My Turkish friend drew on his pipe as he explained what the roads were like in the Shehar area near the mountain village of Taif. His words gave rise to anxious anticipation and captured my imagination of what layed ahead in the area south west of this ancient village. Tomorrow would be my first trek into an area that remained untouched by western man. For hundreds of years the outside world had left these back mountain recesses unexplored by outsiders. We have no preplanned itinerary. Our only plan was a long ramble on our dirt bikes, among the chain of mountains that lie south westward through the Shehar area. This was exactly how I liked it, it leaves little room for disappointment.
Early the next morning, our small group heads out of town, following a dirt road along the bank of a dry wadi (river) between two lines of craggy hills. The road has many rises and descents as it begins to twist up along side of the mountains. Each turn offers something different as we penetrate farther back. The odor of things green loads the breeze. Sawtooth mountains of red and brown rocks lacerate the sky. The primeval beauty of the region becomes more and more incredible the farther back we go. Sparsely spread among the valleys and jagged hills are ancient rock houses and towers, We stop near an old rock fort and tower to check out the view. We are on the apex of a mountain ridge beholding the view of the choice unspoiled valley below.
It was like we had stepped into a time machine that's carried us hundreds of years back as we watch sheppard's herding sheep along a mountain. The scene has erased the line between and past and present. Here in these tranquil mountains there is a quite so complete that time itself has ceased to roll on. It too stopped and waited . No city racket with flashing neon signs and restless competition that gets in at every opening jolting to pieces our very souls.
We had bagged one of the treasures of Arabia and rode home with our eyes to the sun as it descended into the mountains. Jack J. Johnstone
