Solo Gringo

Nothing could ever match the hollow feeling I had as the plane circled lower to the Baghdad International Airport. The plump girl overflowing in the seat next to me was jabbering on about the desert. “Look at all the buildings, I think that’s the Tigris River.” She says tapping me on the shoulder, and pointing out the window. My head is buried in the book “Kite Runner” I keep hoping something in the book will be happy, just like I’m hoping the plump girl in the seat next to me will shut up. I don’t want to think about Iraq, or how crazy it was to sign up to go there. For the moment I want to ignore where I am, and the fear I have.

It has been 7800 miles since I left home, and for the first time I am riding alone. After traveling so far I have a habit of looking in my mirror for Mitch. Now he isn’t there, only this time it isn’t because he is broken down somewhere waiting for me to notice and turn around to find him.

Riding solo isn’t all bad, I will have to rely completely on myself. But not being able to carry on a conversation in Spanish will make the trip a bit lonely. Conversations inside my helmet have already started. Soon they will take place in the hotel, and then as I walk down the street. A good defense against would be thugs. “Hey, don’t mess that gringo. I heard him arguing with himself about whether or not it’s bad to drink motor oil.”

I am afraid to go alone, and just as before I will ignore the fear and do what needs to be done. I don’t know how much money it will cost, or where I will be staying at the end of each day. I don’t know the route I will take, or how much longer I will spend on the road. But I will get there…. Eventually.

--Ryan