Saturday morning, I didn’t have time to hit the gym because I had a hike at 10 a.m. with two people—Angelina and Jussie. We went to Kozan Kalesi (Turkiye), and although it was overcast and thundering a bit, the forecast didn’t show rain for a few hours, so I figured we’d be fine.
Spoiler: we were not fine.
Before we reached the top, Angelina recommended we head back down. I’m not about forcing it, and the clouds did look sketchy, so I agreed. On the way down, it started raining and then hailing—instantly making the trail a slippery mess. We got to a point where the path didn’t look clear. Instead of backtracking, I thought I’d try the original route. I’m the dumbest smart person I know sometimes.
I slipped and slid about 15 feet through thorns and over rocks, eventually stopping thanks to a vine that wrapped around my right foot—holding it mid-air like I was doing a leg lift. I used one hand to cling to a rock, the other to free my leg, all while figuring out how to avoid dropping down a 6–7-foot ledge that would’ve led to a steeper fall. For a split second, I had that feeling—you know the one. Where you realize you’ve messed up, and you’re already bracing for the pain. Somewhere between panic and accepting your fate.
Eventually, I figured out how to get down. Bloody cuts, bruises, soreness—you name it. But I made it. The rest of the hike down was uneventful, and when we got back to the car, Jussie wanted to grab food. I was in pain but agreed. I’m annoyingly optimistic like that.
Enter: The Mud Road of Doom
Google Maps (mis)led us to a café. On the way, hail started again. We took a turn onto what I thought was gravel but quickly realized was just mud disguised by hail. It was raining hard enough that everything looked washed out. As we descended the steep road, the car started sliding. Like… ice-road-trucker sliding. I said, “Fuck, that’s not good,” and threw it in park.
The incline had to be at least 10%. I had Jussie get out and try to push the nose of the car from the side, but we were stuck. Legit stuck. I tried to scout the road—slipping, sliding—and realized this route should never have been an option, dry or not. No way my little rental Toyota Corolla was making it out alone.
The only option was to get towed. I explained that to Angelina and Jussie, and Jussie tried to call a tow company, but they didn’t speak English. When he asked, they just laughed and hung up. Oh, and of course: only his phone worked. Mine had no service, and Angelina’s got waterlogged and wouldn’t charge.
Turkish Problem-Solving
Angelina had the bright idea to call one of her Turkish coworkers—bless her. Her coworker coordinated a tow truck to come find us. I gave the details, but communication was tricky. A local villager also passed by but didn’t speak English. Unbeknownst to us, that villager called the Jandarma—basically a small-town Turkish police force. They showed up with the tow company. Two birds, one tow.
First, a local tractor tried to pull us out using a thick cable. But the soil was too soft, and his tires just spun. Even worse, his front tires started lifting off the ground. They ended up calling another tractor (or something heavier), hooked it up in tandem, and finally got enough traction to pull us free.
Only issue? They were about to drag us straight into a raised dirt wall. I had to yell—not aggressively, just loudly enough—to get them to stop before we hit it. Angelina was behind the wheel but looked nervous, so the tow guy swapped in and reversed the car like a pro—fast as hell.
We scraped together 1,000 lira (about $26) to tip the villager who had helped us, then followed the tow truck back to the main road.
Bonus Round: Wobbling All the Way Home
As I drove, I noticed the car started to wobble around 65 km/h, so I had to take it slow. But somehow, after all that, I still made it home in time for jerk chicken at a coworker’s place. Showered, sore, and limping—but I wasn’t about to let a muddy mountain ruin good food or disappoint my people.
Of course, when I showed up and told the story, someone had to say,
“See, that’s why I don’t do that white people shit.”
Which… is an annoying way we frame a lot of things in the Black community, and a habit I really wish we’d let go of. But that’s another conversation for another time.
Reflection
Absolutely—here’s a reflection paragraph you can drop in at the end of the blog post, keeping in line with your voice and the thoughtful tone you naturally bring:
Looking back, this whole chaotic day was a reminder of how much control is an illusion. I had planned a simple hike, and it turned into an accidental case study in weather, language barriers, group dynamics, and problem-solving under pressure. And yet, I’m not mad about it. There’s something strangely grounding about being forced to rely on others, especially when you’re used to figuring things out solo. That day asked me to trust—trust Angelina’s instincts, Jussie’s strength, a stranger’s kindness, and my own ability to stay calm even when things went sideways. It also reminded me that discomfort isn’t always a problem to solve. Sometimes it’s just part of the story, and that story ends with a shower, a plate of jerk chicken, and a little more clarity about who I am and how I move through the world. But the biggest take away was to pay more attention to the damn weather BEFORE I take my light-skinned ass up a mountain.
Sprinkled Thoughts 
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