The Rescue… a Mirage in Time? #048

What to do when your family gets stranded in the desert under the summer sun.

Ok, where are they? I can’t see them anywhere. It feels like 50°C… 122°F for those keeping score… the sun is high, no shade in sight… and they’ve got no water.

Alright, rescue mode on.

Welcome Back to Utah

It was Sunday morning. We flew into Utah… and the flight? A breeze.

On Breeze Airlines, no less. Get it? Get it?

Ok, ok… enough with the bad jokes.

Grandma was worried the trip might be uncomfortable, but she was treated like royalty.

Utah is a place I’ve learned to love. Mafer and I both have family there. The outdoors are stunning, and the weather… at least in the seasons we’ve visited in the past, is perfect.

After surviving Phoenix, Arizona’s walk-in oven conditions in midsummer, Utah felt refreshing.

We arrived at my uncle’s house a bit before noon and were greeted by everyone…my little cousin Pamela, their four dogs (Zeke, Ella, Honey, and Nala), and of course my aunt Maricel, who had prepared a warm, welcoming meal. Lentils, rice, green salad, and beef stew… a full-on Panamanian feast.

To top it off, their neighbor…known only as “the pirate”…brought over some chicharrón, which got added to the mix. And let’s be honest, what could possibly go wrong when you add chicharrón?

After we wrapped up the meal, Maricel brought out a bread pudding.

And with the first bite, something happened.

I was transported. Straight back to their house in Parque Lefevre. I must have been six or seven… a little kid who loved reading every church book and magazine I could find, running around their home like it was my playground. My aunt has always been a world-class host.

That pudding brought back another memory too…of my uncle.

He’s always been the adventurer. The kind of uncle who teaches you how to catch geckos, crickets, and locusts… Which I still do by the way!

…and also how to ride a bike and dust yourself off after a fall. Two different stories. More on that in a bit.

Mapleton: A New Place Full of Memories

That night, after running a few errands, my uncle said, “Ok, it’s time… let’s go to Karen’s, she’s waiting. Joel, Mafer… you’re riding with me.”

Some of the family had flown in for the upcoming wedding, so we had to split up. Mafer and I were staying with my cousin Karen… while my grandma, mom, her boyfriend, and Aunt Colombia stayed at my uncle’s house.

Karen is the oldest daughter of my uncle Rodrigo. She’ll always be my little baby cousin… but the truth is, she’s now a mother of four, married to Chad—a great guy, Utah-born and raised, and also an automation professional (like me… so we had plenty of industry trends and deployment pipeline pains to go through).

Chad and Karen opened their new home to us… a beautiful house they designed and built themselves, tucked in a cozy town called Mapleton. Close enough to two bigger towns and the interstate… but peaceful, surrounded by mountains.

Now, a quick side note… my uncle has always had a thing for cars. Not just a thing, more like a sixth sense. He buys used cars, fixes them up, pampers them, and sells them again. It’s more than a hobby, it’s a side hustle… and a personality trait.

That night, we got lucky. He picked us up in his latest toy, a red Toyota Solara convertible. Just standing next to it seemed to shave 40 years off him.

Between the bread pudding time warp and now this… it felt like I was living in two timelines at once.

Then he hit the gas and said, “Hold your hats.”

It was super fun.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived in Mapleton. The town felt like a hidden suburb wrapped in countryside, sitting quietly by the mountains. Karen and Chad welcomed us with warm hugs. The kids were thrilled with the gifts we brought. And of course… house tour time.

As we walked through the house, something caught my eye. A little ceramic elephant… one I hadn’t seen in years.

It was the same elephant that used to sit in my grandma’s living room when I was a kid. Now here it was again, perfectly placed in Karen’s home. A quiet reminder of our roots… a crackle in time and space.

Once the tour wrapped up, we sat down and did the usual…shared some refreshments, used the bathroom, caught up on travel plans, and talked about what we’d be doing during the week.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Utah’s outdoor scene. Someone mentioned biking and how summers were perfect for it. A coworker had even told me, “You’re in mountain biking heaven.” But honestly, it’s bigger than that. Utah is Outdoor Activity Heaven. More on that in another story.

Then Mafer said casually, “I don’t really bike.” And me, knowing how to read the room, answered back: “Wanna learn? This is the perfect time… and you’ve got a great teacher right here.”

That’s when the laughter started. Why? Because nearly all of us, from three different generations, had learned to ride from the same person… my uncle Rodrigo.

Once the room calmed down, Josh, Karen’s eldest, said, “I learned from him too.” And it’s true…so did my mom, my uncle Orlando, me, Karen, Pamela, Rodriguito, Cristian… the list goes on.

