Carlie’s bright, rosy cheeks beamed as he watched me hopelessly try to guess the source of these words. We were 11 years old, sitting in the front of a rusty old lorry on our way back from a horse-riding event, as was often the case during our summer holidays. Little did we know how wise, and sadly poignant, Master Oogway of Kung Fu Panda’s words would prove to be.

Carlie and I had been close ever since we were eight. I still vividly remember the day we met: he had kicked me in the head while swimming and rushed over to make sure I was okay. Though, in hindsight, I suspect that he mainly did so to prevent his parents from overhearing any sobs, his gesture was the beginning of a deep, long-lasting friendship.

Around those he was close to, Carlie was incredibly confident and outgoing. He was curious and charismatic, with a wide smile and a happy-go-lucky, silly, seemingly carefree nature. He was very gentle but, most of all, incredibly kind to those around him. I often wonder where we would be if he had shown himself an ounce of that same kindness.

He had dyslexia and subsequently struggled considerably at school, which would knock his confidence, making him feel shy and reserved - a complete contrast to the person I knew. However, he found solace in the arts, namely theatre and photography, where he could express himself freely, without restriction.

As we moved into our early twenties, life guided us in different directions. I was therefore not aware of the depth of the depression that he was battling. On the 9th of March, 2021, Carlie took his life.

I have still not truly come to terms with his passing, and I doubt that I ever will. Mostly, I wish I had one more chance to tell him how much I love him and how thankful and proud I am to have known him. I will carry him with me, in all that I do, for the rest of my life. A small comfort I have found is knowing that while we wither and grow old, the memory of him remains eternally youthful and beautiful.

In happier days, Carlie lived in Sri Lanka, spending his nineteenth Christmas in Kandy with my Sinhalese grandmother. He seemed joyful and at peace there and so, when I visited my grandmother in late 2023, I thought of him often. I wanted to do something to remember and celebrate him.

Then, bouncing around the pothole-ridden roads of Ella in the back of a spluttering old tuk-tuk, it struck me. What could be more hilarious, chaotic, mad and therefore completely fitting than his friends, loved ones and supporters racing across the length of Sri Lanka, retracing his steps in rickety tuk-tuks through a land that he loved, all in his name? I was certain Carlie would have approved.

Fast forward two years and with the help of the wonderful Amber Wild, Theo Ross, George Love, Rahul Wijeratne, Donald Skyfeather, Pradeep Samarakoon, the Tufnell family and my own family: mother Selina Blow, grandmother Helga De Silva and Desmond Perera, there we were at the starting line.

In the pouring rain, twenty-two revving tuk-tuks carrying sixty-one drivers lined a narrow street in Anuradhapura with a firework for a starting pistol. You could feel the anticipation and trepidation in the chorus of engines - understandable considering that less than an hour earlier none of us had ever driven a tuk-tuk. After false starts, no starts and a fashionably late start from Carlie's younger brother Albi, we were off.

For those that expected a leisurely, sunbaked cruise through paradise, think again. Tuk-tuks are often described as glorified lawnmowers with little more than a letterbox-sized windscreen, offering little to no defense against the pounding monsoon rain that can appear out of nowhere within minutes. Throw in buses making high speed overtakes around blind corners, kleptomaniac monkeys with a penchant for cameras and ginger biscuits, and wild bull elephants as oncoming traffic and you’re getting closer.

Run-ins with elephants became a recurring theme. On the way to Sigiriya, Albi’s tuk-tuk was forced into a sudden, and rather enthusiastic, detour when a bull elephant charged out of the jungle and straight into the bus in front of them. Later that night, I had my own encounter.

Navigating a steep, winding road in pitch darkness, I slammed on the brakes as Jeanie, our self-appointed health and safety officer, yelled out. A huge female elephant stood ahead of us on a hairpin bend, completely blocking the road. With sheer drops into the jungle on either side and no way past, our only option was to inch backwards for two kilometres along the undulating road, all the while with the elephant following, never more than a trunk’s length away.

Amber, sensing imminent danger, scrambled in darkness across the back seats, grabbing the box of “limited edition” Carlie’s Crossing bucket hats, keyrings and shirts. With a final lunge, she grabbed the all important laptop while propping her door ajar, in preparation of hurling herself into the dark jungle mist at a moment’s notice. Fortunately, this rapid descent was not required as the elephant, disinterested, wandered into the jungle.

