An ancient sage noted that a journey of 10,000 miles begins with but one step---meaning, of course, that to attain a goal, we must actually set out to achieve it. Only dreaming about it will not get us there.

My dream was to travel the length of Africa from its southernmost tip at the Cape of Good Hope to its northern extremity at the delta of the Nile. Although I was still in my twenties, it seemed a dream unlikely to come true.

Then, one day when I was at work for a newspaper in Argentina, I heard a fellow American journalist use a provocative statement he had picked up from Alcoholics Anonymous in the U.S.A.: "Denial is more than a river in Egypt."

I took the pun to heart. I was living in denial that I could ever make my journey of 10,000 miles, living in denial that I would ever see "de Nile."

I counted my pennies and went the very next day to a Dutch maritime company in Buenos Aires and booked passage in second class for Capetown, South Africa. A month later, I was on the high seas bound for the Cape of Good Hope.

I had taken the first step in my journey of 10,000 miles assured of but one thing: how, I did not know, but I would indeed set foot in the rich soil on the banks of the Nile.

Shortly after my arrival at the Cape, I saw a billboard advertising the opening of a Broadway show with an international cast of actors from New York, London, and Sydney, as well as from South Africa. Among the names listed was that of a friend of mine in college who had become a minor star in New York theater. I sent flowers to her hotel. We met the next day for lunch. I auditioned for a part that had not yet been filled and got it. For the next few months, I joined the company on a gala South African tour.

By the time the show closed, I had made enough money to seriously consider my dream of traveling overland to Egypt. In those colonial days before a series of revolutions brought independence to several African states, it was relatively easy and quite safe, except for wild animals and primitive conditions, for a "European" to pass through customs barriers everywhere.

I bought a Lambretta motor scooter, had it fitted with a special metal box at the rear for transporting tenting and camping equipment---which I would have to use between towns and cities along the way---and set out from Capetown en route to the Limpopo River and the beginning of the Great Trunk Road.

I was at last on my way to the ancient world of the Nile!

At a farewell party near the tip of the Cape of Good Hope, friends and I had christened the Lambretta "Road Angel," and that, indeed, is what my sturdy two-wheeler would become for the next several months---a Pegasus of the open road, a mechanical steed on whose wings I would fly safely through some of the most spectacular, dangerous, and stimulating landscape on earth.

The Road Angel served me well, never once failing in its glorious task, but, as with all things, an end must come, and when I finally arrived in Egypt to proceed in triumph along the edge of the Nile, my mount faltered, sputtered and otherwise indicated that the end was nigh.

Having patched and repatched it numerous times along the way, I knew that my faithful friend would not live to see the great delta which had been our goal. I could go on, unsaddled, alone, but that great spirit of the open road would live only in my heart.

Sadly, I contemplated a final resting place for the Road Angel. At Luxor, I was tempted to turn it over to a mechanic who wanted to cannibalize it for parts, but I saw no glory in that and asked him, instead, to fix it one last time for a short, final journey I had in mind.

For many centuries, Thebes-—Weset or Newt in Egyptian—-was the capital of ancient Egypt. It is partly occupied today by the modern towns of Al Karnak and Luxor, along the Nile in southeastern Egypt. It was named Thebes by the Greeks, who knew it also as Diospolis, or heavenly city. It is the city identified in the Old Testament as No (“city”) or No-Amun (“city of Amun”).

Scattered over the site are the remnants of numerous temples, tombs, and other ancient monuments. Tombs dating from the 6th Dynasty (circa 2407–2255 BC) of Egyptian pharaohs have been discovered in the original necropolis, which is on the west side of the Nile. The ruined temple of Amun, which ranks among the best-preserved and most magnificent structures of Egyptian antiquity, is at Al Karnak. Among the ruined Theban edifices of great archaeological importance are the tombs of the pharaohs.

What more fitting place to entomb my noble, faithful friend than near the dust of pharaohs, on the banks of the fabled river where the beautiful Antinous sank beneath the waves to extend the life of his beloved Hadrian? I would go on, but the Road Angel, having given its all to make my dream come true, had earned the right to eternal rest.

While the scooter was in the shop, I went sightseeing at various minor ruins in the area, keeping my eyes open for a likely spot. Nothing accessible seemed appropriate or offered the kind of burial ground I could handle by myself. I had just about given up on my plan, even considering the offer from the mechanic, when I spotted a brochure in a tourist office for a moonlight cruise on the Nile which included dinner and a strolling tour of the great ruins at Karnak.

