Page 45 of The Big Race
"Ray," I started, but he continued.
"I saw you up there flying away from me and I realized I didn't know what I'd do if you didn't come back, if you just sailed on away. I love you, babe."
His words hit me with more force than the bungee cord's recoil. Here I was, still buzzing with the euphoria of conquering my fear, and Ray was confronting his own—the fear of losing me entirely. The irony wasn't lost on me: I'd had to literally jump off a cliff for him to admit how much I still meant to him.
Something shifted in my chest, a loosening of the tight knot of hurt and anger I'd been carrying. Not forgiveness—not yet—but recognition. Ray's terror at watching me fall wasn't just about physical danger. It was about the deeper fall we'd both been experiencing, the way we'd been drifting apart until his affair had sent us into free fall.
"I came back," I said simply, my voice rough with emotion. "I'm here."
He pulled me into his arms then, and the embrace felt real—not performed for cameras or out of obligation, but born from genuine need. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own.
"Let's not get carried away," I laughed, as Ernie and George joined us, though my voice was still shaky.
"That was wild!" George exclaimed. "Did you love it?"
"Love might be too strong a word," I replied, "but it was definitely memorable."
As we prepared for the next challenge, I caught Ray's eye. Something had changed between us in those moments of fall and recovery. We'd both stared into an abyss—literal and metaphorical—and chosen to trust the cord that connected us.
Chapter 20
Making the Climb
Anative tribesman in a straw skirt and a wood-and-bead necklace that looked like something Leo might have made in elementary school handed us our next clue, in a bright yellow paper folder.
“Proceed to the Stop'n'Go at the Pico Ceniza Overlook, 1,200 meters above sea level. Follow the marked trail from the Rancho Grande parking area."
We handed in all our equipment and then with Cody following we climbed a set of steps back to the parking lot.
We drove deeper into the park along a winding mountain road, following signs for Rancho Grande. The pavement gave way to gravel, and Ray had to navigate carefully around potholes and loose rocks. After twenty minutes of climbing through increasingly dense cloud forest, we reached a small parking area beside the famous biological research station. There were four other cars there, but from its bumper stickers I figured one belonged to park staff. Off to the side out of camera range were the support vans for the show.
"Leave the heavy stuff," Ray advised, grabbing only his water bottle and a light windbreaker. "This is going to be all about endurance and altitude."
I grabbed my own essentials and locked the car. Around us, mist drifted between the trees, and the air carried the rich, earthy scent of the cloud forest. A wooden trail marker pointed up a steep path marked "Pico Ceniza Overlook - 3.2 km."
Ray set off immediately, his athletic training evident in his easy stride up the muddy trail. Within minutes, he was twenty yards ahead, moving with the confidence of someone who belonged in the mountains.
"Ray, slow down," I called, already breathing harder in the thin air.
He stopped and turned back, his face flushed with exertion but his eyes bright. "Sorry, babe. I forgot you're not used to this altitude." He waited for me to catch up, then fell into step beside me. "We'll go at your pace."
The trail wound through dense vegetation, occasionally opening to reveal glimpses of the valley far below. Bromeliads and orchids clung to tree trunks, and somewhere in the canopy above, a toucan called. Ray pointed out interesting plants and birds as we climbed, his enthusiasm infectious despite my growing fatigue.
"Look at that," he said, stopping beside a massive cecropia tree draped in vines. "The guidebook said these trees are like apartment buildings for wildlife."
Every few hundred meters, he'd find an excuse to pause - to point out a colorful bird, to take a drink of water, to admire the view. I realized he was timing these stops to give me a chance to recover without making it obvious.
"How much further?" I gasped after we'd been climbing for nearly an hour.
Ray consulted the trail markers. "About a kilometer."
As we climbed, we heard voices ahead - someone arguing in what sounded like frustrated whispers.
"That's got to be the sorority sisters," Ray said quietly. "I'd recognize that accent anywhere."
Sure enough, as we rounded the next switchback, we saw Gemini and Blaine about fifty yards ahead, both looking exhausted and moving much slower than when we'd started.
"Y'all, I cannot feel my legs anymore," Gemini was saying, leaning heavily against a tree.
