Loco Gringo
Hello all!
I’ve had some time lately to write about what I’ve been up to and wanted to give you all an update. After finally getting new brakes and leaving Salta, Argentina it felt so good to be back on the bike. Got to wind through the wine country of Argentina and the deserts -it was so gorgeous! I ran into other bikepackers even! They all were headed north and often were shocked that I was headed south during winter haha. As I rode further, I got to head back into the mountains to see some beautiful high deserts. I even saw my first Andean condor, which is surprising as I have been in the Andes since Christmas. The feeling of riding while a condor flew next to me was incredible.
After the desert days I headed to Mendoza, a beautiful city that sits in the shadow of the tallest mountain in the Andes. At this point I had 20 days to make it to the border with Chile so I could renew my Argentina visa for another 90 days. My bike and I have bonded so much in the last year that I can tell when anything is off. After riding less than a mile I could immediately tell something was wrong. Another spoke - my bike was limping again. I was reminded of my favorite book, “The Old Man and the Sea.” In the story the old man wonders to himself if he is bringing the fish he caught into port or if the fish is bringing him in. When my bike and I started off into the Mexican desert I felt like it was always asking for more miles (even after a 136-mile day) and it was “carrying me in.” Now, after numerous mechanical issues along the way such as new brakes, new spokes/wheel, lots of new tires and chains, and worn bags/latches; I feel I have been “carrying it in.” The reality is we are carrying each other to Ushuaia. Equal partners, along with all the names that go with us.
Luckily, this time in Mendoza there was a bike shop half a mile away. It was a brother and sister run bike shop and they were so helpful and happy to get my bike back in working order. I went to have some coffee and wait to get back on the road. After returning to the bike shop the mechanic delivered the bad news that my rear derailleur hanger was cracked and likely to fall apart. In fact, while we were looking at it, it did! So, the sister headed out, going to every bike shop to see if they had a hanger that would fit my bike. And after a long discussion with every bike shop in town and Kona bikes, it seemed that the best option was to have it milled. I was able to find a machinist who got to work right away making another hanger for me. I decided that this might be a good time to cross the mountain pass into Chile by bus while my bike was healing up. I hopped on the first bus to Uspallata, leaving all my bags except one at the bike shop. It was so weird not having my bike with me. My bike is not only my best friend on this trip but also my freedom to travel where and how I like. When I got to Uspallata everyone was saying that the border might open but the road had been damaged by the recent storm. Now I was without my bike and without a way to cross the Andes. I talked to some truck drivers (only cargo was being allowed across the border) about hitch hiking my way across the border, but they were all concerned that I would get stuck in Chile. So, the next day I took a bus back to Mendoza to wait for my bike repairs and attempt to make the crossing into Chile at another crossing. I still had 25 days right!? My bike got its custom-made hanger and we set off to Bardas Blancas, the next road south of me that passes through the Andes. I got there surprisingly fast, feeling good and at the lower altitudes. It turns out that border was closed for winter as well, but it was okay! I still had 20 days.
The following days were spent on dirt roads through volcanos and volcanic fields, wild camping and loving the peace of the dirt roads. I was trying to get to Barrancas, a town on the north border of the Neuquén province. The wind seemed determined to stop me that day! When I was lucky enough to have the wind at my back, I could do 11mph UPHILL without pedaling! But the wind is rarely at your back when bikepacking, so most of the day was spent pedaling downhill to only travel 8mph. It was beautiful though. Flamingos lined the road to Neuquén. That day as I crossed into the province, I passed a sign that read, “Barrancas, Patagonia”. I didn’t know where Patagonia started but apparently, I had made it. I spoke with some friends I made in Argentina and they all said, “You’ve made it to Patagonia!!” It was so wild to think I had now made it to the last stage of this year long trip. Patagonia is the place that a lot of these trans-America bikepacking journeys lead to. And it is home to Ushuaia, my destination.
