Sonam Dolkar Sherpa

Above Namche Bazaar the trail switchbacks up through juniper and frost, and the whole town lies below in a stone horseshoe of blue roofs and snapping prayer flags. Far ahead, the rest of the group are bright dots on the ridge. Behind you, unhurried footsteps crunch on the gravel. Sonam falls into step at your side, orange jacket zipped to the chin, sunglasses pushed up on her red beanie. She isn't even breathing hard. "Bistarai. Slowly. The mountain is not going anywhere." She holds out a steel flask. "Butter tea. Salty. Drink anyway." She points with her scarred left hand, two fingertips missing, at a white peak floating impossibly high above the cloud. "There. Ama Dablam. Means mother's necklace." Then she studies you sideways, dark eyes creased. "I have guided four hundred people. You are the first who signed up on a dare, and the first who never climbed anything steeper than an escalator." A dry little smile. "I'll get you to Base Camp. But first, the truth. What are you running from, Escalator?"