 |
|
Online FavoritesSpecial Issues
Photo Galleries |
The Ghost Road (Cont.) THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN the end of it. But what began as a private passion, I now twist into a professional goal. I secure a contract with a publisher to write a book about the Stilwell Road. This, I think, will legitimize my bewitchment. Although my editor believes I already have enough material for the book, I insist I have to complete the route. I return to India in the fall of 1999, hell-bent on finding a way around the Pangsau Pass military compound. The Naga tribesmen I manage to speak to refuse to guide me. No amount of bribery will change their minds, and I can't do it without them. I briefly consider bushwhacking my way into the jungle in a parallel traverse of the Stilwell Road, or whatever is left of it. Instead, I decide to attack the problem from a southern approach. I'll take a train from Rangoon to Mandalay, then another train up toward Myitkyina, a city of 75,000 on the Stilwell Road. Recently opened to foreigners, Myitkyina is accessible only by plane or train, the region between it and Mandalay remaining closed. I intend to secretly hop off at the closed city of Mogaung, 25 miles southwest of Myitkyina, and light out from there, to the west and north, along the Stilwell Road. I buy a black backpack and a dark-green bivy tent and dark Gore-Tex raingear. I conceal a knife and cash in the sole of one of my boots and obtain declassified Russian and American maps. This all somehow seems appropriate to me. I have only one crisis of confidence. While studying the maps on the flight to Bangkok, trying to guess where the military checkpoints along the road will be, I suddenly experience a visceral foreshadowing of my own death. It isn't a vision, just a profound blackness, a terrifying emptiness. My body goes cold, and my mind feels as if all the synapses are short-circuiting and exploding. Then I begin sweating profusely, soaking my seat. It is such a powerful presentiment of my own death that I begin to cry. For several hours I convince myself that I will get on the next plane home. Instead, I write farewell letters to my wife, Sue, my eight-year-old daughter, Addi, my six-year-old daughter, Teal, and my parents. I mail the letters from Bangkok, but they never arrive.
|
   
TODAY'S NEWS UPDATE!
Kelly Slater on His One Track Mind<... In One Track Mind, a film by Chris Malloy, surfing greats sit down to talk about what has ... 
The Spoke Word: New Winter Cycling ...
RAPHA Classic Softshell Jacket, $375 Rapha is quickly establishing itself as the Savile Row ... advertisement
Vacation PackagesMore Travel Deals |
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
- Home |
- Travel |
- Gear |
- Bodywork |
- Culture |
- Videos |
- Podcasts |
- Photos |
- Archives |
- Feedback |
- RSS Feeds |
- Subscribe to Outside Magazine |
- Join/Login
Partner Sites:
- Away.com |
- GORP.com |
- Orbitz |
- Cheaptickets |
- ebookers |
- HotelClub.com |
- RatesToGo.com |
- asia-hotels.com |
- Outside's Go
©1994-2008 Mariah Media Inc. All rights reserved.
Reproduction of material from any pages without written permission is strictly prohibited.
Reproduction of material from any pages without written permission is strictly prohibited.