Apparently, it’s a whole system. A method.

One that’s… effective, yes, but maybe not the safest.

So here it is, for the record:

Rodrigo Silva’s Bike Riding Method (Use at Your Own Risk)

It starts with calm conversation about biking.

He’ll explain the pedals, the seat, the brakes… front and back… the basics.

Meanwhile, he’s also scouting for the right “training spot.” Which, in my case, was the entrance to my grandfather’s house… a steep incline that led to a light-traffic street… which eventually merged with a very busy avenue.

Once he feels you’re “ready,” he holds the bike steady and says something reassuring like, “Don’t worry, I’m right here.” He walks beside you, steady, pushing gently…

Then, somewhere along the way, you hear:

“How are you doing now?”

That’s when it hits you… he let go a while ago.

And the gentle push? That was just the hill helping you roll.

You’re riding on your own… maybe five years old… both terrified and thrilled… wondering, “Wait, how do the brakes work again?”

We all cracked up retelling the story.

It’s a do-or-don’t situation.

The Yoda way.

“Do or don’t… there is no try.”

Later in life, I realized the technique didn’t start with him. When I was about ten, I saw the original master…my grandpa Rodrigo…teach my sister to ride. Same method, different location. A park this time. I guess he’d gone soft for his baby granddaughter.

Still… the name fits the style.

Rodrigo Silva’s method is legendary… slightly reckless, totally unforgettable.

Little Sahara, Big Plans

That’s when Rodriguito entered the story.

My uncle said, “By the way, Rodriguito wants to take us to the sand dunes… he got a new Jeep and wants to test it out. Wants to ride through the dunes.”

I said, “Of course I’m in.”

The next day, I met Rodriguito at my uncle’s house while waiting for the rental car pickup. He brought up the plan again.

“It’s a place we call Little Sahara,” he said.

A national park, not far from where Karen lives.

“So what time can I pick you up?” he asked.

“I want to finish some work stuff,” I said, “but I’ll be ready by 1pm.”

“Perfect,” he replied.

That night, we went out with him. Rodriguito had invited us to a Harry Potter exhibition in Salt Lake City. You know Mafer is a Potter fan… well, his wife Amy is a die-hard super fan.

It was the perfect night—laughing, shouting spells, trying to make Slytherin win house points… and we ended it with some soul-healing orange chicken at a great Chinese spot.

Next day, right on time, they picked us up. We were out shopping nearby because Mafer wasn’t sure if she’d go. But once she saw the scenery… and the kind of photos she could take… she said, “Hey, I’m in.”

Quick Walmart stop to gear up… and we were ready.

I drove the rental car, Rodriguito led the way in his Jeep, fully loaded for adventure. Like father, like son… like grandfather, like grandson. Yeah, I’d say it applies.

We were a party of nine…Uncle Rodrigo, Aunt Colombia, my mom, Alfredo, Josh, Liz, Rodriguito, Mafer, and me.

We stopped for gas and snacks. The drive was calm… honestly, driving in Utah is so relaxing compared to Panama, you could drive for hours and not even notice.

When we arrived, the sight was stunning. A real desert… wide open, golden, and somehow quiet. And, in classic US style, it had amenities—bathrooms, picnic huts with benches, even fire pits.

But… it was summer. And with that came the wasps and bees.

So, instead of staying at the huts, while Rodriguito prepped his Jeep for the dunes, I went off with Mafer, Liz, and Josh to explore the area.

We climbed a huge rock that serves as a natural division to the Dune Sea… one of those unexpected geological gates that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a different world.

Mafer started taking pictures, of course. I looked at the open dunes and thought… should I do the sand walk?

As in Dune?

Yes. Yes, I will. (And I did—posted it on SiMPL’s IG: @simplbyjb. Go check it out.)

So I did my little Dune walk out there, kicking sand, feeling like Christopher Walken in Fatboy Slim’s Weapon of Choice video.

He’s a Dune geek like me… only he got to be in one of the movies. Jealous.

That’s when we heard it…

“Hey guys, where are you?”

I looked over the small ridge and realized… my mom, Alfredo, Colombia, Rodrigo, and Rodriguito were gone.

You see, we had planned to take turns in the Jeep to ride the dunes.

But since we weren’t in sight… they decided to go ahead without us.

We headed back to the car for some water.

Between the heat…felt like 50 degrees Celsius or more…and the wasps, I decided to turn on the AC and sit tight.

We opened some snacks… it hadn’t even been 20 minutes when my phone rang.

