After a long taxi ride through the Peruvian countryside, a train ride through the Andes, and an overnight stay in Aguas Calientes, we had finally made it to Machu Picchu.

And it was every bit as amazing as we hoped.

Sarah and I spent the morning exploring the ruins, taking in the views, learning about the history, and appreciating the fact that we were standing in one of the most incredible places on Earth.

It should have been enough.

It absolutely should have been enough.

At first, it wasn’t bad.

The trail climbed steadily, the views were beautiful, and we were feeling pretty good about ourselves.

Look at us.

Hiking in the Andes.

Athletic.

Then the path started getting narrower.

And steeper.

Until eventually one side of the trail was mountain and the other side was basically an express route to the valley below.

There were no guardrails.

No ropes.

Just a skinny trail, a giant drop, and the growing realization that this had somehow gone from vacation to one wrong step and we’re on the evening news.

This was around the time Sarah began moving closer to the mountain.

Then closer.

With every step, she pressed herself a little tighter against the rock wall until I was fairly certain she was trying to absorb herself directly into the Andes.

Finally, she stopped.

Completely.

“I can’t go any farther.”

Now, there are times when Sarah says something and there’s room for discussion.

This was not one of those times.

This was less of a statement and more of an official mountain proclamation.

The hike was over.

Sarah turned toward the rock wall and grabbed onto it.

Not leaned against it.

Not casually rested a hand on it.

Hugged it.

Full body.

Both arms.

At that point, if an archaeologist had walked by, they might have mistaken her for a newly discovered Incan carving.

I looked up toward the Sun Gate.

I looked back at Sarah.

I really wanted to finish the hike.

Sarah really wanted to make sure her obituary did not contain the phrase “while vacationing in Peru.”

Being the kind person she is, she told me to keep going.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

I looked at her.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Like…this exact spot?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just going to stand here until I come back?”

“Yes.”

There was not even a hint of uncertainty.

Sarah had found her place.

This was now her mountain.

While we were debating whether I should continue, a nice man hiking with his wife came along and noticed Sarah attached to the wall like a terrified barnacle.

We explained what was happening.

He listened.

Looked at Sarah.

Looked up the trail.

And then made one of the most generous and bizarre offers anyone has ever made to us while traveling.

He offered to carry Sarah to the Sun Gate.

Carry her.

Up the mountain.

I still have questions.

Piggyback?

Fireman’s carry?

Over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes?

And what exactly was his wife thinking while her husband volunteered to become Uber Andes for a complete stranger?

Sarah politely declined.

Although “declined” doesn’t fully capture it.

There was a better chance of Sarah sprouting wings and flying to the Sun Gate herself than letting go of that wall so a stranger could carry her farther into the problem.

“No, thank you. I’m staying here.”

And that was that.

So I continued alone.

The trail kept climbing, and it wasn’t long before I realized something important.

Sarah had absolutely made the right decision.

It got steeper.

Narrower.

Trickier.

But eventually, I made it to the Sun Gate.

The view was incredible. Machu Picchu stretched out below, surrounded by enormous green mountains, and for a few minutes I just stood there taking it all in.

It was completely worth it.

Then I turned around and looked at the trail I had to go back down.

Well, shit.

There were sections where I had to turn around, sit down, and carefully scoot myself over the rocks on my butt.

Nothing strips away your fantasy of being a rugged world traveler faster than descending an ancient Incan trail ass-first.

And with every awkward little scoot, I kept thinking about Sarah.

Oh, she would have been screwed.

There was absolutely no way she would have willingly lowered herself backward over rocks next to a cliff.

This was a woman who had already formed a committed relationship with a perfectly good wall farther down the mountain.

So back down I went.

Walking.

Climbing.

Butt-scooting.

Eventually, I rounded the corner.

And there she was.

Exactly where I had left her.

Same wall.

Same position.

Same commitment.

At that point, I think the mountain considered her a dependent.

I walked up to her and said:

“Yeah…you definitely made the right call.”

Then I told her about the rest of the trail.

The steep parts.

The narrow sections.

The parts where I had to come down on my butt.

Her face changed with every detail.

And we both immediately realized how badly things could have gone if she’d accepted that man’s offer.

Because maybe he could have carried Sarah to the Sun Gate.

Maybe.

But there was absolutely no way she was getting herself back down.

She would have taken one look at the descent, grabbed onto the nearest ancient stone, and announced:

“No. This is where I live now.”

At that point, there would have been only one option.

A helicopter.

I can picture the rescue call now.

“What’s the emergency?”

“American tourist stranded at the Sun Gate.”

“Is she injured?”

“No.”

“Did she fall?”

“No.”

“Altitude sickness?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t she come down?”

“She looked at the trail.”

Somewhere at the top, Sarah would be wrapped around a rock while a rescue worker tried to negotiate with her.

“Ma’am, we’re here to help you.”

“I’m good.”

“Ma’am, you need to let go of the mountain.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Ma’am, we have a helicopter waiting.”

“Perfect. Bring it closer.”

Meanwhile, I’d be standing at the bottom pretending I had no involvement whatsoever.

Wow. That’s terrible. Who convinced her to go up there?

Eventually they’d have to strap her into a harness and airlift her off Machu Picchu while tourists below took photos of the rare and elusive American Mountain Clinger.

And I know exactly what she’d be yelling as the helicopter carried her away:

“I TOLD YOU I WASN’T GOING ANY FARTHER!”

So yes, I made it to the Sun Gate.

Sometimes you know when to stop.

And sometimes your greatest travel accomplishment is successfully avoiding an international rescue operation.