This bloke has got the job jobbed. 
youtube.com/watch?v=rwWQLzLXrNc
I meant to mention, is it my eyes or the video 
Is that some kind of a telescopic towbar. 
mushroomman:
peggydeckboy:
Mushroomman .
The main question i would like to ask is-me and thousands of other men are well travelled, world wide,however it my case i had no control where we went as on a ship others had control ,however in you story it seems as you yourself had control of what you were doing and where you going to me that is a bit special,please tell all of us how on earth you were where you were and why very interested to know. dbp.Hi Gavin and Vic, I wish you and everybody else on Trucknet a very happy and prosperous New Year and
it’s good to see you back on here G.S.P.D.B. it’s a very long story, it’s one that the MushroomLady is sick of hearing about it and the Grandkids are just not interested in it.
I bet that there are a few of us on here who can relate to that. That’s why I find other people stories on here, who have done a bit of travelling so interesting.I have mentioned this before, and I am happy to mention it again.
The first couple of weeks when I joined Trucknet, Bestbooties wrote a post saying something like.“Every lorry driver could write a book about their time on the road. Some might be similar, but every story would be different.
Basically, my African story started off when seven of us set off in a Landrover and a converted Transit minibus, to go around the world in 1975. Yes, I know what you are thinking, but it sounded like a good idea at the time.
I’m somewhat younger than you MM, but in the same vein, once upon a time in the early 80s I bought a copy of Ted Simon’s Jupiter’s Travels (if you haven’t read it, get hold of a copy) that told of his adventures riding his Triumph bike throughout Africa an South America in the 70s. Reading that book over and again was part of my inspiration to buy a bike and do the overland trip from England to Oz in the late 80s (my mission failed somewhere in Italy but that’s not the point). Even Top Deck (using pensioned-off Lodekkas) would’ve been a thing - perhaps we were all a bit mad years ago, perhaps doing big overland trips back then was easier in some ways than it is now.
ParkRoyal2100:
perhaps doing big overland trips back then was easier in some ways than it is now.
It certainly was, mine was from South London to New Delhi, but I cleverly avoided Italy. What were you doing there, taking a ferry to Syria? I did look at, when in Delhi, pressing on, I had read a book by Tim Slessor called First Overland where he and some mates drove all the way to Singapore, but was short on funds by that time (living in the YM and eating chapattis on the pavement 
) so I emptied my English bank account and flew to Darwin via Hong Kong.
After retirement when I was transporting dogs, I quoted on a delivery to a Paris airport for 2 cats bound for Budapest. Just as a joke I gave a 2nd quote to take them all the way and the lady instantly agreed. 
So, when I took a dog to the airport, bound for Perth WA, I again quoted for the whole journey, leaving out ferry costs. Sadly, not accepted.
@Mushroomman. Yes very neat that but personally I wouldn’t have travelled so far with the trailer body up. But why on earth would he ban comments? I really should have blanked it for that alone, hate censorship. 
Spardo:
@Mushroomman. Yes very neat that but personally I wouldn’t have travelled so far with the trailer body up. But why on earth would he ban comments? I really should have blanked it for that alone, hate censorship.
Flat solid ground, it’s a chassis tipper not tip over axle. I’d be happy to do it. Obviously blokes are doing it multiple times a day.
Star down under.:
Spardo:
@Mushroomman. Yes very neat that but personally I wouldn’t have travelled so far with the trailer body up. But why on earth would he ban comments? I really should have blanked it for that alone, hate censorship.Flat solid ground, it’s a chassis tipper not tip over axle. I’d be happy to do it. Obviously blokes are doing it multiple times a day.
Yes, point taken, and the cargo slid out easily. It is usually when you get stuff which sticks up the top that problems occur, but I mentioned before about the 30 footers of Bulkliners that kept falling over. That was a chassis design fault but still made me nervous nevertheless. I also had one of those that tip up on the rear axle, the first one goes up with the body (can’t remember the name) and was quite happy with that.
Incidentally has anybody ‘walked’ it out of boggy ground using such a trailer? Release the brakes on the trailer to allow it to be drawn towards the tractor but with the tractor brakes on. Then lock the trailer brakes and release the tractor and the descending trailer forces the tractor forward. Repeat as necessary and you will never get bogged. Laborious, but effective. 
ParkRoyal2100:
I’m somewhat younger than you MM, but in the same vein, once upon a time in the early 80s I bought a copy of Ted Simon’s Jupiter’s Travels (if you haven’t read it, get hold of a copy) that told of his adventures riding his Triumph bike throughout Africa an South America in the 70s. Reading that book over and again was part of my inspiration to buy a bike and do the overland trip from England to Oz in the late 80s (my mission failed somewhere in Italy but that’s not the point). Even Top Deck (using pensioned-off Lodekkas) would’ve been a thing - perhaps we were all a bit mad years ago, perhaps doing big overland trips back then was easier in some ways than it is now.