Upon my arrival, Patagonia gave me a very Patagonian welcome. Wind, wind, and stronger wind. The days of riding were slow and full of near-constant wind and rain. Despite the weather, I made it to Las Lajas where there is another border crossing into Chile! And I still had 15 days to make it! Once again though, Winter said, “you can’t go this way,” and the road was closed due to snow. Back to the tried-and-true plan of getting to the crossing near Bariloche! The next week was spent camping in the snow, broken up with occasional stays at hostels when I needed to dry my tent, my clothes, and my bones. The beautiful Lake District of Argentina was one of the most peaceful places I have ridden. Yes, most people were in the beautiful ski towns like San Martín, all dressed up to go skiing or snowboarding. It was fun riding through the rain and snow, camping near lakes by myself since it is winter. I even got to see some of my first southern crested caracaras, a bird that my mom read a book about while we traveled through Peru and Bolivia. She gave me the book and I picked up a fascination with the bird as well. Finally seeing them was a dream.
After 1,4000 miles I had finally made it to an open border crossing with 8 days left! Well, I was NEAR the border at the Argentine checkpoint anyway. There I was told by the officers that it was too dangerous to cross by bicycle and again, that I would need to hitchhike across. After spending a couple hours asking anyone with room to let me in, the border patrol said, “if you think you can make it, we believe in you.” And so, I set off over the snowy pass and with the help of a couple in a VW van I made it over the mountain pass before the border closed. After being questioned about why I spent so much time in Argentina followed by me asking, “is it okay if I go back into Argentina tomorrow?” The border patrol in Chile told me maybe it was possible, but that Argentina may have an issue with it. I was getting nervous that I might not be allowed back into Argentina. My dad encouraged me to try to make the 4,000ft ascent and 25-mile ride back to Argentina the next day despite my anxiety and fears. I camped in Chile and the next morning woke up and set off to cross the snowy pass once more. It turned out my dad was right. They didn’t care that I had just turned around and come right back into the country. I was now back in Argentina enjoying the spectacular views of mountains that rise thousands of feet out of lakes and the plethora of birds!
I enjoyed the cute ski town of Bariloche but my back began to hurt. Because of my recurring back pain, I have been taking it easy as I continue riding farther south. I am still camping when I am able to find a spot. Outside of Bolson last week, I was able to camp down by a beautiful river on a farmer’s property. He told me it was too cold to camp, and he did not have a bathroom for me to use due to the cold. I ensured him that I would be okay as long as I had a spot for the night. Before leaving I looked at the river and asked him, “Can I bathe in the river?” He said, “you are kidding, right!?” I told him I wasn’t kidding. He laughed and said, “of course.” I stripped down and iced my back in the river while the farmer yelled while laughing, “loco gringo!” - a term I have become very well accustomed to hearing. It is something I’ve heard often on this trip. At first, I would think, “I am not crazy”, but now it feels endearing and encouraging. It is always said joviality and I have come to embrace it.
At the time of this writing, I am near El Bolson at Lago Puelo, getting ready to record a podcast with TWLOHA and resting my back for a couple of days. Then I will continue my journey south. I am headed for the famed Carretera Austral, a road through Patagonia that draws cyclists from around the world. Then, on to the glaciers and national parks of the Santa Cruz and Tierra del Fuego provinces. After that, Fin del Mundo!! (We will see if I can bargain my way to Antarctica)
Recently, I have been doing a lot of reflecting on my trip, as I am only 1,200 miles away from Ushuaia. I have told my family that I feel happy. It was strange to start saying that out loud. After Paige’s suicide I didn’t want to let myself be happy or feel happy. But I have learned so much about my grief and how to live with it. I have an appreciation for life that I didn’t have before Paige died. I am not saying I prefer my life without my older sister, but I wouldn’t have the same appreciation for this life. I hate that I had to learn it that way and I would trade it in a heartbeat to have my sister back. Unfortunately, we don’t live in that world. I am understanding the beauty that comes from opening myself up to growth. I have done some hard things this year, but I am happy. I still have financial stress and worry about where I’ll camp every night, but I am allowing myself to be okay that I feel happiness. It is a happiness that is very much mixed with sadness, anger, and some depression. But I am okay with the mix now.
