Cole Tyler

About a day off Cape Horn and there are a flock of seagulls above the ship — they are a sign that we are nearing the Edge of the Earth.

 

Not sure what will happen as we enter the next few days and when we do get through, I’m not sure I’ll blog immediately. I may take a week and sit on the beach, I may venture back into the ocean, or I may go to see a special someone.

 

Therefore, I leave you all with a thank you for following me, thank you for your support, and thank you for understanding that dreams are meant to be lived and that life, no matter what, will always work out for the best.

I failed to mention that again I thought of Adelaide today when it started to rain.

 

It was when I came home to visit during spring break of my junior year. I went to the bar with Connor, Jackson and Brady to have a few drinks and a ton of laughs. Also at the bar that night was Adelaide. It had been about a year since we last spoke and she looked absolutely stunning.

 

She ended up taking off and I ended up walking to her house in the pouring rain. After a ton of small talk and her basically telling me I’m still a piece of shit, I convinced her to come outside.

 

There, we sat on her porch swing and, in typical guy fashion, I kept apologizing and trying to place the blame on football, not me.

 

About halfway through my defenseless explanation I realized that something was wrong with Adelaide. I kept prodding, but she wouldn’t budge.

 

Instead, Adelaide’s eyes just filled with water and her tears flowed like the rain as she ran inside.

 

I still do not know what was wrong with her, but my gut tells me she was hiding something horrible.

Making our move…not sure what will happen, but know that I love you all.  In case something happens, please forgive me Adelaide.

 

Cole

 

Woke up this morning with a plan. The idea is to attack them late in the afternoon.

I kind of feel like Jack Bauer. Isn’t that supposed to come back on soon? Dad and Connor are huge fans.  I hope I have what it takes to help our guys out of this mess.

 

More later.

 

Cole

Happy New Year!  Heading to this bar called The Rock.  Should be interesting as the night already was pretty fun with the crew excited for New Years Eve.  Crazy how it is still a big deal over here.  Staying at Hotel Flamingo, a classic hostel.

 

Also want to say thanks for all of the support. I’m not sure who many of you bloggers are, but your small, subtle comments have aided me throughout this entire trip.

 

And for everyone back home, I miss ya, I love ya, and I thank ya.

 

Cole

 At the bar . . . again, as I pretty much drowned my sorrows yesterday.  They have a computer in the corner that I managed to avoid using all day yesterday.  “No Posting Under the Influence!” was Connor’s advice before I left.  I think I pretty much said all I need to say in my last post to Adelaide.   Am trying to book a flight now, but the damn internet keeps crashing as I’m trying to book it. Lost my blackberry when I was running the other day in the streets. Gonna try the phone outside.

Cole

 

I think this song says it all.

I don’t want to write anymore. I don’t want to bring you along anymore. I don’t want to write this entry as I know that it is my final one.

 

That being said, this being my final blog entry I feel I owe you an explanation. And really, I don’t know how to deal with this other that through my fingers from which these words will come.

 

How, I don’t know. Why, I will never know. But I do know that these fingers need to move along this sticky keyboard that is missing a six and the letter that is after ‘i’ and before “k” in the alphabet.

 

So here goes. My final entry, my final message. My vision of Pain on a computer screen. So call me an artist, call me bullshit, call me a loser…but at least I won’t quit on this entry…

 

…After I walked out of Raphael and Gioninna’s 1 room apartment Diego and I began to kick around the soccer ball. We were laughing, playing, and enhoying the art of sport. Then, in typical fashion, I kicked it too far and into an adhacent lot. Diego went after it, but didn’t immediately return. So I went after him, calling out his name, “Diego, Diego.” But no response.

 

As I entered the lot I was grabbed by a big man who not only sucker-punched me in the kidney, but decided to punch the same eye that was beginning to look relatively normal. Not sure what was going on at the time as all I could see were two large men with pistols dragging both Diego and me deeper into the streets.  They eventually led us down an alley and threw us into a deserted building.

 

As one of the two guards watched us the other was drinking and pacing.  Diego and I were sitting, leaning against a wall in a small empty room with minimal light. We both were sweating profusely and Diego was noticeably scared – shit so was I!  My gut told me to make a move so I leaned over to him and whispered a plan. 