Come on Park Royal, there must be a short story in there somewhere, so please share it with us.
How did you plan the trip, what was your intended itinerary, did you learn any basic mechanics, were you going to try and find work along the way and what changed your mind to turn back.
I am afraid that I haven’t read that book by Ted Simons but if you like reading books about travelling then I would certainly recommend ‘TOP DECK DAZE’ by Bill James. It’s about Graham ‘Screw’ Turner and his mates, starting up Top Deck Travel and mentions a few times about buying Bristol Low Decker buses. From a one double decker bus outfit in Earls Court in 1973, Top Deck transformed into today’s multinational Flight Centre Group.
Another book that I think that you might enjoy is Chris Arbon’s ‘ROADTRIP RAMATUELLE’, especially the bit when he used to drive his 500 c.c. motorbike from Chelmsford down to the South of France in 1981.
mushroomman:
ParkRoyal2100:
I’m somewhat younger than you MM, but in the same vein, once upon a time in the early 80s I bought a copy of Ted Simon’s Jupiter’s Travels (if you haven’t read it, get hold of a copy) that told of his adventures riding his Triumph bike throughout Africa an South America in the 70s. Reading that book over and again was part of my inspiration to buy a bike and do the overland trip from England to Oz in the late 80s (my mission failed somewhere in Italy but that’s not the point). Even Top Deck (using pensioned-off Lodekkas) would’ve been a thing - perhaps we were all a bit mad years ago, perhaps doing big overland trips back then was easier in some ways than it is now.Come on Park Royal, there must be a short story in there somewhere, so please share it with us.
How did you plan the trip, what was your intended itinerary, did you learn any basic mechanics, were you going to try and find work along the way and what changed your mind to turn back.I am afraid that I haven’t read that book by Ted Simons but if you like reading books about travelling then I would certainly recommend ‘TOP DECK DAZE’ by Bill James. It’s about Graham ‘Screw’ Turner and his mates, starting up Top Deck Travel and mentions a few times about buying Bristol Low Decker buses. From a one double decker bus outfit in Earls Court in 1973, Top Deck transformed into today’s multinational Flight Centre Group.
Another book that I think that you might enjoy is Chris Arbon’s ‘ROADTRIP RAMATUELLE’, especially the bit when he used to drive his 500 c.c. motorbike from Chelmsford down to the South of France in 1981.
Ted Simon’s book is well worth getting hold of: he was a respected journalist for the Daily Express, Daily Mail and others throughout the late 60s and early 70s. Sometime in the early 70s, the Sunday Times sponsored him on his RTW gig on a Triumph Tiger: his travels and his book(s) inspired countless others including Ewan MacGregor/ Charlie Boorman on The Long Way Round (they met Ted Simon in a market in Mongolia); that English bloke who rode a Yamaha R1 round the world with not much more than a credit card (can’t remember his name, Nick something?); a young English bloke who once fell for an Australian bird and when it all fell apart in Brisbane bought a used Australia Post Honda CT110 and rode it all the way back to Blighty (I bought the book, it’s really good); and two of my favourite youtube channels - Itchy Boots (lovely multi-lingual Dutch woman who’s done some hard-core rides) and Ed March (aka c90 adventures) who did nearly all of the Transamerica Highway on a Honda C90.
As to my (foreshortened) story, it’s not all that exciting: but I still have all the maps I bought at the time (some are cloth-bound) and there’s still (in the back of my mind) a persistent itch. One day, before I’m too decrepit or too senile, I’ll scratch that itch. It’ll either be that or be shoved into some home for “old gits who no-one cares about”.
mushroomman:
I love that last photo Ted, thanks for showing them.I presume that you work for Liberty Industrial and get around a bit.
Yes mate though not a truck driver full time ,that said I have done many kms in there semi and road train tippers . I am one of the workshop supervisors and the only state I haven’t worked for liberty in is Tasmania. I have recently moved on from Argyle and am now up at Gove in the NT ,now that’s proper the back of beyond
Spardo:
mushroomman:
I love that last photo Ted, thanks for showing them.Yes me too, and I at first asked a question along the lines of ‘do you fold it up and then tip the semi without disconnecting’ before realising that it was silly, with such a long body it would be necessary to pull forward to empty, and thus foul the trailer.
Which is why I deleted it.
Don’t envy you though, artic tippers gave me the shudders and I did my best to avoid them.
Yes you have to drop the rear trailer to tip the front one. Much easier with this road train than the B doubles we also have , you have to drop the back trailer and then slide the bogie under the A trailer to tip that
One from the W.H. WILLIAMS (SPENNYMOOR) brilliant thread.