This adventure has not been a vacation nor an easy thing either, but I have come to know myself so much better. I am so thankful for this experience and beyond grateful for you all for making it possible. I am trying to stay present and not think about my journey through South America ending. If I had the resources, I would turn around at the end and ride back to Peru or even the US.
Over the course of this trip I have listened to many books and recently read a line from one of Terry Pratchett’s books. He wrote, “You haven't really been anywhere until you’ve got back home.” I like that. I am looking forward to getting back home - to friends and family again. And then riding my bike to y’all and saying thank you in person! I am still growing WSCWS and hope to continue to share people’s stories of grief and have projects in the works. Our goal is to meet people where they are at and hear their stories about grief and how they have learned to continue with it. I love being able to hear and share people’s journeys with grief. Learning how we all grieve differently makes grieving easier. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. We want to support as many people as we can in their grief as we learn how to navigate living with it. Also, I am by no means done traveling the world by bike either. Thank you all so much!
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Cheers,
Austin Andrew
Email: Austin@weshallcontinue.org
High Altitude Lows
Hey y’all!
I have gotten some down time here in Argentina before figuring out what I am going to do next. I thought I would say hi and give a lil’ update. My mom was able to join me since Cusco (what a crazy time that was with the appendicitis). She returned home from Chile a couple of weeks ago. It was great getting to share some of these experiences with my mom and to see how her grief journey is going.
Last time I emailed I mentioned I was getting nervous about Peru, and it did not disappoint! Everything I was nervous about was more than justified. There were protests, weeks where I didn’t descend in altitudes below 14,000 feet, days of 7,000-10,000ft of climbing, and so many crazy dogs. And to top it all off there was rain, snow, wind, heat - everything. I was able to meet and talk to so many people in Peru. I cannot recommend this country enough.
At one point in my travels through Peru I felt like I was breaking. I was tired and wet for days on end. I was camping and cooking for days with only an alpaca or llama for company. Most challenging of all, I was alone with my thoughts. I started to worry about everything. From money to food to altitude…it all started to pile on. The only thing that seemed to help was riding my bike because on my bike I could be present on my journey. With every day that I focused on my trip and let my emotions in, I started to feel more capable and more at ease. I realized I was not breaking; I was letting myself feel and be present. I stopped chasing expectations of what I thought I needed to do and stopped worrying about the future. Without the distraction of people and towns I had to face my grief and emotions, and just BE in the present. I started to accept that I was going to be wet and cold for days at a time and that some days I could only travel 35 miles. Then I realized that I was not actually breaking. I was growing -in my comfort zone as well as in my self-awareness and understanding of my grief and my emotions. Then I really began to see Peru for how incredibly beautiful it is. I no longer worried about things I could not control (also, I bought a poncho, which made me feel invincible in the rain!). I was looking up and there is a lot to look up at in Peru. The people and the mountains there are something wildly special and unique.
When I arrived in the town of Abancay I started to experience some pain in my side. I called my mom, and she had the same thought I’d had about what it might be (appendicitis). I decided to get to Cusco as quickly as possible, where I knew they would have a larger hospital. Once there, everything went swimmingly. I ran into an amazing couple, Marianna and Nacho, who had a place for me to stay and sent me to a great hospital. If you are ever in Cusco, you must visit Marianna and Nacho at their Barrio Café. Or even better, stay there at their place! The original plan with my mom was for her to fly to La Paz and ride to Santiago de Chile with me. But due to needing surgery I would be delayed in my arrival to La Paz by a couple of weeks. She flew to in to Cusco instead and we left from there together after I recovered enough to ride again.