“Can you see us?” my mom asked.

And in the background I could hear her and Aunt Colombia saying things like “Sit down,” and “It’s ok, stay calm.”

Oh no.

“Mom, what happened? Is everyone ok?”

“Yeah, we’re ok… but we got stranded on a dune.”

The Rescue Mission Begins

We were still up on the rock when the call came through.

“Can you see us?” my mom asked.

And in the background, I could hear both her and Aunt Colombia…

“Sit down, calm down… it’s going to be fine.”

Shit.

“Mom, what happened? Is everybody okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay… but we got stranded in a dune.”

I asked her to send me a location. She did.

They were a full kilometer away from where the car was parked.

Fuck.

I ran down the hill, got to the car, told Mafer what was going on, drank some water, and started walking again… this time in the direction of the GPS pin.

No sign of them yet.

And then, as if my brain had airpods of its own, a song started to play in my head…

“On the first part of the journey

I was lookin’ at all the life

There were plants and birds and rocks and things

There was sand and hills and rings…”

That song—Horse With No Name—just kicked in. And somehow, it made the heat feel… less cruel.

In the distance, I saw something that looked like an old wrecked vehicle.

“Guess they’re not the first ones to get stuck here,” I thought.

Snapped a quick picture for future reference and kept walking.

About halfway in….500 meters from the parking lot….I got another call.

“We can see you!”

They had spotted me… and I spotted them.

That “wrecked vehicle” I saw? It was them.

Now that I had a fix on their location, I called Mafer to update her and let her know I needed to head back to the car for water and supplies.

I was hot, borderline sunburned… and I had a hat, sunglasses, and boots.

They were mostly in their 60s and 70s… and had been in that Jeep for a while.

“I’ll be back,” I told them. “Hang tight.”

I called Mafer again, gave her a full update, and hiked the 500 meters back to the car… which felt more like 5 kilometers in that heat.

And that song… still playing in my mind.

“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name

It felt good to be out of the rain

In the desert you can remember your name

‘Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain…”

Once I got back to the car, I grabbed a cooler and stuffed it with water bottles.

Then I turned to Josh.

“Well… time to go on a rescue mission.”

I showed Mafer how to start the rental car…it’s one of those tricky ones…and told her, “If something goes wrong or we don’t come back soon, drive to the ranger station we saw earlier. Stay with Lizzy. They’ll know what to do.”

Then Josh and I went tool hunting.

First stop, the picnic huts. And boom…luck struck early. The first hut had some leftover logs near the fire pit. Dry but solid. We grabbed two.

Next hut… nothing.

Then Josh spotted a plank of wood covering a hole, probably for safety. We took that too. And just when I thought we were done, we found a random broomstick.

We had what we needed.

It was time to walk back toward the Jeep.

And as we walked… the song picked up again in my head…

“After two days in the desert sun

My skin began to turn red…”

Rescue Mode: Activated

Josh and I made our way back toward the Jeep, loaded with our desert tool kit… two dry logs, one mystery plank, and a slightly sketchy broomstick.

As we walked, the sun beat down and that same tune rolled on…

“After three days in the desert fun

I was lookin’ at a river bed

And the story it told of a river that flowed…”

And then, just like that, another crack opened in time.

Walking behind my little… second nephew? Is that how it’s called? In Spanish we do have proper words for these situations… anyway, I suddenly remembered being in almost this exact scenario… just not in the desert.

It was a riverbed, a muddy road. I was a kid, riding with my uncle Rodrigo.

Back then, my dad and uncle had gotten into the four-wheeler craze. We were out on some adventure, and I was bunking with my uncle when he said the famous last words, “Hang tight.”

A second later, the four-wheeler flipped.

I jumped off just in time. Landed on some rocks. It hurt like hell…

But nothing broke.

We laughed. Got back on the bike. Bruised up, but with a story.

Back to the present… we finally reached the Jeep. And there he was… the same Rodrigo from over 30 years ago when that four-wheeler flipped. Same face, same way of scanning for solutions… calm, self-assured, still the one taking charge. Just now with a little less energy.

First thing I asked, “Is everyone ok?”

They were. A bit dehydrated, hot, tired… but no injuries.

All the CPR training I took last year at work suddenly came flooding back.

Honestly, I was thankful I did. It gave me the confidence to assess things properly.

My uncle knew what needed to be done, but at his age, it wasn’t so easy to execute. Alfredo had tried to find sticks nearby but came back empty-handed. That part of the desert was either burnt or bare.

So we laid out the gear.