Courtesy of Carl Williams.
Re: W.H.WILLIAMS (spennymoor)
Postby Carl Williams » Thu Jun 23, 2011 7:12 pm
We were getting an increasing number of removals to do to Europe, and it is difficult to know how to deal with Customs unless you, yourself had some experience.
We had an enquiry from NATO to give an estimate to remove a British member of their staff who was based in Naples to move to NE England and we estimated the load to be about 600 cu ft and our price was accepted. It was the ideal opportunity of learning by going to Italy and carrying out the removal.
Phil Riley, who was then a porter was to accompany me and our route was set ferry Dover-Ostend into France, Switzeland into Italy and down to Naples.
We had three Leyland (BMC) 350 FG’s with 3.8 litre diesel engines and 750 cu ft fibreglass bodies by Marsden of Warrington. I chose to take the newest which was just about three months old at that time. For those of you who remember the FG’s had the threepenny bit cabs which in their larger form were mostly used as breadvans. The advantage these had for us was that under 3.5 ton gross was free from operators licence. At the time we also had two 3.5 GVW Transits with 650 Cu Ft Marsden Bodies and a Bedford CF equivalent making up our smaller vans we operated and the FG’s were certainly better than these, having a proper chassis and conventional springs, and strange for Leyland at that time were fairly reliable.We also had had larger fuel tanks fitted. On the downside the unladen weight was about 2.5 ton giving a load limit of just 1 ton, the cab was particularly uncomfortable (In fairness they were designed for urban deliveries not high mileage work), and finally they had a crash gearbox, when fitted with the larger engine.
We set off on a Monday morning, making it to Ostend (Via Dover) in good time and proceeded into France where we found somewhere to stay about a mile off the main road. Although I took French at School I was not very good and the inn where we stayed had no one speaking English. With my broken French we managed to get something to eat and a few drinks before going to bed. The next morning we made an early start. At one point Phil was able to tell me ‘See that house there, the third one down, we moved them in there’… At one customs post I managed, trying to get as close as possible the customs officer,s office, to bump his flag with the front corner of the luton.
I believe we were going to cross the St Gothard’s pass in Switzerland, I believe now its been tunnelled but as we headed towards the summit the FG heated up and we were unladed. We stopped for something to heat and let the engine cool down and fill up the radiator.
THE PHOTO BELOW IS AT THIS POINT. Photo and story courtesy of Carl Williams.
We headed on and our next stop was to stay overnight on the outskirts of Florence.
Next morning we carried on without stopping and approaching Naples we were starving. I saw a restaurant at the side of the road and we pulled in. They could only speak Italian and we managed to make signs to show we were hungry and wanted something to eat. We hadn’t a clue what was on the menu but were brought a plate of spaghetti which we ate thinking this was it, but to our delight it was followed by two massive steaks.
By some miracle and Phil’s wonderful map reading we arrived at the house. Kindly they welcomed us and gave us bunk beds to sleep in that night. We were up next morning to start to load.
One thing neighther of us had anticipated was the heat. Also the chap we were moving was a collector of stones. By about 11am we were loaded, and what a load it was. With Phil’s skilful packing we managed to get everything on but the weight. It must have weighed about three ton. We were grossly overloaded and we had the Alps to cross. We decided to start out and not stop just buying drinks as we refuelled, and at seven o’clock at night we reached the bottom of our climb of four hours in second gear. The 3.8 litre diesel engine drove you sick with its continual drum drum noise, never the less we managed back again at 11 o’clock at night without overheating to where this photo was taken where we stayed overnight. Phil said ‘Thank heaven we are up here’ However I had to explain what goes up must come down and I had no brakes. They were not designed for this heavy a load.
To be continued …
Postby Carl Williams » Sat Jun 25, 2011 12:27 am
Phil Reilly and I were staying at the Inn in the photo in Switzerland with a Leyland 350 FG Furniture van loaded with almost 3 ton when the maximum it could carry was 1 ton. I had no brakes because of this excess weight and we had to travel down the windy steep roads that led us back into France.
The next morning we got up early and after breakfast we started our long journey. I held the van in second gear and slowly down we went. It took almost 4 hours but at least we were safe.
Approaching the French customs we could see them pointing at us and laughing. ‘No ping this time’ the customs officer had said as he waved us through, obviously remembering me bumping his flag on the last time.
Our paperwork was made out in Italian, French and English and as well we had a letter addressed from NATO asking them to assist our journey.
Passing through France, once again we did not stop just getting sandwiches and soft drinks as we refuelled.
We travelled along their A1 Which led us to cross customs and travel into Ostend where Phil, from his previous journeys, assured me we would have a good night out? Especially as it was a Saturday night.