The ride through the Andes is one that no one can prepare you for. The mountains demand that you ride in all conditions and at higher altitudes than most places on the planet. My mom was a trooper. We rode through insane cities and passed blockades of protesters. We slept in abandoned buildings and chewed coca leaf with some of the town elders high in the mountains. We stayed at sketchy hostels and camped in remote and beautiful places. Peru did not disappoint. It was challenging, but thanks to all the support we shall continue.
On Good Friday we arrived in Copacabana, Bolivia, just across the border from Peru. There we experienced one of the biggest celebrations I have ever seen on Easter - or Good Friday. The next day we had another novel experience, hopping on a rickety wooden barge alongside cars and tour busses to cross Lake Titicaca over into Bolivia proper. We camped next to the Andes and were lucky enough to have one of the best sunsets and skyline views I have seen on my trip. We stopped in La Paz, which was a wild city to try to get into with so much traffic and pandemonium. I overheated one of my brakes on the descent into La Paz. The top of the city sits at 13,500ft and the main area of the city sits at 11,250 in a canyon - which is probably why they use gondolas as public transport (we used the these when leaving the city). In La Paz we found deliciously good food and coffee for 3 days (plus we went to the witches market or Mercado de Brujas) and after that we “plunged” into the desert of Bolivia, also known as the Altiplano, which sits around 12,000 feet in elevation. The roads were rough and the days intense. Finally, we approached the salt flats of Uyuni. It is indescribable. The following is me attempting it in my IG post:
“The last week has been spent in the desert and two of those days on the salt flats in Bolivia! What a rad place! The endless horizon and white salt earth is breathtaking for sure. It is definitely a place, you feel you can ride your bike like a captain sails a ship. All you have to do is pick a direction and set off. We ran into some brothers (and a cousin) out there on the salt but other than the occasional bike packer or Land Cruiser...you have salt to keep your company. I took the traditional nude and extreme tan lined photo on the salt (I'll keep it classy and spare y'all the results of that lol) I definitely would recommend seeing this particular bald spot of the earth. Can't thank @konabikes and
@ortlieb_waterproof enough for the support and a special thanks to @officialmauijim and my friends at Modesto optometric for hooking me up with some amazing glasses that definitely saved my eyes from the unrelenting sun.”
After the salt flat we set off towards Chile. On our first day off the salt, we stayed with a quinoa and potato farmer named Willie. He offered to wash the salt off our bikes and his wife cooked a mean meal with what Willie was able to grow there in the high desert. The next couple days were filled with the most sand and washboard roads I have ever seen at the same time. So much so that it broke a latch on one of my saddlebags (still working on that) causing it continually to bounce off my rear rack. On Border Day (a big day for me at every border I have crossed on this trip), we had a lovely 45 mph headwind, but we were also surrounded by stunning and numerous volcanoes. We crossed the border late due to a rather complicated visa process and finally made it to Chile and the Atacama Desert. My mom and I then headed to the beachside town of Antofagasta (even though I was scared to leave my high altitude nest) so she could fly back to California.
I then continued back to San Pedro de Atacama where we had come from previously and started my climb back into the Andes. Out of San Pedro, I decided that I didn’t need to look at the topo map, assuming there wouldn’t be much climbing. I was wrong and the first day was spent covering only 25 miles and 7,500ft of climbing to where I camped in strongest winds I have experienced on this expedition. The next day, I didn’t think it would be Border Day. I set out climbing up to 16,000ft again, in the wind. It was a spectacular day mostly alone in the high desert, surrounded by volcanoes. The wind was strong enough to push my bike and me along with it, any which way it decided. At the top of the mountain pass I ran into what looked like a fox or foxlike creature? The coloring reminded me of a coyote. Coyotes have been my good omen for a long time now. I am probably adding meaning to this encounter, but I am human, and it is just what we do. I was taking a rest, using my bike to block some of the wind, and looked up as this foxlike animal came up and sat next to me. We shared water and peanuts. Feeling inspired and knowing I was at the top of my climb I decided I had a good chance at making it to the border. As I started to descend the mountain, my enemy this whole trip reared its head. I was descending quickly without the ability to brake. And while that doesn’t sound like too bad an issue, going 35-40mph without the ability to stop is not my favorite thing or the safest. I was able to walk down some of the hills and the road was very smooth, so once the switchbacks ended, I was able to ride to the border. Finally, I made it to Argentina, the last country on my planned journey! The next day I felt good and decided to push for another big day riding another 80 miles. I realized half way through that I had broken two spokes on my rear wheel. One of my best friends and my constant companion (my trusty and beloved bike) started to limp. It has gone over 10,000 miles and could use a lil’ TLC. I rode to a small town where I was able to share dinner and wonderful conversation with a couple from Brazil traveling in a motor home. After that I made it to the city of Salta where I am now waiting for some replacement brakes to (hopefully) arrive so I can get back at it!
