Even if we did manage to cross the border, we risked being captured by the Burmese military. They might not be as forgiving as the Chinese. Visions of the mule-skinner and his imaginary machine gun haunted us. We could disappear from the planet as easily as ants underfoot.

It took Keith and me almost another month to get out of Tibet. We walked untold miles. We accomplished the first ascent of a nameless peak higher than Hkakabo Razi. We ate tsampa and swilled yak-butter tea. We hitchhiked over dozens of wintry passes. By the time we got back into China proper our visas had expired and we had trouble getting out of the country.

By all external measure the expedition was a failure. The team fell apart, we hardly achieved a thing we set out to do, and we frequently put ourselves at risk for no clear benefit. And yet this journey remains one of those I cherish most.

Sometimes the best trips are the ones that go wrong. You tend to learn more. How not to spill your tea during an interrogation. How to tell an outrageous lie with a winning smile. How you're never too old to play hide-and-seek.