The customs post at that time between the French and Belgiums had high towers at each side where they could see each other with a strip of no mans land in between. The French customs let us through and when we went to the Belgium customs I was met with dismay. I could not understand what the customs officer was saying. He obviously didn’t speak English and with my broken French I could not understand him. After talks for a long time where he had made it obvious we could not cross.
Eventually in perfect English he told me that as our paperwork was not made out in Flemish and we could not speak Flemish we could not enter. I asked when I could see someone to discuss it and was told 9-00AM Monday morning
We were in no mans land neither in France or Belgium, starving hungry and tired from the journey. There was nothing there not even water to drink, so I went back to the French side. I told him what was wrong and he phoned up his Belgium counter part. We could see him answer the phone and they argued like mad with one another. The French customs officer then decided he would let us back into France and suggested we could go to Dunkirk and catch the hovercraft. ‘Not with that ‘ I pointed to the van. He immediately got back on the phone to the Belgium Customs Officer again and was shouting to him down the phone. All to no avail and our only option was go back into France and travel to Calais where we arrived at 4 in the morning. We waited for the ferry and I don’t know how Phil managed but I fell asleep with my head on the steering wheel.
We had a good crossing and got something to eat only to find when I pulled off the ferry at Dover and started to drive on the left, the van was very unstable. Obviously we had packed to compensate for the camber of the road being right in Italy and it was leaning well over with the left camber.
Things got worse. The customs demanded the van was unloaded so they could inspect the contents.
I reached agreement that Phil would stay with the van at Dover and I rang back to Spennymoor and arranged for a driver to travel down with one of our large vans which was loaded for Dover and they could tranship from one van onto the other whilst the customs watched and.I returned to Spennymoor by train
In the end I suppose it had a fortunate ending as had I been daft enough to try to drive back in England I would no doubt have been stopped by the police and been prosecuted foe overloading.
For you fellows who have enjoyed the Africa antics.
youtu.be/HOY0ytZ9VD4
This is the first of six released so far, there are more being edited, so subscribe for notification.
THE RED DRUM.
Hi Ian, thanks for sharing that link, it certainly brought back a lot of long-lost memories for me.
I really enjoyed seeing Darrin’s photographs and his amazing clear film of the area. Unfortunately for us, photography was classed more of an extravagance and not a necessity as we deemed that spare springs, head gaskets, a top of the range sleeping bag and a cassette player etc were more important.
Nearly fifty years ago vehicles, as we all know, were not as reliable as they are today and black and white film was much cheaper than coloured film back then. That’s why we opted to use a lot of monochrome and with hindsight, I wish that I would have taken more photos with my point and click Kodak.
Most of our film was kept in a plastic Tupperware food container. It kept the dust out, but it was over six months before we could get some of it developed.
On my first trip for the engineering company who I was driving for in Windhoek, South West Africa back in 1976. They sent me with an eight-ton Nissan Diesel UG 780 to a placed called Ruacana, which I.I.R.C. is about 150 miles north west of The Red Drum.
The South West African Department of Water Affairs were building a dam at Ruacana Falls on the Kunene River, along the South West African / Angolan border. They had already started to build a hydroelectric power station. Our company had the plumbing contract for building a number of houses for the Department of Water Affairs. I was loaded at the time with galvanized pipes, gutters, toilet suites and even the kitchen sinks.
It was about this time that I first met an English guy called Robin Nicholls, who was a geologist working out in the bush.
I asked Robin where exactly in The Kaokoveld he was working and he told me that he was prospecting around The Red Drum area. I didn’t think much more about it at the time as it sounded like a place that everybody knew, except me. It was the following day when I looked at my maps and found out that there was no mention of The Red Drum on any of them.
I met Robin again in Windhoek through a friend of mine, a few months later and we were invited back to Robin’s house for a ‘Sundowner’. I asked Robin where abouts that place was called The Red Drum and he said “hang on, I will go and get my maps”.
He came back with a folder containing about two dozen black and white ariel photographs. This is the point of this post as I had never seen any ‘maps’ like these before. Each map was numbered and they were all about twelve inches by ten inches.
Robin put a couple of them together and pointed out where The Red Drum was, he even showed me a photograph of his Landrover next to The Red Drum which to me, just looked like any old red, forty five gallon oil drum.
I never thought that I would ever see a photo of that old red drum again in my life time until I saw Darrin’s second video at about 2 minutes and 10 seconds in.
youtube.com/watch?v=aPD6SpcuNrE
I can’t remember Robin’s photo having that yellow, Grid Reference number painted on the side of it and there certainly appears to be a lot more bullet holes in it.
And I bet that Robin (R.I.P.) would never believe that in such a remote place, that one day, that red drum would become a tourist attraction.
earth.google.com/web/search/Red … z3aJp5qK0A
Somebody might enjoy seeing this video, which was taken sixteen years before we set off. Not much had changed on the journey by the time that we got there, and I wish that Mobil had paid for our fuel.
youtube.com/watch?v=PtG6niRiRXk&t=6s
SAHARA DESERT.1975.