So now what??? I have a lot of things that I have been thinking about. Winter is coming and people are saying that it might not be possible to make it to Ushuaia until after winter. So, I could detour to Brazil, Paraguay and Buenos Aires before heading south. Or I could head south and confront the harsh winter head on (maybe not the most popular or wise plan). Another possibility is I could travel south and stop in the ski town of San Carlos de Bariloche and see if I can get a job there. I don’t know what I am going to do yet, but I will keep you all updated! I thank you all so much for your support on this journey. I have been asked a lot if this has helped me live with my grief and the answer is not always easy. It is complicated but I do believe it has helped and is helping me.
The plans for WSCWS are always growing and we would love to be able to empower and support others continuing with style. At the moment, your support is beyond incredible, and I could never have done it without you all. Losing Paige was and IS hard. I wish she could see all of this. Paige died at 26, I turned 27 last year and in my 28th year I have been able to tell Paige, “I will pick up where you left off. I will continue. “Every single one of you made that possible. Continuing is something that we all have to do. It is the nature of grief and being human. But to continue with style is something that is hard, maybe impossible, to do alone.
I have struggled to share recently, and the road hasn’t been easy. It can be hard for me to share the lows. I have a tendency to bottle up my emotions (understatement), but I am starting to reconnect with that vulnerability and hope to be able to share even more of this journey over time. I am still both thankful and sad that I have this many names and “friends that go with me” on my bike. They are my community and travel companions. I am forever grateful to share it with them.
Cheers until next time,
Austin Andrew
Los amigos que van conmigo.
Written on my bike are the names that go with me or, as my Latin American friends say, “Los amigos que van conmigo”. They are loved ones who died suddenly, without a goodbye. Most are lives lost to suicide or sudden traumatic death. All are grieved by those of us that remain and now journey on in their absence.
Paige
Dot
Rosine
Maxx
Frost
Jackson
Lina
Mario
Alejandro
Justin
Brittany
Justin
Stuart
Christian
Nicole
Blaise
Zebulen
Carin
Shelby
Connor
Linda
Shane
Tim
Brandon
Rob
Richard
Jerry
Alejandra
Megan
Joe
Corey
Heriberto
Eric
Jeremy
Danielle
Nathaniel
Marie
Kathy
Grief After Suicide Loss: It Doesn’t Get Lighter, You Get Used to the Weight — Austin Andrew
Grief After Suicide Loss: It Doesn’t Get Lighter, You Get Used to the Weight — Austin Andrew
The lifelong path of grief is hard. It is an unfairly weighted backpack. And anyone that has been on a backpacking trip can tell you that the pack doesn’t get lighter the more you walk with it. You get used to the weight you must carry but it doesn’t get lighter.
My sister, Paige, was an incredible writer. The irony is not completely lost on me that I am the one writing a blog post for what was one of her favorite organizations. I always told my sister that I would love to be able to write as she did. And now, because of Paige, I have written a lot about suicide and grief.
She took her own life on October 14, 2019, just a month shy of her 27th birthday.