Bingo! I knew what I had to do.

Baksheesh, the Near Eastern term for a "tip," could pave the way to almost anything within reason if the amount were right and the person whose palm one crossed with silver were greedy enough for the money to make a deal. After buying a ticket for the evening cruise, I scouted out the dock and found a crewman who would be willing to let me wheel the Road Angel on board that night after dark before regular boarding began.

He spoke just enough English to get it straight and, although he thought I was crazy, I could tell he dug my strawberry blonde hair and big blue eyes. Nor was he so bad himself. Some deals go better with the promise of a little something extra on the side. I gave him a wink and scratched my crotch. He knew what I had in mind.

Despite good repair by the mechanic, which had cost almost nothing, the Road Angel barely made it to the docks that night, coughing all the way, sputtering for the last time a few yards from the small ship which would carry us into the Nile. With a sad wheeze, the Lambretta finally gave up the ghost. My trusty steed had traveled its last mile.

I found the deckhand waiting near the service bay connected to the dock by a removable metal platform used by food and other purveyors to load the vessel for sailing. It was level with the dock for carts and forklifts. He helped me push the Road Angel on board. We went unnoticed in the crowd busily preparing for departure. He led me through a dark gangway to a closet-like area where we stowed the Road Angel. He was all over me before I turned back toward the door.

I wasn't sure what he wanted, but I was game for anything in those days. There was a single bulb above the door giving just enough light to check things out. He wanted to hug me and rub my butt and then peel down my pants to get a look at it. He had a raging hard drooling at the tip.

All his actions told me where he wanted to go, so I let him inside, where he went wild. I was bending over the scooter, hanging on to the seat with my pants around my ankles. He had shorter legs than I. His feet were off the ground, his knees dug into my hips, riding bronco in my saddle, hanging on for dear life.

Those Egyptians are passionate men---until they cum. He did, fast, with a few healthy snorts and slobbering all over my back, but I was sexually excited by his plunging dick and jacked myself off so we came at nearly the same time. He slipped out the instant it was over and hiked up his pants. He was a trifle impatient while I pulled myself together, but I understood that. He had to get to work on deck. Passengers would soon be boarding, and I had to debark and re-enter the normal way with my ticket.

After dinner, while my fellow travelers gathered for a lecture on the upcoming tour of the ruins, the deckhand gave me the eye, and we went below deck to the room where we had hidden the Road Angel. Once the door was closed behind us, the guy was all over me again and made it clear he wanted a repeat performance.

He was less anxious to get his rocks off. It took longer this time. I knelt on all fours and took him again from behind. He really dug in and murmured constantly with pleasure. I enjoyed it, too.

Before he came, I settled back on him and took care of myself, which he loved, reaching around to grab my cock and finish the job for me when my ecstasy began to show. He gasped when I came and sprayed so high a few drops landed on his face. It must have been a turn-on because it brought on his passion like before. He went after me like a tiger in heat and shot a load up my ass that felt like it would burst out of my ears.

That done, it was time for the other business at hand. He checked the gangway. No one was around. He led the way while I wheeled the Road Angel behind. He took me to another bay well above the waterline. He slid the door open. The river was calm. Moonlight rippled across it. There were few lights along the shore.

I took the ignition key from my pocket. It was suspended from a chain on which I had placed a silver charm in the shape of an angel, given to me by a friend in Capetown when I started the trip. I inserted the key in the slot and rolled the scooter a distance back from the door.

I got on and twisted the key, expecting no response, but the motor started up. The Road Angel vibrated into life one last time. I revved it up and headed for the bay. At the last moment, I jumped free, and my baby sailed out the door, now truly an angel with wings.

Down it went, into the black depths of the Nile, like Antinous on his way to becoming a god, while I stood there grieving, like Hadrian.

Never again would I feel the tremor of the Road Angel beneath me as we rolled along together on the Great Trunk Road. Never again would I sleep under the stars with the Road Angel at my side. Never again would I ride my humming mount in the open air at the bottom of a sea of stars, aiming for a patch of light on the horizon which signififed a village or a town where I might stop for the night.

Thus ended the Road Angel's African adventure. I thought mine had ended, too, or almost, but such was not to be the case. No, my greatest African adventure lay just ahead, in the unknown, waiting for me among the dark shadows cast by the seventy-foot columns of the Great Hall of the Temple at Karnak, shrine of ancient pharaohs.

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