POINT NOIRE, CONGO.
HOBA METEORITE, GROOTFONTEIN, S.W.A. 1975.
KANO NIGERIA. 1975.
TROPIC OF CANCER, ALGERIA. 1975.
KAVANGO RIVER. S.W.A. 1976.
AGADEZ MUD MOSQUE, 1975.
AGADEZ. THE SAHARA DESERT, 1975.
RICK’S STORY.
Postby Reddesertfox » Tue Mar 09, 2010 2:42 pm
Where it all began
I thought it was the heat from the engines when I disembarked from the 747 at night, but soon found out that it was not the heat of engines but the summer heat, it was still 30c+ at night.
I walked to the small dirty arrivals terminal to find customs officers speaking a language I had never heard before; there was no queue discipline, he with the longest arm was getting served first, scruffy customs officers with dirty shoes with no laces. It all felt strange. Keep moving forward looking for a friendly face to eventually see, someone holding a board with my name on it. Adnan and I travelled to the villa in the dead of night, outside there was a small hut with someone sleeping inside, it was home made from wood with a corrugated tin roof which was held in place by the odd stone. I was shown to my quarters; upon entering the room, the smell of unwashed sweaty bodies hit me. Sharing a room with three others guys was strange and something I hadn’t experienced since I was a child.
The primitive AC was made from reeds where water ran down them and an external fan blew cool air into the room, I was not comfortable with the mosquitoes, and geckos on the dirty white washed walls, I had never experienced them before.
I drifted in and out of sleep to be woken by loud voices, but the language was English. I was greeted by three experienced truckers who had been here for some time, I was a green horn who had only held my HGV license for less than a year and never been beyond the shores of the UK. This was where I had wanted to be, it was the place I had plagued my good mate to get me a Job. I had arrived in this strange land they called Saudi Arabia. I had thought I was a driver, but very quickly found out that I knew almost nothing. It was here that the adventures and changes to my life began.
Postby Reddesertfox » Wed Mar 17, 2010 2:06 pm
The Early Weeks
Weeks had passed since my first arrival in Saudi Arabia, I had still not become accustomed to the dirty surroundings, the cockroaches, mosquitoes and geckos, there was no air conditioning in the trucks per say, and the one’s which had air conditioning only worked intermittently.
The dust, the searing heat was at times unbearable, being woken at night by the sweat running down your face which felt like a fly crawling on your skin, and the constant diarrhoea and the lack of facilities to shower, yet there was something unique about this place. I was learning more and more each day about myself and the culture of the people. I was also earning as much each month as a GP back home, which was unbelievable! I had the drive and the determination to succeed and replace all I had lost in my divorce with something better.
The contrast in the way the Saudi’s went about their lives was unbelievable. The “inshallah” relaxed attitude of tomorrow/ bukra will be soon enough, compared to the “no time to wait or give way” when they were on the roads, this is something that has not changed even today as I write.
The constant sounding of the horn, the impatience of the drivers made me crazy, the stupidity of the drivers with their inability to recognise danger and the constant knowledge that if I became involved in an accident it would be my fault for being here, the mentality at that time was, “if you as a foreigner had not been there, then the accident would not have happened” but my will to achieve and survive never faltered.
Apart from being on the roads there was no real dangers in Saudi Arabia, we never locked the vehicles, we never even locked the doors to the villa. Away from the villa and on the road, we slept at night with the truck doors open or on top of the load, some of the guys even rigged up a hammock under the trailer and the braver ones even slept on the desert floor, 
but not me.
My system had now become more accustomed to the change in diet and the diarrhoea was not so frequent, and my weight had reduced by more than 8kg in less than a month.
I had started to learn a few words of Arabic, the numbers, the greetings and niceties etc.
It was time to brave the road side cafés, as I was confident that I could order my food in Arabic.
The waiter came to the table and I ordered an omelette in what I considered was good Arabic, only to receive liver and onions. Oops here comes the diarrhoea again… 
still got a lot to learn and many more mistakes to make”
Postby Reddesertfox » Thu May 20, 2010 10:48 pm
Well… After a vacation in Africa, I thought there would be plenty to read on this thread, but it appears to be slowly dying. There are so many of us with so much to tell, so come on guys get it together…
The Novice
Meeting so many experienced drivers in those early weeks in Saudi, I soon realized that I knew very little about trucking and transportation and yet, most of the drivers I met were prepared to help and teach me things I never knew about the world of transport.
