Our Story

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Come and Hike It was founded by Roland “Bones” Jimenez, whose journey has been shaped by profound loss. He lost his youngest brother, Michael, to cancer in 1988; his second eldest brother, Javier, to a sudden illness in 1991; his eldest brother, Arturo, in 2017; his beloved mother, Lucia, in 2024; and most recently, the two men he admired most, his father, Stanley, and father-in-law, Joe. Through grief, he discovered healing in nature, especially through hiking. Today, alongside his board, committee members, and volunteers, he is committed to helping others find healing in the outdoors as well.

And the rest of the story as written by Bones...

The story of Come And Hike It began on a sunny spring day, on April 30, 1988. 

At just 8 years old, my little brother, Michael Jimenez, took his final breath, finally at peace after a long battle with cancer. He was the youngest of six, a fighter, a lover of life, a tender soul who couldn’t hurt a fly. Like any 8-year-old, Michael simply wanted to be a kid, to experience life for the very first time the way a child should.

Our family, overwhelmed with grief, had no idea this was only the beginning.

In 1991, at just 26 years old, my second eldest brother, Javier Jimenez, lost his life to a severe sudden illness. Javier was a high school valedictorian, full of life, always seizing the moment. He had just finished college and was beginning his career in finance.

The grief of this second loss was indescribable. This was shock and confusion. “What next?” my grieving mother asked. My parents, Lucy and Stanley, held strong but began to question everything as our family dynamic shifted once again. Not one, but two sons? Through their immense pain, they remained stoic, carrying the weight quietly, doing everything in their power to give us a life that still felt whole.

Despite the trauma, life somehow felt good. Aside from the loss of my two brothers, I remember my youth as picture-perfect, thanks to my parents, siblings, and friends.

As I grew older, I began to recognize that while my parents showed strength on the outside, they were broken inside. Driven by their love for their four living children, their grandchildren, and their faith, they carried their sadness so deeply that even we couldn’t fully see it. Two of the kindest, most giving people I have ever known… they did it for us.

Twenty-six years passed. We graduated, built careers, got married, had children, traveled, celebrated holidays, and lived as any family would. But the pain never left. Grief didn’t go away. It stayed tucked just beneath the surface, hidden well enough so life could continue. But underneath it all, the weight, the mess, the quiet ache of loss was always there… waiting.

In the early morning hours of June 23, 2017, grief knocked on the door once again for our family, now five, as my eldest brother, Arturo “Art” Jimenez, passed away from illness.

Grief was an understatement. No words could fully describe the trauma of losing a third sibling: sadness for my parents’ loss, concern for my siblings, wife and children, guilt, anger, shock, numbness, fatigue, sleeplessness, resentment, anxiety, relentless exhaustion, pain… and countless other emotions I still struggle to put into words.

Art was a lover of the natural world, quiet, gentle, nurturing, and endlessly curious, always focused on others before himself. It’s no surprise he was a multi-time “Apple Award” and “Teacher of the Year” recipient. He was often called the best summer camp instructor at Lamar Bruni Vergara Environmental Science Center, where he spent 12 years inspiring a new generation of campers to appreciate the environment and the wildlife we share it with.

Art’s mission in life was to educate, help, and inspire others. He never missed an opportunity to appreciate the little things many of us take for granted: the intricate formation of rocks, the texture of leaves, and their relationship to the insects that call them home. A true steward of nature, he had a deep passion for the outdoors, spending his time hiking, kayaking, bird watching, and exploring, always eager to share those experiences with others, especially his students, campers, and our family.

Unknowingly at the time, Art would become the inspiration behind Come and Hike It.

In 2017, just weeks after losing Art, I was invited to the mountains of Colorado by friends as a reprieve from the weight of that loss. Encouraged by Brian and Mitchell to take on my first “14er,” I reluctantly agreed. From the moment I looked at the mountain and took that first step, something began to shift within me. One painful step at a time, one gasping breath after another, I pressed forward. My mission was to hike in honor of my brother, but somewhere along the way, peace found me. In the sound of moving water, in the stillness of the forest and the skies, in the cool air that filled my lungs and the vast summit views, I began to feel the healing power of nature.

