Big White is AWESOME! An Army story... First Gulf War. You know the one before the second one...

"Flump! Flump! Flump!" Just trying to keep this PC.

Yep, I was a little annoyed.

I'm just gonna do my ADHD thing here. IF you were in the British Army you may remember the Armstrong 500s. Here is a pic. And it is all decked out in desert camouflage... or commonly known as 'painted'.

A pic. Just in case you were confused.

 Okay, back to the story... "Flump!" I added for good measure. My bike, like all Armstrongs, was prone to the timing belt shredding. So much so that I carried spare belts in my little crappy tool kit... so much so that the little hex bolts bolting the cover plate on were worn to the point of being non serviceable or in common army parlance 'fucked'. And... the said timing belt had just shredded... "Flumpity flump flump!"

Okay, so, let me paint a picture. Our unit (22 Engineer Field Squadron) were somewhere in the desert - if any of you remember the pipeline road we were about 22kms down the pipeline road, turn right drive 4kms (ish) and you hit camp. For those of you who don't remember the pipeline road... well it was a road, next to a pipeline.

I have an idea...

My job was building up the defences of an American Black Hawk base around 5kms from our base. I was just building a bund around the base. Every day I would ride my Armstrong to the American camp, push dirt for 8-12 hours (a D6 if you're interested) and then ride it back. One day one of the yanks, with whom I had become familiar... (you know, "Hey" and "Hi") wanted to trade some combats - his yank ones for my brit ones. Yep, I was keen, and I had a surplus pair of trousers back at the hotel. Quick note. When I say hotel I mean the 12'x24' tent that I shared with 11 other stinky, sweaty, smelly squadies... luxury, we even had lots of string the flies could sleep on.

Anyhoo... at the end of my shift I rode the 4 kms to the pipeline road, turned left, 5kms, turned left, 4kms, got to the hotel, grabbed the trousers, and reversed the journey again. 

Another quick note. The Pipeline road was not a 'road' it was a series of potholes making one big, bumpy pothole. Riding the Pipeline road was slow. It was a long journey, it seemed a waste of time... when you could almost see their camp from your camp.


Well, I ride the road, get to the yanks, do the deal (Note, if there are any MPs reading this, it wasn't me) and I leave, it is just getting dark...

Let's go in the right direction... nah, let's wing it.

"Hmmm..." I think to myself... "maybe, I will take a short cut... who needs to go to the road... this way will be quicker" the person now elevated to 'idiot' said to himself. 

I pointed my nose in the approximate direction and I set off. And I get lost. And it is now dark. And we are playing in the dark so no lights. And all the camps are dark... and I am riding around for at least 42 hours (not really) And then my timing belt goes. "Flump."

But, I have the tools, I have the parts, I can fix this...? Nope. Those bolts you see, I cannot see the bolts without holding the torch. I cannot angle the Allen key in just the right position without both hands... 

So, I am in the middle of the desert, it is dark (think black), I'm lost, I cannot repair the bike (I've been trying for about two days now, no, not really), I'm disorientated and the rumour is there are Iraqi hit squads roaming around targeting lonely, lost, broken down dispatch riders... me, specifically, they are looking for me. 

Suddenly I see lights... it is a vehicle. Now a number of thoughts go through my tiny brain... American? British? Other? Iraqi? I'm also thinking that this is a 'dark' operation - no military should have lights on... no? But I also think to myself, no Iraqi hit squad would drive around with lights on either... unless they were using the 'Angler Fish' strategy. Fortunately for me I didn't know what the Angler Fish is... so I didn't have to worry about that.

Let's go and see what that flashy light is.

I decided the chances were that it was more likely to be friendly rather than grumpy. And I (the idiot) needed help... so I flashed the bike light in their direction dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. The only Morse code I knew, the international signal for help, or Mayday... or 'Mum..." Nothing happened, the vehicle kept moving in the same direction. I tried again ...---... still nothing. I start to second guess myself, why are they not responding? Even if they didn't know this Mayday signal, this is the middle of a war zone, the middle of the desert, there shouldn't be anything around... surely someone repeatedly flashing a light at them would draw attention... no?

I tried again... and again... and then... they changed direction, they started driving towards me and they are American. Relief washes over me like a big wet washy-over thing.

Wait... what...?

Now, let's remember, I am in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, my bike is in bits, it is dark, it is late, I am flashing the international signal for Mayday... is it not obvious I require some assistance? No? Yes? Maybe?

The truck drives up to me, the driver winds down his window and he says, in his very southern American drawl... "caaan yuuu taaall mee waarre thaaat AaaaTtt aannd Ttt phones aare?" Sorry that was my best southern drawl writing. ...What? Where the AT&T phones are? 

I'm in the middle... well, you know where I am. I think my mind stopped working. I'm pretty sure he had to ask me twice before I responded. "...Errr, yes... yes I can... but, do you think you could give me some assistance?" ...cos I'm broke down in the middle of the flumping desert... I'm not here on the off-chance someone needs directions.

Well, it is now 30 years later so it all worked out, I got back to camp and the yanks got to the AT&T phones. And bonus... I now know what an Angler Fish is too.

So for you POMs wanting a story, that is one of mine.
C.

Looking capable... Ha!