18 August 21 Iraq Hie road from Basra had been a bumpy one; an Iraqi truck and trailer carried them to a crossroads up in the mountains twenty miles west of Yasuj on the old Royal Road. Walking their mounts and stretching their legs, Bernie and Gwafa let the girls and their guide Nasim go on ahead; an excellent man, knowledgeable, fit, with one long eyebrow crossing his forehead. Nasim told the two girls wild tales of the mountains to pass the time, his English passable. The six mules were packed with food, water, ropes, the two Springfield rifles, a heavy-hitting Browning Automatic Rifle with twelve 20-round magazines for Gwafa, Bernies Thompson, an MI-6 issue long-range radio in a leather suitcase with a new liquid mercury antenna, tools, provisions dried and tinned, an electrical testing device Bernie had ordered specially-made in London, and one Leica camera. Dressed in Arab robes and Swiss climbing boots, they fit in with the landscape fairly well. Sure could use my old cowboy hat. Bernie knew well when it was time to get off and walk so as not to fatigue them too much. He led the fifth mule as well as his own. I got a feel for horses and mules when I grew up on the ranch. No better education than nature, piles of shit, mountains, and farmland. Gwafa slapped his hand on his leg. For me the desert and the mountains of Mali and Morocco. Much to learn from. What was it like to live in a big city? Bernie caught eyes. Believe it or not, for me it was hell. The death of the soul. Never could feel comfortable living in a box, no matter how fancy. Need trees, grass, birds, sunlight. Growing up privileged is nice dont get me wrongbig houses, yachts, plush beds, two wines and champagne with your buttery Dover sole, but it was still a gilded cage, a person gets soft in mind and body. Ive been harassed and punished my