On the train to Prague there is a two-lane road that from time to time parallels the tracks. When it did looking out the window I saw the ghost rider. He was scared, as the road had leaded him to a place unexpected.

That first night in the Czech Republic he stop at a restaurant with rooms on the second floor. He did not speak their language and neither did they speak his.

The owner guided him to the back of the building and had him park his motorcycle, off to the side, in the kitchen. He was shown a second floor room and noticed they all were empty. Sitting at a table they brought him food and drink. No words were spoken, but everything understood. Later, he had sat in his room looking out and wondered why the road had changed.

He had been stopped at the border behind a few kilometers of cars. It had only just recently been opened. People were bringing in things they couldn’t get before.

The fear was almost overwhelming, what could be learned there that couldn’t be learned in a safer place. The bike began overheating as it always did if it idled too long.

He had come a long way to be at this place and time. He had heard the soundless voice telling him there was nothing to worry about. Still he did not completely trust it.

It was a country he had heard about, but did not know. He didn’t know the place, the sounds. The Russians had controlled it since WWII. It was part of the Eastern Block. How could it be safe he had wondered.

It was then, he had taken a deep breath and felt the fear that was trying to engulf him. The bike slid into first and started forward. He had slowly driven on the side passing the others and then stopped at the crossing.

The border patrol had been amazed to see someone with US California plates. The passport was carefully studied and stamped. Looking at him, he could see their minds thinking things he could not know. After pausing for a moment or two they sent him on his way. He had then known the road would lead to Prague.