While doing the gravel road to Ziarat, a former mountain resort for colonial Brits, I became increasingly alarmed about two guys in a blue Toyota pickup lingering in my rear view mirror. What did they want from me? Were they robbers? I decided for a shake off, gave the pedal to the metal, and left them behind in a haze of dust. A little later, while stopping for petrol, the slothful diesel Toyota appeared again. And guess what; the two men happened to be Pakistani police officers with instructions (from God knows who) to be my bodyguards, and they were not happy about my run away.While doing the gravel road to Ziarat, a former mountain resort for colonial Brits, I became increasingly alarmed about two guys in a blue Toyota pickup lingering in my rear view mirror. What did they want from me? Were they robbers? I decided for a shake off, gave the pedal to the metal, and left them behind in a haze of dust. A little later, while stopping for petrol, the slothful diesel Toyota appeared again. And guess what; the two men happened to be Pakistani police officers with instructions (from God knows who) to be my bodyguards, and they were not happy about my run away.
The main street of Loralai

My plan was to spend the night in Ziarat, but the policemen were persistent that I continued to Loralai. They escorted me for half an hour. Then my so-called safety was passed on to a new Toyota crew, this time armed with Kalashnikovs. Who did they think I was? Kjell Magne Bondevik? This unexpected service was a bit frustrating because their cars were slow, and I did not want to hurt their feelings by running away again. But after the next checkpoint they left me alone. It was mostly downhill from there, and at some point I realized that I had forgotten my Lonely Planet book at the petrol station, meaning that all my maps for the cities ahead were lost. How could I be so slapdash!!!

Playing Ludo at the police station

At the city borders of Loralai yet another police crew was waiting, again without any prior notice. Evidently their colleagues up road had given them a phone call. The officers guided me to a surprisingly nice guest house, told me not to go out, and left an armed guard outside my room all night. It all seemed a bit over the top, though I slept like a baby. The next day I was invited to the police station. They gave me a chair in the courtyard, two meters from a cell where ravenous prisoners clung on to the iron bars, and the policemen offered me tea and hashish. Other offers were spirits (illegal too), a drug called “snuff”, and some remedies with alleged therapeutic qualities in a white bottle. I settled for the tea. In a corner they threw dices for money. A guy won a week salary in one throw. Hurray. Another investigator poured his heart out, being in love with a girl from Quetta, yet being destined to marry someone else decided by his parents. Then the man among them whom I regarded as the most trustworthy, approached me with a small package in his hand. I opened it. It was my missing Lonely Planet book, found in Ziarat and driven the 100km to Loralai by a police courier.

After some late night whiskys in my room, these Baluchistan policemen willingly posed for the camera

I left Loralai with a set of horns from a Marco Polo sheep, a peculiar souvenir given by Mr. Rishi, the guesthouse owner. For a while the road seemed fine. Then it deteriorated to the extent that there was no road at all, just on-passing trucks in the horizon to navigate towards. The average speed was much less than calculated, with the cliffhanger descend from Fort Munro as particularly slow and nerve wrecking. It was hot and dusty, I ran out of water, and a headache hit me like a hammer. In the late afternoon, when entering the Punjab region, I was not much to look at. I was dehydrated, my face and lungs were filled with dust, and the air pollution had given me flu-like symptoms. It took three days before I could eat normally again. On the bright side, I had learned some valuable lessons about motorcycling in far-off areas.

Excuse me Sir, can you tell me the direction to the nearest Statoil station?