There are so many reasons I miss Paige and now I am adding to the list that she would be incredibly helpful in this writing process. The last words my sister said to me in person were, “I will be okay; I will be here when you get back.” This was just before I moved back to Alaska after a short stay in my home state of California. When I returned again after another year in Alaska, Paige was gone. Paige believed she would be there and she was so happy for me to go be the adventurer that I am. She knew that if she asked me to stay in California to help her I would have. Paige was happy to support me, she told me to have fun in Alaska. After she died, I spent so much time thinking that I could’ve done something different—even though she never asked for my help. If I stayed with her in California I could have done something to make sure she was still here. If there was something I could’ve done you better believe I would have. Through therapy (and more time), I realized that I couldn’t help if she never asked for it. And Paige was one of the most intelligent people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing and I believe wholeheartedly that she knew anyone around her would help without hesitation.
I was in Juneau at the time when my mom called to tell me that Paige had died, sitting in my office working on cruise ship contracts for the zipline company I worked for. It was a Monday and I ran outside unable to comprehend what was happening. I started to pull my clothes off standing on the shore of the Icy Strait. I didn’t know what to do. I stayed awake until the next day when I was back at my parents’ home in California. Without my sister. My immediate family was all together, gathered in the living room, no one sleeping. We lay on the floor, mostly sat in silence. Occasionally, the quiet was broken when someone mentioned something amazing about Paige or a funny memory, and my whole family would simultaneously break into laughter and tears. Other than those shared moments of grieving, I don’t recall much of the weeks that followed. But I do know we were not given the space we needed to grieve. We were surrounded by people who cared so deeply but were often projecting their own fears, guilt, discomfort, and sadness onto me and my immediate family.
At her memorial, there were tons of people present. I held others and was cried on so much. Most in attendance danced around the issue of suicide and mental health. During the eulogy, my brother and I talked about the subject. When she was alive, Paige verbalized her belief that mental health needed to be brought into the conversations of life. It felt so deeply out of order that my brother and I had to speak about it at her memorial. While walking up to the stage, the song, “You Don’t Know How Beautiful You Are” by Jon Foreman, faded out on the lyrics: “Future flowers from all this pain, future gardens from all this rain.” I could not see how a flower, let alone gardens, could come from this pain or the tears that were raining down.
The memorial was remarkable but it also felt like a bad dream I could not wake from. That was until I found some friends who came all of the way from Oregon to attend and just be there for me. I remember walking upstairs at the church and seeing them eating and laughing. It was just what I needed at that moment. I needed to see people who didn’t stop laughing when I walked up. In their presence, I felt some of the isolation of grief melt away. My friends didn’t change who they were around me just because my sister died by suicide.
There are a fair amount of folks who approach my entire family completely differently now. We are met with looks of pity and timidness or worse, silence and avoidance. Most do not want to bring up Paige and just ignore our reality—I am guessing they don’t want to cause us any further pain but denying our grief and her life cuts so much deeper. Paige is not her suicide or her eating disorder or depression. She is much more than her struggles or the way she died.
Being someone who had never gone to therapy or wanted to deal with my emotions, I spent a year vacillating between apathy and anger. I could not let myself be happy. I felt as though the only connection I had with Paige was now through pain. Often, I opted to feel nothing at all. I closed myself off from life and just survived. I got angry when Suicide Prevention Day would come around because the flip side of hearing people talk about how they are still here or how suicide is preventable is that there are those of us living in a world where our loved ones did die. Hope is powerful and necessary but sometimes that’s not how the story ends. Sometimes, your sister dies and you just have to keep living without her. And that reality made me angry for so long and still does sometimes.
What do you do if you can’t prevent a suicide? That is something that I am still working on answering. People who have survived a suicide loss are often in a fog of disillusionment. Like we have unlocked some answer to how the world works and everything is worse for it, the world is now seen through the lens of this heartbreaking grief and loss. The wild thing is how contagious suicide can be and the effects it has on the people close to it. It ripples out far and wide, touching even just acquaintances of Paige’s. The fact that I struggle with my own mental health now is something that has been a direct result of Paige taking her life.