 

Five minutes later I faked a seizure, wildly flailing my body while hitting Diego and the wall we were posted up against. One guard came over to me and began to yell “Parar, Parar!” or “Stop, Stop!” but I kept flailing. The other then began to kick me in the stomach, shoulders, and back but while they were teeing off on me Diego was positioning himself to grab a chair that was in the room.

 

I watched Diego grab the chair and then I kicked one of the guards as Diego hit the other on the back of his head. Immediately we took off. My thought was that the guards took us deeper into the city so we should just head west toward Manta and the port.

 

As we ran out of the depths of the hot, wet projects I knew that more of these men would be after us but Diego and I kept on moving. In a weird, the universe is on our side sort of way, we ended up back at Gioninna’s complex where she and Raphael were worried sick.

 

But there was no time to waste, no time to explain. We hust had to continue running.

 

Gioninna directed us towards an ally that would lead to the port in Manta. As Raphael, Gioninna, Diego, and I ran toward the water along this “secret path” other guards were gaining ground.

 

As we were running we came across a man-made prison in a room in the city that was unguarded as I guess they often are during the late afternoon. But as we ran bye this prison it seemed as if life was going in slow motion as one of the inmates caught my eye and it was as though we couldn’t take our eyes off each other.

 

To clarify, this man-made prison was not your typical prison. The inmates were about a dozen half naked woman hanging from their wrists in a building. So I told Raphael and his brother and sister to continue on and that I would catch up.

 

They took off and I jumped into the window and began to cut down these malnourished and bruised teenagers.

 

Before you crown me “Man of the Year.” I must say that the reason I did this was because I 1) felt it was the right thing to do and 2) I would be able to outrun all of the guards as I was a college quarterback.

 

Well I was wrong. Just as I finished cutting down the final girl I looked back and saw that the guards were less than 100 yards from me and the look in their eyes was not very welcoming.

 

As I took my first step toward the “secret path” and first step toward safety my ever-so athletic foot got stuck between the window and shutter.

 

I frantically tried to move it, but was, as corny as this will sound “stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

 

That was until this little guy named Diego came to my rescue. He lifted the shutter and my foot slid out from under the window.

 

We looked at each other and smiled for a moment before I tossed his 80 pound frame over my shoulder and began to take off toward the Pacific.

 

And that is when my reality turned into a nightmare.

 

A single shot rang out and the once lively and energetic body that I had learned to love went relatively limp.

 

But I couldn’t even stop. I kept running. I kept telling myself that Diego was ok, that it wasn’t a gun shot that I heard. All I kept telling Diego was to “keep breathing.”

 

As I reached the water and our boat Raphael, Gioninna, and the rest of the crew were there waiting, along with a line of Policia who were there to protect us.

 

I took Diego’s small body which had been resting on my shoulder with his tiny mouth breathing small gasps of air and placed him on the ground.

 

Captain Carbahal furiously attempted to stop the bleeding from Diego’s lower back by applying pressure to the wound. Poor Raphael was staring at his younger brother, who he barely knew, in shock and Gioninna couldn’t stop crying and yelling in Spanish. All I could do was watch the Captain and clasp Diego’s hand and say, “Lo siento. Lo siento.”

 

The crew was standing around Diego watching his condition worsen by the minute and in Hollywood-esque fashion he pulled his big brother and sister close to him and said “Te quiero ambos.” Diego then looked toward me and said, “No es tu culpa.”

 

And just when I thought nothing could compare to when my newfound friend from the Children’s Hospital passed away, Diego too left this universe we call home.

 

It was then when I walked off the deck, with all eyes watching my every move…

 

…And now I sit at this Internet café writing my final hournal entry as this trip has done enough damage already.  I’ve done enough damage already.  What was I thinking?  I have been so selfish.

 

Maybe Adelaide was right…Check out her e-mail from before. I would say that I deserve every bit of it.

 

Cole

Alright guys, my buddy Jackson just emailed me in the hope that I would share his thoughts with, as he put it, “my people.”  I can only assume he meant to post it as a blog, so I guess I’ll humor him.  Here it is:

Cole,

 

Been reading your stuff, keep it coming man! When I get home from work this blog takes me away from the constant heckling I get from my Mom telling me to find an apartment, so thanks for the break from reality bro.