There would be times when they would make jokes at my expense, as it was obvious to them, that I was a novice and I never pretended to be anything but that. I would listen to their tales and experiences with awe, each trying to out do the other with their stories, some of which, I now feel were slight exaggerations, but wow to this novice the stories sounded fantastic, they would tell me of their experiences driving overland from the UK to Saudi and I wanted that experience, I wanted to do what they had done, I was hungry to learn.
Prior to my arrival in Saudi, I had never changed a wheel on a truck and certainly never repaired a puncture on the side of the road, I didn’t know what a trilex 3 piece wheel was and certainly would not have known how to split one and put it back together, but I was listening, watching and learning from what I considered to be “the masters”.
As each day passed, I was serving my apprenticeship, I was the boy in their eyes, but I was also like a sponge, just soaking up information and knowledge.
In the early weeks I was mainly running between Riyadh and Dammam on the old road, fighting to get passed trucks loaded with 70 tons of bagged cement, always watching for the chance to overtake and remain alive. The journey was approximately 7 hours on the old road and the night drive was horrendous, I had never encountered such stupidity on the roads either day or night, at times having to partially leave the road to avoid the 20 foot container coming towards me being carried sideways on the trailer without marker lights. The accidents and deaths on that old two way road from Riyadh to Dammam were unbelievable; the desert littered with accident damaged vehicles that served as sorry epitaphs for the unlucky drivers.
It was while I was in Dammam that I first came across Rynart Transport, the drivers were mainly Turks, with the exception of an English guy who later, tragically got killed on the OGEM construction site in Dammam, named after the Dutch company that built it but now known locally as Wow City.
Like many of the other drivers I had met in Saudi, most of the Rynart drivers were overland drivers who appeared to have been everywhere that I had not been, but then, prior to Saudi I had never been anywhere; this was my first time outside of England.
The Rynart Turkish drivers were true professionals who treated me with the utmost respect, their hospitality was like I had never experienced before in my life.
Even though, they must have known that I didn’t have the same level of knowledge and experience as they had, it didn’t matter to them. They were always polite and willing to show me a better way to do the job. I remained good friends and stayed in contact with many of the Rynart drivers for years to come and would often meet up with them on my future overland trips.
Every accomplishment starts with the decision to try”……
Last edited by Reddesertfox on Fri May 21, 2010 2:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
RICK’S JOKE.
Postby Reddesertfox » Fri Mar 12, 2010 1:12 pm
Saudi
I just received this little story and felt I should share it with you guys, as it reminded me of Saudi in the old days.
A professor at a Texas University was giving a lecture on the supernatural.
To get a feel for his audience, he asks, “How many people here believe in Ghosts ■■”
About 90 students raise their hands.
“Well, that’s a good start. Out of those who believe, do any of you think you have seen a ghost ■■”
About 40 students raise their hands.
“That’s really good. I’m really glad you take this seriously. Has anyone here ever talked to or touched a ghost ?”
About 3 students raise their hands.
“That’s fantastic. Now let me ask you one question further…Have any of you ever made love to a ghost ?”
Way in the back, Abdul raises his hand.
The professor takes off his glasses, and says, “Son, in all the years I’ve been giving this lecture, no-one has ever claimed to have made love to a ghost. You’ve got to come up here and tell us about your experience.”
The big student replied with a nod and a grin, and began to make his way up to the podium. When he reached the front of the room, the professor asks, “So Abdul, tell us what it’s like to have ■■■ with a ghost !!”
Abdul replied, “Ah sorry. From way back there, I thought you said ‘Goats’ !!”
Star down under.:
Spardo:
@Mushroomman. Yes very neat that but personally I wouldn’t have travelled so far with the trailer body up. But why on earth would he ban comments? I really should have blanked it for that alone, hate censorship.Flat solid ground, it’s a chassis tipper not tip over axle. I’d be happy to do it. Obviously blokes are doing it multiple times a day.
I,m thinking the bodies are left up until finished tipping and then parked on what appears to be wash bay judging by the water on the ground.
Dig
DIG:
Star down under.:
Spardo:
@Mushroomman. Yes very neat that but personally I wouldn’t have travelled so far with the trailer body up. But why on earth would he ban comments? I really should have blanked it for that alone, hate censorship.Flat solid ground, it’s a chassis tipper not tip over axle. I’d be happy to do it. Obviously blokes are doing it multiple times a day.
I,m thinking the bodies are left up until finished tipping and then parked on what appears to be wash bay judging by the water on the ground.
Dig
The problems with artic tippers toppling over is caused by firstly uneven ground and secondly, by a product which moves at the bottom but sticks at the top making the whole thing top heavy. Crosswinds can play a part too. To get back to this particular instance, he had moved enough to empty the body but then continued without waitng for it to drop. It also appeared to me that just before he stopped to reverse he was about to cross some rougher ground, possible rail tracks, that is what made me wince. Personally speaking as someone with lots of artic tipper experience who has never laid one on its side, I would have stopped as soon as the body was empty and waited till it had dropped.
