medic who arrived on the dirt bike and given slim other options we helped Rachelle to her feet and assisted her up the steep mountain-side. Luckily she decided to crash very close to the mountain road making extrication a short, minimally strenuous endeavor. For some odd reason the medic concluded a stump would be an optimal location for Rachelle to sit resting as we assessed how to transport her to the hospital. I imagine an ambulance could have made the trip up the mountain but who knows how long that would take, if that was even an option. Ruling out riding double on the medic’s dirt bike, another paragliding pilot offered to transport her in the back of his pickup truck. By this point the stump was giving Rachelle all the discomfort she could take (did I mention her back was fractured as well?), she began asking for a backboard as a suitable option for the 15-20 minute drive to the hospital. Problem was the truck bed was too short to accommodate the backboard meaning our ultimate option was to recline the passenger seat and drive slowly…really slow since pot holes and speed bumps were plentiful.

Easy does it, as she gets admitted to the hospital

Waiting in the entrance of the ER to be admitted

While Rachelle was uncomfotably waiting on the hillside after the accident, she began to inquiry as to the location of her cell phone with the hope of an unfamiliar voice but familiar family would respond in this time of need. Michael Nagy, the private jet pilot, and younger brother of a close friend Rachelle met while attending College of Charleston, who happened to grow up in Cali, Colombia. Unfortunately he did not respond to my initial phone call but a short while later called back. I’m sure I scared the shit out of him since my message went something like this. “Hi Micheal, my name is Jeremy and Rachelle knows your brother Steven. We need your help. Please call me back. We think Rachelle broke her back paragliding and we are on the mountain side in San Felix. We have not met but could use your help, especially with translation.” Michael lives in Medellin and called back right away offering any assistance possible in these trying times. Micheal and his mother made the trip across town to spend hours with us at the Pablo Uribe Tobon hospital in Medellin. Acting as our interpreter he became a close friend from the moment we all met while Rachelle lay prone in the hall way of the hospital on a stretcher. This hospital was busy, yet exclusive as security controlled access to the emergency room lobby allowing only those with real injuries and one or two immediate family members. It took nearly 2 hours for security to finally allow Micheal’s mom to enter the hospital to re-unite with Rachelle, ends up they had met 10 years prior in Charleston while she was visiting Steven. If we said Micheal was a friend then he would be waiting outside as well but given his “Translator” status he was admitted.

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The Lazy-Boy, my bed for the evening!

Once admitted to the ER, we were greeted by someone from the International Department since this hospital was a popular destination for tourists seeking medical care at extremely low prices. Low prices for 1st world foreigners, not locals. A nurse came by to take Rachelle off to have 3 CAT scans and an X-ray to determine the severity of her injury as we waited patiently for the results. The verdict was in, as a clear fracture was seen through the imagining device as dusk set in over Colombia. Spinal injuries were handled by the Neurosurgeon as the general MD referred us to the specialist and insisted on Rachelle laying flat until cleared. Rachelle was going to be able to live her nurse's nightmare of spending the night in the hospital as a patient awaiting a prognosis from the Neurosurgeon in the morning. Hospital space was limited as patients littered the hallways over night, luckily we had a makeshift room in the ER with cloth curtains deflecting 5% of the noise from adjacent patients while the lights illuminated the region with no desire to create a natural sleeping environment. Borrowing a lazy-boy chair from an unoccupied patient space, I rested next to Rachelle as we watched a movie on the laptop, creating distraction from the present traumatic situation and the long night ahead.

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Our caring and amazing friends who helped us through the situation. (From left to right. Keith, Rachelle, Michael)

Good spirits after a rough 24 hours

Morning came as the natural light and sounds of traffic slithered through the small hospital window. Michael and his mother had left the night before after extending more than a helping hand, giving up their time to be with us. Hours creeped by as we waited for the Neurosurgeon to examine Rachelle and read the CAT scans. As the clock hit noon I had already been up for 7 hours when the neurosurgeon made an appearance. His english was limited but enough to determine the 30% fracture in her T-7 vertebral body was stable and surgery was not required yet her fate was a 3 month restricted activity recovery. Still his description of the recovery/injury kept slightly changing given the language barrier creating frustration for both parties. Like Robin Hood through the Sherwood Forest our friend Keith (who we met in Manizales) arrived to check in on Rachelle and how she was doing. Once the Neurosurgeon determine Keith could speak Spanish a visible sense of relief washed over his body as Spanish began to flow back and forth between the two of them and the speed of his increased 10 fold. Once again another friend, known for less than a week, came to our side in a time of need. This is a testament to traveling creates strong bonds with others since both are out of their circle of friends or comfort zone and the true human spirit shines through.

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The following 7 days were spent resting as the Neurosurgeon wanted Rachelle on her back for this amount of time before light movement was acceptable. Micheal’s kind spirit opened up his condo for a few nights as we later found an Airbnb up in the mountains of Santa Elena to further rest and relax. It was several days later when both Rachelle and I decided it might be a good thing to let our parents know what happened since the situation was somewhat under control (except for the fact we had to get back to Mexico).

The view from Micheal's condo in Medellin. Pablo Escobar built both of the white buildings and included full size swimming pools on each level of the 4 story, 4 unit building

Fresh fruit smoothie at Dharma House, an Airbnb we found in Santa Elena, just 15 minutes from Medellin

Lots of rest and relaxation as Rachelle's back heals

Dharma House, hosted by Bobby from AUS!

Jeremy, Rachelle, and Michael at a friend's pool party in Medellin

Trying to find optimism in the newest life challenge

The days came and went as we prepared for a flight from Medellin to Bogota in order to take a flight back to Mexico City while further connecting to San Jose del Cabo, Mexico where the Rambler sat peacefully in a secured storage. Housing us for a night in Bogota was another friend of Rachelle’s from College of Charleston, Alejandro (aka Nano) who also grew up in Cali, Colombia. There could have been no matter time to be lent a helping hand and see familiar faces in a country foreign to us. It just so happened that Micheal was also on a layover in Bogota and was able to join us for dinner!

El Tablazo viewpoint in Subachoque, Cundinamarca

Jeremy, Rachelle, and Nano (who graciously hosted us in Bogota)

Military guarding the towers near El Tablazo lookout. I think we startled them the first time since I unknowingly drove through a restricted area. The machine guns came out.

Colombia has the coolest old cars

The clouds at El Tablazo cleared for about 30 seconds, exposing an incredible view and sheer drop from nearly 11,000 feet

Old tractor ready for work

Rachelle's Truck Crush

March 10th, our last day in Colombia was spent driving Nano’s truck through the crazy streets of Bogota, to El Tablazo lookout, and an underground Cathedral made entirely of salt! The return consisted of heavy traffic due to flooded streets allowing for increased anxiety about missing our red-eye flight. Nano was so gracious leaving food and beer for us as we made a mad dash for our bags from his house and into a taxi. In the taxi to the airport I wanted to continue practicing my Spanish and spent 15 minutes getting preached to in Spanish, understanding enough to know God was an important factor in this man’s life. I welcomed the added Spanish practice while Rachelle sat in the back recalling somewhat traumatizing memories of her crazy childhood of radical preachers and tent revivals.

An underground salt mine turned into a Cathedral with a tree of life

Down in the Salt Cathedral, once an active salt mine

One of the many rooms in the Cathedral

Stay tuned for our return to Mexico, Rachelle's slow process of recovery, difficult times accessing the mainland of Mexico, loss of an incredible friend, and the drive north back to the U.S.!

Author: Jeremy Wilstein