 

As I read your last entry I couldn’t help but think about the hoop game during spring break of our sophomore year. Remember playing those punks from New York who came up? What was it, like $10 a piece that we played for? Anyway, I think the story is similar to what just happened to you in Columbia. And since you have people like “Jenn” reading this blog I figured I would tell a little story about you.

 

So here it goes…We were all hoopin at the local courts against these punks and Cole got fouled pretty hard by one of the kids. The foul sent him and the kid into the local homeless man who wore the same dirty, stank green jacket everyday. But when Cole and the kid fell into him they knocked his shopping cart over and all of his precious belongings flew all over the court.

 

As the homeless dude tried to help up the kid we were playing against, the punk said some derogatory words to him and pushed his hand away.  Those “tough guys” that Cole fought (or got punched by) at the Columbian café a few days ago reminded me of this story and the way this kid treated that homeless man who was just trying to help.

 

Anyway, this pissed Cole off. Cole has a temper and when he hoops he is super-competitive, which typically means that he’s going to take the ball to the rack every chance he gets. After the incident, Cole took the game over and in Cole-esque fashion, he nailed the game-winning jumper.

 

As we were counting our cash from the game Cole asked to see it and count the $40 bucks himself (I swear he has OCD). But this time he failed to divvy it up. Instead, he walked over to the homeless man in his dirty, stank green jacket and just like he gave the crisp single dollarbill to that little kid in Buenaventura (wherever the hell that is), Cole handed over our winnings to him.

 

So while you are halfway around the world bro and some chick named “Jenn” is trying to take shots at you, I still think you are the same dude we grew up with.  Keep it real Cole.

 

Keep Rippin it,

 

Jackson

 

P.S. Stop thinking about her, man!

 I feel like Connor’s dog Molly.

 

And that feeling is claustrophobic.

 

Molly was a black Labrador with grey spots and was literally kept in her dog-run for her entire life. I mean she never took a walk other than the one when she chased her tail around in circles all day. Also, Connor only gave her a plate of food and a bowl of dirty water every other day. Quite honestly, if she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought she was living in Shawshank!

 

Not saying I feel like I’m in prison, but I need some time to myself and the port town called Buenaventura in Columbia is not quite sufficing. Gonna sail around the harbor for the day.

 

Will update you later.

 

Cole

Wind picking up as we are a few days out from Panama and I can’t wait to get there. The two kids are on my last nerve as they got on this boat thinking that they would be like the pirates or seaman they’ve watched in the movies. They didn’t realize that it is hard work every day to sail and that it requires focus.

 

I woke up early this morning thinking about the boys from home and thought I would offer up a summary of sorts.

 

Basically, Connor, Jackson, Brady and I have experienced everything together. Jubilation, heartache, teamwork, and youthful curiosity, we have been side-by-side through it all. At eleven, it was our first beer.  Two Budweiser cans and the four of us together in the attic of my garage while looking at a Playboy that Brady stole from the local lumber yard. We had just finished playing the Wiffle Ball League Championship Series that was won by the Mariners (Brady and I) over the Yankees (Connor and Jackson) in game seven. You might say it was just kids being kids, but in our minds, we, like the real 1989 World Series Champion Oakland A’s, earned those two horrible tasting Bud’s.

            From there it was the first older kids party Brady and I attended in 5^th grade. We wore khaki shorts, button down short sleeve shirts, docksider’s with no socks and the laces curled up. A memorable evening as I received my first French kiss from Karey Suprick, a 6^th grader, with “When I Look into Your Eyes” by Firehouse playing in the background.

            At twelve, it was our first drive around the block as I borrowed my Dad’s Toyota and jammed out to 2-Pac while he was at work.

            Who could forget 13 and our first time meeting Blackberry Brandy and Canadian Whisky at Brady’s? Shot after shot we experimented by not only acting like a bunch of loud fools, but also perfecting the art of upchucking.

Home boys

            Through it all, Brady, Jackson, Connor and I obviously thought we were cooler than reality projected, but we had a childhood that many children across the world have experienced and we developed friendships and created lasting memories.

 

And now I’m on my way across the world searching for Cape Horn and the cultures and friendships in between.

 

About 2 days out from Panama.

 

Cole