Quote by Spardo [ The problems with artic tippers toppling over is caused by firstly uneven ground and secondly, by a product which moves at the bottom but sticks at the top making the whole thing top heavy. ]
We had one or two eight leggers go over on that tip at Rixton when we were carting bitumen waste out of Lancashire Tar Distillers at Weaste and Cadishead in the 60s .
The stuff we were carrying was sticky and to compound the problem , the surface of the tip wasn’t that well compacted either , making it a bit springy . We got round the problem to a degree by scavenging bits of cardboard, plastic, empty cattle feed bags , anything we could lay our hands on at the tip in fact , then spreading them over the floor of the box before loading , whilst at the same time keeping the bulk of the load over the driving axles and to ■■■■ with the ministry .
Tipping scrap metal with a 30’ chassisless trailer at Irlam steelworks could also be an experience . First of all , extreme care was required when releasing the clip on the barn doors as the pressure on the doors from the load inside often caused them to fly open and almost take your head off .
Also , as anyone with experience of tipping scrap will verify , unlike coal , grain or aggregate , the stuff doesn’t just trickle out , it normally just stays where it is , locked together , usually until the body is almost at the top of the third ram , when it comes down in one lump , and being unable to have the brakes locked on with a chassisless trailer , causes the entire rig to shoot forward . Not that much of a problem when you’re expecting it , but the memory of the first time it happened will remain with you for life . As it has with me .
I bet that there are still a few of us left Efes, who will be thinking of that Crusader Castle at Gaziantep in Turkey, especially today.
I am certain that Sandway will be one of them.
This story courtesy of Brian.
Re: any old promotor drivers around
Postby sandway » Sun Jul 16, 2017 5:48 pm
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
The Haifa Street and Al-Karkh neighbourhood was chosen by the Municipality of Baghdad to be redeveloped with a high rise development of apartments. This area would become home to thousands of Saddam Husseins devoted followers. From intelligence officers to party officials. These apartments were only handed over to the most loyal of his band of brothers. We are talking of the early 80’s. Of course in this uncertain world there will always be change. By 2004 Haifa Street was one of the most dangerous areas in Baghdad. Still occupied by swathes of loyal Hussein followers many American troops lost their life there. In 2005 the Americans handed security over to the Iraqi army and some kinda peace followed. Only because there were no Americans to shoot at of course.
Before this new development could take place the land had to be acquired and cleared. Of course, being Iraq this wasn’t a problem. If you owned a house there you either left, with a small amount of compensation or you ended up in Abu Graib prison. However, there was one small problem the Municipality of Baghdad came up against and that was the British Embassy. Standing on the banks of the Tigress river it was housed in large palatial grounds extending to quite a few acres. I remember a football match was played here one year in the early to mid 80’s between an embassy team and a British Pavilion exhibitors team. Not sure who won but at least they had the embassy bar to celebrate in or drown their sorrows afterwards.
As I was saying the British Embassy was in the way of this new development. Well, not quite correct. The Iraqis wanted to straighten the road to the front of the embassy grounds and they needed about thirty metres of the gardens that bordered the road to do so. But here the embassy was in a bit of a dilemma as hidden in these gardens was the embassy septic tank. The Iraqis were insisting that the land be handed over asap whilst the Ambassador and his staff were not looking forward to using Iraqi “portaloos” so were in no hurry to placate their hosts. Of course, there are channels to go through in diplomatic circles even for a replacement septic tank. A surveyor had to be flown out from the UK and plans drawn up. A scheme had to be devised and builders lined up. As time was of the essence it was decided a team of British builders would be used. A lot of work was involved. It was not just replacing the septic tank and the soakaways but a high security fence had to be constructed as well as a new entrance.
Of course you couldn’t just pop round to Abdul’s Building Supplies for material to do the job. There was no Travis Perkins or Jewsons. Most of what was required had to be shipped out from the UK.
It was at this delicate moment in history that the call went out to the British Road Haulage Industry. There was a far flung bit of Britain in deep sh-t. It was being threatened by the local madman and his warlike tribe and the position did not look good. Reinforcements were needed. The British Khazi was under attack and could be compromised at any time. Help must be got to them asap as surrender was out of the question. What was required of the British Road Haulage Industry was that a task force be formed, just as Maggie was doing over the Falklands around that time. It would have been difficult for her to handle two battles at the same time.