After racing through a two day monsoon, we arrived at Helga’s Folly, my grandmother's home, for New Years Eve, sodden and relieved.

Until then, much of the focus had been on the chaos and humour of the race - the absurdity of sixty-one novices hurtling across Sri Lanka in deafening rain. But when Carlie’s father Mark stood to speak, the laughter faded, the chatter stilled, and all were reminded why we were really there.

He spoke of the importance of talking, of reaching out when life feels uncertain, when the road ahead is unclear. "If you're feeling down, if you don’t know where you’re going, just talk," he urged. "It’s so, so important, because the one thing you must not do is throw away the chance of life." 

His message was simple yet profound: no one should have to face their struggles alone. With this in mind, we raised our glasses - not only to Carlie but to all those we have loved and lost.

Not everyone taking part had known Carlie personally. The overwhelming response from those wanting to join meant we opened it to anyone who felt truly passionate about being part of the adventure. So, while to many Carlie was a son, a brother and a friend, some had not met him.

The toast was a nod to Carlie, but also an acknowledgment that the race was for all the lost souls that the drivers carried in their thoughts.

And then, the conversations opened up. About those they had lost, the feeling of losing them, then and now, the ache of missing them. They spoke of words left unsaid, moments they longed to relive, the laughter and the tears. The hilarious anecdote that brought those gone back to life along with the void they have left behind. And through those conversations, a deeply powerful bond formed among us, one that I still struggle to put into words. 

The following morning, with weary heads and heavy eyes, we set off to visit the TEA Project, one of the charities we support. However, for some, the journey took an unexpected, and very literal, turn as they found themselves lost and stuck in leech-infested jungle marshes. Eventually, everyone arrived to meet the children of the TEA Project.

Sri Lanka was colonised by the British in the late 18th century, who displaced vast numbers of workers to labour on plantations, first for coffee and later tea. Yet, little was done to build fundamental amenities in these areas, particularly schools. Today, these regions remain among the most deprived in Asia. With few alternatives, most children have no choice but to work as tea pickers, a job where even the most productive workers earn as little as £3 a day.

The TEA Project is changing that by providing education and meals to children growing up in these regions. They also train parents in vocational skills, empowering families and helping to break the cycle of poverty.

The second charity we support is the Carlie Tufnell Charitable Trust, founded by Carlie’s parents, Mark and Jane. Dedicated to supporting mental health initiatives, aiding those with learning difficulties and fostering engagement in the arts, it funds areas that were close to Carlie’s heart.

As we approached the final day of racing, after five days and 400km on the road, only six minutes separated the two fastest tuk-tuks. Stretching from the hills of Ella and descending to the shores of Weligama, this was set to be the longest and most gruelling day of racing, with some teams taking ten hours to finish.

Both leading teams were pairs of siblings. In the lead was Hunny Grainger, one of Carlie’s first loves, and her brother. In second were the Lindsay brothers, who had been tipped as favourites before the race thanks to their extreme knowledge of all things racing.

The competition was fierce, with boulders surreptitiously placed in opposing tuk-tuks, route maps with exact plans tossed into overhead fans and subsequently shredded to ineligibility, and glass Coca-Cola bottles being refashioned into petrol canisters to refuel in motion. However, little did the Lindsays know that their downfall would come in the form of laced, busty frocks.

The day prior, they had rapidly purchased two delicate Bavarian Dirndl dresses to wear for their victorious finish. However, the brothers, top-to-tail in lace, attracted the unwanted attention of passing police. They were stopped not once, not twice, but three times, only for the officers to simply stare in bemused disbelief. And so, after another flawless day of racing, the Graingers triumphed, crossing the finishing line at Taprobane Island, Weligama, first and officially being crowned the winners of the inaugural Carlie’s Crossing.

Thanks to the generous support of our donors, we have raised over $100,000 (£80,000)  for two incredible causes. And, by reading this far, you too are making a difference, because raising awareness is the most powerful way we can break the silence and stigma surrounding mental health.

We are still welcoming donations. Every contribution, no matter the size, will make a lasting impact in memory of those we have lost.

After the race, I was truly moved when I received a message from someone who took part but had never met Carlie. In many ways, it encapsulated the purpose behind the race and may apply to you, the reader, too:

“I didn’t know Carlie. I wish I did. Now I do.” 

Carlie may have been taken early, but his spirit lives on. This race was a celebration of life, friendship, and the enduring, inexplicable bond we share with those we love, even after they are gone.