That adventure sparked a series of treks that would shape my grief journey.

Later that year, in October 2017, I returned to Big Bend National Park with my sister, retracing steps my brother and I had taken decades earlier. This time, I hiked slower, embracing and appreciating nature as Art would have. On the Lost Mine Trail, I claimed a point as “Art’s Peak,” spreading his ashes at the very spot where a photo taken years before would become part of his legacy.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand how impactful these experiences were becoming, but this mission continued to support my healing and unknowingly laid the foundation for our Hike to Honor program.

Life continued. Responsibilities grew. Time passed. But I found myself returning to nature more often, camping and hiking with family and friends, subconsciously seeking peace and healing.

On the one-year anniversary of Art’s passing, I felt myself slipping back into darkness. A heaviness returned. I felt a deep pull to go back to the mountains, this time alone. With the encouragement of my wife, I set out to climb Guadalupe Peak in Texas and then Mount Elbert in Colorado, the highest peaks in each state.

I needed time to process. To reflect. To honor. And once again, I found peace. I felt lighter, more present. My wife noticed it too, I seemed happier, refreshed. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was living life again, not just existing. I also felt stronger, physically and mentally.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that it wasn’t just about climbing mountains. It was something deeper, something I wouldn’t fully understand until the passing of my mother.

In January 2024, I lost my mother, Lucia, at 81. Despite losing three children, she lived a full and beautiful life. But this loss hit differently. Grief returned with a vengeance and created another shift within me.

Now, my time in nature was no longer about honoring, it was about simply being. Reflecting. I found myself walking neighborhood trails daily. As spring approached, the world around me began to come back to life, and so did something within me. Nature felt intentional, like it was giving something back, new life, new purpose, new perspective.

I found myself searching, wanting more, wanting to do more. On one of my walks, I remembered something a stranger once told me in my 20s: “There’s something about you… I don’t know what it is, but you’re going to do something big.” At the time, I brushed it off. But recently, I started to wonder if maybe it meant something after all.

As I continued walking, reflecting, and connecting with nature, it all clicked. The mountains. The hikes. The healing. The movement. The peace. Nature had given me space to process grief. Movement had given me strength. And then it all hit me with absolute clarity... 

What if I could help others do the same? 

What if I could show them the path I had taken?

What if I could literally guide those grieving into nature to find their own sense of peace? 

I smiled, overwhelmed with emotion, goosebumps. I had found peace. I had found purpose. And I knew I had a responsibility to act.

I went home and immediately wrote the original mission statement (since updated), to help those who have lost a loved one find a path to inner peace through hiking in nature.

shared the idea with my family over dinner, and they understood immediately. They had seen it. They had felt it too, having walked many of the same paths alongside me. They had witnessed the transformation. I shared it with friends as well, some of whom would eventually become board members, because they didn’t just hear the idea, they believed in it.

On June 6, 2024, Art’s birthday, I officially launched Come and Hike It as a concept, with the goal of raising initial funds, building a board, testing the program, and becoming a registered nonprofit. The response exceeded expectations. Within weeks, donations came in, a powerful board was formed, and we were ready to move forward.

By November, our first pilot program took place in Big Bend National Park. Alongside Board Members, Liz Yeoman and Heather Jimenez (my wife), we successfully led our first group of people grieving loss. Those women became the first to retrace the same steps I once took with my brother, now with purpose, in his honor, and in service of healing others.

In February 2025, I lost both my father and my father-in-law. Once again, I turned to nature, continuing my search for peace through hiking.

Come and Hike It officially became a nonprofit on June 26, 2025.

As of April 2026, we have guided countless individuals along their grief journeys through transformative hiking experiences, meaningful connections, supportive resources, and an ever-growing community.

Peace, love and good hikes,

Roland "Bones" Jimenez

Founder and Executive Director

Come and Hike It