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Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Boston driving in Iraq
We're still doing guard duty and mounting patrols. Yesterday we almost got two Humvees stuck in mud on our patrols. The local mud is slick and clay-like so that you slide in it, then it clumps like wet concrete to your boots or tires, then you slide some more. Both times our vehicles were right next to irrigation ditches, so the sliding part was certainly hairy. For the second patrol, as well as future ones, we wisely decided to eschew any more non-paved roads for a while.
We also took a little side trip, driving north to a certain famous river. En route we passed a number of very large American convoys, all loaded down with materiel and supplies, some in civilian semi tractor trailers who had metal grates covering their entire front windows and grill. Approaching the river, we passed several enterprising young lads (about 8-10 years old) selling bootleg ‘adult’ DVDs (we did not stop), and then accidentally got into a lane that forced us to cross the river. Prospects at first didn’t look too hot.
The north-bound crossing is an Iraqi floating bridge and it pretty much embodies Iraqi ‘workmanship’. As we drove down the bank on the bridge, we first had to squeeze past an Iraqi civilian fuel truck that had slipped half off the bridge and looked like it had been there some time, since it faced south, towards us. Our right tire rubbed what was left of the far guard rail while my driver-side mirror passed just over the truck’s right front tire, which was in mid-air, by about three inches. While some of the guys in the Humvee found this nerve-wracking, I was happy to apply some of my Boston driving skills and cheerfully said, "I got it, I got it," as we passed the wreck.
The bridge itself I found more unnerving as each section raised up and down like a seesaw as we drove onto it. We drove on a section and our side would sink down as the far side strained against whatever secured it to the next section and raised up, all while making a metallic scraping noise, then finally making a big ‘KWHAM’ as it then teetered back down and impacted the next section. Armored Humvees, as you would figure, generally tend to be kinda heavy and do not float.
But we were quickly across and then turned south to come back across another floating bridge. Luckily, this was the U.S. version and was big, fat, wide, ample, safe, inviting, and just generally one heck of a much nicer ride.
By the way, I often get the chance to show off my Boston driving skills as Iraqi drivers sure are something special. In short, it’s a free-for-all. Many of our main patrol routes are divided highways and we, in an effort to thwart bad guys’ attempts at planting IED’s, drive down the center of one side of the highway, keeping us as far away from either shoulder as possible. But we’re often passed on the other side of the highway, as speeding cars first catch up to us from behind, then quickly blow across the dirt median and calmly head toward on-coming traffic. So we take up one side of the divided highway as they have three vehicles sharing two lanes on the other side.
In general, we always have the right of way. When there is a traffic jam, I just get on the horn until the cars part like the Red Sea, albeit a very narrow and crooked version that I have to gently guide my eight-foot wide Humvee through. Again, Boston driving skills come in handy.
And you should see some of the vehicles on the road. Sometimes we pass hood-less, jerry-rigged trucks that I swear were built in the 1940’s or 50’s, often right next to a new Jeep Cherokee or Mercedes. It certainly reminds me of the ‘have and have-not’ reality of the Third World. Mini-vans are all the rage, usually used as private ‘micro-buses’ where the driver just starts driving between towns, picking up folks for a fee. There are Bongos, the Third World’s truck of choice, which is a small truck (with TINY rear tires – about the size of small spare tires) with a sort of mini-van cab.
We often see Bongos, and other trucks, completely overloaded with stuff, sometimes stacked twice as high (and sometimes also twice as wide) as the truck itself. Some trucks are loaded with metal reinforcing rods that are so long that, strapped to the roof or side of the truck (sometimes completely obstructing the driver’s and/or passenger’s window and mirrors), they nearly touch the ground in front of the truck, pass over the top, run the length of the vehicle, and then drag on the ground behind the truck, scraping away on the asphalt. Needless to say, you can hear these particular guys coming.
We also took a little side trip, driving north to a certain famous river. En route we passed a number of very large American convoys, all loaded down with materiel and supplies, some in civilian semi tractor trailers who had metal grates covering their entire front windows and grill. Approaching the river, we passed several enterprising young lads (about 8-10 years old) selling bootleg ‘adult’ DVDs (we did not stop), and then accidentally got into a lane that forced us to cross the river. Prospects at first didn’t look too hot.
The north-bound crossing is an Iraqi floating bridge and it pretty much embodies Iraqi ‘workmanship’. As we drove down the bank on the bridge, we first had to squeeze past an Iraqi civilian fuel truck that had slipped half off the bridge and looked like it had been there some time, since it faced south, towards us. Our right tire rubbed what was left of the far guard rail while my driver-side mirror passed just over the truck’s right front tire, which was in mid-air, by about three inches. While some of the guys in the Humvee found this nerve-wracking, I was happy to apply some of my Boston driving skills and cheerfully said, "I got it, I got it," as we passed the wreck.
The bridge itself I found more unnerving as each section raised up and down like a seesaw as we drove onto it. We drove on a section and our side would sink down as the far side strained against whatever secured it to the next section and raised up, all while making a metallic scraping noise, then finally making a big ‘KWHAM’ as it then teetered back down and impacted the next section. Armored Humvees, as you would figure, generally tend to be kinda heavy and do not float.
But we were quickly across and then turned south to come back across another floating bridge. Luckily, this was the U.S. version and was big, fat, wide, ample, safe, inviting, and just generally one heck of a much nicer ride.
By the way, I often get the chance to show off my Boston driving skills as Iraqi drivers sure are something special. In short, it’s a free-for-all. Many of our main patrol routes are divided highways and we, in an effort to thwart bad guys’ attempts at planting IED’s, drive down the center of one side of the highway, keeping us as far away from either shoulder as possible. But we’re often passed on the other side of the highway, as speeding cars first catch up to us from behind, then quickly blow across the dirt median and calmly head toward on-coming traffic. So we take up one side of the divided highway as they have three vehicles sharing two lanes on the other side.
In general, we always have the right of way. When there is a traffic jam, I just get on the horn until the cars part like the Red Sea, albeit a very narrow and crooked version that I have to gently guide my eight-foot wide Humvee through. Again, Boston driving skills come in handy.
And you should see some of the vehicles on the road. Sometimes we pass hood-less, jerry-rigged trucks that I swear were built in the 1940’s or 50’s, often right next to a new Jeep Cherokee or Mercedes. It certainly reminds me of the ‘have and have-not’ reality of the Third World. Mini-vans are all the rage, usually used as private ‘micro-buses’ where the driver just starts driving between towns, picking up folks for a fee. There are Bongos, the Third World’s truck of choice, which is a small truck (with TINY rear tires – about the size of small spare tires) with a sort of mini-van cab.
We often see Bongos, and other trucks, completely overloaded with stuff, sometimes stacked twice as high (and sometimes also twice as wide) as the truck itself. Some trucks are loaded with metal reinforcing rods that are so long that, strapped to the roof or side of the truck (sometimes completely obstructing the driver’s and/or passenger’s window and mirrors), they nearly touch the ground in front of the truck, pass over the top, run the length of the vehicle, and then drag on the ground behind the truck, scraping away on the asphalt. Needless to say, you can hear these particular guys coming.
Posted by: Unknown / 2:14 PM 
