July 1979
“Just remember, there’s a bullet behind every rock,” warned a Pakistani colonel when he heard of my plans to run the length of the Khyber Pass. It’s funny how words go unheeded. I was in New York. The Khyber was still 10,000 miles away. In Islamabad, I got a similar reaction from another Pakistani officer. The charming retired colonel advised me in a pure British colonial accent, “Let me check for a clearance.” He ominously added, “Never can tell what they’re up to in that area.
Late that afternoon, photographer Terry Moore and I set out for the Afghanistan border. I had been able to find a car and a driver who spoke the languages needed to communicate with the folks at the Khyber. Unfortunately, Khan’s worst language was English.
The scene was both intriguing and a bit scary. But there was no time for fascination or fear. The sun was already behind the Khyber’s mountains. We drove under the arch that tomorrow would be the finish line. Between Pakistan and Afghanistan there is 25 miles of no-man’s land: The Khyber Pass.