THE NEXT MORNING THE MENdrove them southeast into the foothills of ruggedly mountainous territory, then had Nash and Temple get out. Next, the Jeep turned around and sped away.
Nash and Temple stood there in the middle of nowhere looking helplessly in all directions until they heard the sounds of another vehicle approaching.
A battered box truck came into view and pulled to a stop a few feet from them.
Three men got out of the front seat and walked to the back of the truck. Two of them pulled out a metal ramp from a recessed pocket above the back bumper. They angled it to the ground and locked it into place.
As they were sliding up the rear cargo door Temple and Nash heard a powerful engine start up. When the door fully opened, a dirt bike roared out and down the ramp, then skidded to a stop. The rider took off their helmet, revealing a tall, slender woman in her early thirties with long dark hair and skin, and an intense look.
Nash noted there were four other dirt bikes in the back. He also saw that each bike had an extra fuel tank attached. After they were all brought out, along with five gear packs, two of the men and the woman came over to them.
The bigger man, who was taller than Nash and about 230 pounds of solid muscle, said, “I am Thura. We all speak English, so no worries.” He pointed to his companions. “This is Zeya. He is Burmese like me. Amrita is Indian. In her language that means ‘immortal.’”
Temple quipped, “Well, let’s hope that rubs off on us.”
Thura pointed toward the formidable range of mountains. “That’s the way we’re going, and it’s going to get rough. But just follow us and all will be good.” He handed each of them a gear pack. “Water, bedding, some food, and other essentials like toilet paper. There are no toilets the way we are going, man,” he added with a grin.
Nash eyed Zeya, who wouldn’t look at him, while he noted that Amrita watched him curiously. The third, unnamed man hung back by the truck.
Amrita said, “Let’s roll. It gets dark early here. And cold in the mountains.”
Thura said, “With that in mind . . .” He walked back to the truck, reached into the cab, and pulled out two thick leather jackets and warm-looking gloves. He passed them over to Nash and Temple. Then they loaded the ramp back into its slot and closed the cargo door. The third man climbed into the driver’s seat, started the vehicle, and sped off without saying a word.
Nash hadn’t been on a motorcycle since college, but he got the hang of the clutch and throttle by doing a practice run along the road.
They put the gear packs in their own backpacks and rode off. They kept to the road for a few miles but then turned off onto what amounted to a dirt path that switchbacked its way upward.
Thura dropped back and over the sounds of the comingled engines barked, “Roads have checkpoints. Not good for us. We are better going this way. They think no one is stupid enough to do this,” he added with a laugh.
“We understand that the KIA controls the Kachin State,” said Nash.
Thura nodded. “The junta is not welcome here, but that does not mean that KIA is any easier.” He eyed Nash closely. “For people like you.”
As the elevation rose the temperatures dropped, and Nash was glad of the jacket and gloves. The condition of the trail continued to deteriorate, and he found himself bounced all over the place, barely able to keep his seat or both wheels on the ground. His forearms and legs ached with the effort. Thura, Zeya, and Amrita showed no signs that this persistent beating bothered them in the least.
He glanced over and saw that Temple was struggling more than he was. Temple looked over and gave a feeble thumbs-up. They rode for well over five hours before they stopped by the side of the road for a meal unpacked from a saddlebag that Amrita carried on her bike. It was traditional local food, they were told, and it was good. But Nash would have eaten anything at that point.
They started up again, cleared the pass, and headed down. By the time they reached the bottom it was pitch-dark, and their way was illuminated only by their collective headlights.
They reached a rotting shack under a stone overhang and inside it had their final meal of the day, which both Nash and Temple inhaled.
As they sat in a circle on the floor, Thura pulled out a bottle of whisky and five shot glasses wrapped in plastic from his backpack.
“Surprised you made room for that,” said Temple.
“There is always room for liquor, man. Now, this has been a good first day. We shall drink to an even better second day.”
He filled up the glasses and they all drank. The whisky was strong, but Nash welcomed its warmth going down.
Thura eyed Temple. “So you are businessman looking for riches here?” His eyes twinkled, showing that he probably did not believe this.
“Hopefully, I will be when we get to Myitkyina,” replied Temple with a forced grin.
Amrita looked at Nash and said bluntly, “And you guard him? From what?”
Nash nodded. “I’m sure something will come up, aren’t you?”
Thura smiled at this, but Amrita just stared at Nash with even greater curiosity.