It is not OK and it is unfair that we have to go through this.
Having a conversation with your grief is such an interesting thing to do. I find I still try to bargain with grief and time, asking to go back to the days before Paige lost her life to suicide. It was so easy to turn to unproductive coping mechanisms. It was just easier to not feel anything because the pain was too much to bear. Sometimes, we do need distractions and healthy ways to temporarily dissociate from the pain in order to get through some days. But I want and need to be present now. I want and need to accept the absurdity of life.
There are so many people who are left with this same overstuffed backpack of immense grief after losing a loved one too soon—especially to suicide. This horrific thing happened and we are left to fumble with learning to navigate it. You can start to feel so locked up in grief; trapped with this pain and alone. The world I used to live in was a completely different world from the one I live in now. The person I was before is different than the one writing this now. Although I carry a heavy weight today, I do not miss the version of myself that existed before my sister died. I took life for granted. But you can’t know the pain until you know the pain.
Eventually, after carrying the grief by myself, I did something I never thought I would do… I asked for help. I started seeing a therapist and realized I wasn’t really living anymore. That’s how I began to come back to life. The hardest part though is that it requires trying again and again. A quote that my brother and I reference frequently comes from a show called BoJack Horseman: “Every day it gets easier, but you have to do it every day, that’s the hard part.” The same goes for trying to live again. It’s challenging. It takes consistency with the small daily choices. Maybe it’s just getting out of bed and taking a shower. But little by little those things add up.
On the second anniversary of Paige’s death, I went for a hike. That day I started to acknowledge that I was just surviving and not actually living. During my hike, I started to feel every emotion I had hidden and stuffed away. I was throwing fists at the sky, I was happy, I was furious, I was present, finally. I felt it all. I kept thinking about how Paige would be upset if she knew what my life had become. Unfortunately, too many people who experience suicide loss are feeling just as isolated and apathetic to life. I knew I needed to try to truly live again. I thought of the phrase, “We shall continue with style” and how I had cheapened life and Paige’s life by barely existing. That day I said to Paige, “It is OK, we will continue from here. I will live again and carry your joy and pain with me as I go.” This is when I reconnected with my intrepid and adventurous spirit and started the We Shall Continue with Style organization.
Many of us feel so alone in grief. It can be painfully isolating. It is so important to support and be there for people dealing with traumatic loss and grief, especially the kind that most people would rather not talk about. And we need to do this together. We have to continue on with our own individual styles. Whatever that may look like—we can find our way back. Maybe not back to who we were before, but we can connect with ourselves and this world again in some way we find meaningful. For me, that is reconnecting with my love of outdoor recreation and adventure. Nature has many unique benefits for the grieving person that may not be found anywhere else. I truly have experienced a profound ability to be present with myself and my grief while spending time outside. I believe that there is a deep healing that can come from spending time in the outdoors.
In honor of this healing, this year I am going to ride my bicycle from the Californian/Mexico border to Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego Province, Argentina. I will probably be on my bike by the time you read this. I chose to make this trek in 2022 because I am now officially older than Paige was when she died. I turned 27 this past June. That thought has really messed with me. My older sister never turned 27 but I did. I couldn’t think of a better way to continue living than to go on an epic adventure. When I started to tell my friends and family about this ride they encouraged me to share my journey because if my family and Paige could help others find ways to continue living, we should do so.
We Shall Continue with Style came from the idea that together we can choose to continue living and that we should do it with our own style. By finding things that can bring us peace and joy. Outdoor pursuits such as hiking, climbing, kayaking, and cycling are some of the things that have helped me to find happiness and joy again. They have allowed me the time and space to grieve, find gratitude in small moments, and connect with this world in a new way. I encourage you to find a way to align with this life and maybe rediscover your own joy through the outdoors. I believe this is a way we can honor those we have lost to suicide.