First, the logs went under the front tires. Then we took every floor mat from the car and layered them over the logs, rubber side up. We needed traction… something to get the wheels gripping again.

Uncle Rodrigo gave directions, of course, he’s always the general in situations like this.

Rodriguito started the Jeep.

We pushed.

Wheels spun.

Then, boom.

The car jerked forward and popped out of the dune.

Cheers. High fives. Desert victory.

We were caked in sweat and sand, but alive and pumped. I climbed into the back of the Jeep, standing up like I was in a low-budget war movie. The kind where no one has water, but somehow everyone has cool sunglasses.

Back at the car, I took off my boots and poured out what felt like a sandbox.

They weren’t cowboy boots… more like hike-work hybrids. But right then, I felt like Clint Eastwood in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

Dusty, tired, and satisfied after a long duel with nature.

We were all okay. No one hurt. No heatstroke. Just one incredible story.

Country Diner Wisdom

Once we were all back in the car, dusty and alive, my uncle said, “Ok, let’s go eat.”

We headed to Nephi, a small farmer town nearby, and stopped at a real country diner, called Lisa’s Country Kitchen.

I needed it. That kind of comfort food that hits both your stomach and your soul.

A big plate of veal with gravy and sweet potatoes… you know it’s real country when they ask if you want white or brown gravy. I chose white! It came with a hearty beef and veggie soup to start, a side of fried pickles… and, of course, a root beer. The kind of meal that slows your heartbeat down just enough to reflect on everything that just happened.

While we ate, they told me the full story.

They had been riding the dunes, full of adrenaline, and decided to try a jump. My mom, my uncle, Alfredo, and Aunt Colombia… all of them hit that same crack in time and space. They were 20 again. Wind in their faces, desert all around, nothing but adventure ahead.

But the dune they jumped didn’t have a soft slope on the other side. It dropped suddenly. And the weight of the car made it sink. All four wheels swallowed by sand.

And here’s the thing… if they had kept going, if they had pushed forward just a little more… there was a steep fall right after that. A real one. The car could have flipped. The ending would’ve been very different.

So in a weird way, getting stuck may have saved their lives.

It kept them safe, kept them together, and gave us the chance to spend the rest of the week fully intact. We still had a wedding to celebrate… and that story’s coming next week.

Oh, and one last thing…

We all agreed not to tell Grandma. Not right away. She worries… and she’s very resourceful. But in case she somehow finds this story, well… sorry guys, she was going to figure it out eventually.

What If I Was Always Getting Ready for This?

As we sat there, full and grateful, the story settled in.

They weren’t trying to be reckless. They just felt alive. And for a moment, the desert gave them a taste of youth again. That’s the kind of thing Rodrigo Silva tends to awaken in people.

But the thing that stuck with me wasn’t the adrenaline, or even the risk… it was the fact that we were ready.

I was ready because I hike. Because I exercise.

Ready because I’d taken CPR training just last year.

Ready because they, too, had prepped—there was water in the cooler, enough for everyone.

Also, let’s be honest… we were lucky.

Lucky no one got hurt.

Lucky we had cellphone signal.

Lucky they spotted me in the distance.

And lucky they got stranded… because if they hadn’t, the car might’ve kept going, straight into that drop.

And that made me pause.

What if all my life I had been getting ready for this exact moment?

What if those crackles in time… those vivid memories that keep popping up… are not distractions, but signals?

Maybe that’s what learning is.

Not a course, not a test, not a checklist… but life itself preparing you, quietly, for the unexpected.

Or maybe… I time traveled to the past.

Maybe through a desert crack, or by whispering through a token… like that little elephant ornament.

The same one now sitting in Karen’s living room, just like it did in Grandma’s, over 30 years ago.

Maybe that’s how the message got through.

Maybe I told my younger self, “You’re gonna need this one day… get ready.”

They say we live in such a state of probability that the present is just an illusion… there’s only future and past, stretching and folding on top of each other.

Hahaha… nah, that’s a stretch.

If that were true, I would’ve left lottery numbers or something.

So yeah, that’s the story… a desert rescue, a multi-generational adventure, and a reminder that sometimes we’re more prepared than we think.

Next week, I’ll tell you about the wedding.

It’s a story about family, chemistry, dancing, hiking, food… and some unexpected conversations about AI. Because, of course.

If you enjoyed this one, share it with someone who loves a good family story, or someone who’s ever gotten stuck in sand…literally or metaphorically.

And if you haven’t yet, hit that subscribe button.

Oh, and I finally opened an Instagram page—@simplbyjb—more stories, behind-the-scenes, and maybe even some of those desert photos.

Thanks for reading!