It is here, with a certain amount of humility, that I can say that “little old Promotor” came to the rescue. Well, that should read sandway and Promotor came to the rescue. I was resting at home when I got the Call from “Staggie” our transport manager. He was very excited, even more than usual when something big was happening. Perhaps he saw a knighthood looming. He gave me the lowdown on the job and also an eta in Baghdad. It was at this point alarm bells started to go off. “You want me down there when”, I shouted down the phone. No way, impossible, can’t be done and so on. Why not put Bill Took or Welly Ward or Ramsey Patterson on the job. They all carry a spare set of wings. I’m a thirteen day man. Never done it quicker. Never will. I was then told by a sheepish “Staggie” that I was the only driver available and that I had a visa in my passport where others didn’t. Well that deflated my ego immediately. OK, I said when will the trailer be ready still not promising to get it down there by the date given to me. Ermm-- thats another little problem. As you’re the only driver around we need you to load it as well. Only two pickups though and the rest will be back here in the yard. It was at this point I almost felt sorry for “Staggie” as both of us could sense his knighthood slipping away.
I returned to the depot next day and went straight to the Klagaster factory to load the septic tank. From there I went to a fencing company where that was also loaded. Late afternoon I was back in our yard to complete the loading of the trailer. Septic tank, fencing, pipes, cement, barbed wire and loads of other small bits needed to complete the job. I’d had a hard day running around getting loaded but I now needed a rest before starting my journey. All the sympathy I got from “Staggie” was “what you still here” and I was once again reminded of the eta Baghdad.
So I headed off along the A25 and A20 to Dover to catch the late evening boat to Zeebrugge. At least I could grab a meal, shower and a few hours sleep on there. Hang in there lads. Keep those legs crossed. Promotor’s on its way…
sandway
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Re: any old promotor drivers around
Postby sandway » Mon Jul 17, 2017 5:46 pm
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
I had ten days to get to Baghdad. Ten days for some drivers was there average. For me ten days was three days quicker than I had ever done the trip before. But the British Embassy staff were, even at that moment, practising keeping there legs crossed as they were about to lose their septic tank and I was their saviour. I had on board my supercube trailer a replacement septic tank to replace the one those dastardly arabs were about to requisition.
I left Zeebrugge about five thirty in the morning after a ferry crossing that saw me get about three hours sleep. I pushed on down to Aachan where, after doing customs, I stuck another card in the tacho and set off again, destination that day just north of Munchen. I arrived about six in the evening and breathed a sigh of relief. I was on schedule. The next day I crossed into Austria and then Yugo via the main border crossings. Normally I used the small crossings at Freilassing and Radkerberg but this time decided the main borders may be quicker. Certainly main Salzburg crossing was a doddle but I upset some miserable git of a policeman going into Yugo and he turned me round and sent me back to Austria. Took me two hours to sort that out before I could get going again. That night I had stopped in Zagreb. Didn’t have time to pull in at the National in Belgrade next day so on to Bulgy and south of Sofia that night. That was a long day but I hoped I could make Istanbul the next night. I transited Greece on the forth day not even stopping at the beach at Kavala. Now that was a difficult decision to make. But I knew it was my duty to push on. People were relying on me.
I did make Londra Camping in Istanbul. Four days was a record for me and I was still on schedule and feeling good. I had six days left to get to Baghdad. Piece of cake. No problem mister. Next day it was over Bolu. It was June so no snow to hold me up. Didn’t stop at the Telex Hotel Ankara just kept going down to Adana to the Oryx parking. That was another very long day and I was starting to flag. How much longer could I keep this up.
Next day saw me pass Gaziantep and Kiziltepe was my destination that night but by now my resolve was seriously flagging. I had a puncture but luckily it was very close to an Otto elastic workshop. Two ten or twelve year old boys set about repairing it with vigor whilst an older man sat back and watched as he sipped his cay. I didn’t care if his wife came and got stuck in as well as long as they got a move on. However, before Kiziltepe I met up with a couple of other British drivers also going to Baghdad. Of course had to have a cup of tea with them and take a few photos. Before I knew it I had lost a few more hours so arrived in the TIR park at Kiziltepe later than anticipated.
It was in this secure lorry park that Ronnie Hart another Promotor driver was caught by the security man having a spreadaxle one night. All hell was let loose but he reckoned it was worth the hassle not to have to use the disgusting ones provided by the Turks.
I filled up with diesel had a meal and prepared to get my head down but before I did I found a driver who had just come up from the border at Habur. He gave me the bad news that the queue waiting to get into Iraq was at least thirty kilometres long. Oh sh-t I thought. No No thats the reason I’m going to Baghdad.
Early next morning I headed off into the rising sun to join the queue. My eta Baghdad was now doubtful but hey it was only an estimate.
Re: any old promotor drivers around
Postby sandway » Wed Jul 19, 2017 6:52 pm
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI.
I’d hit a brick wall. No not literally. Not the brick sh-t house this trip seems to centre around. No, it was the queue to get into Iraq at the border crossing at Habur. I only had about eight tons sitting in the back of the trailer so wasn’t held up too, much in the mountains. But now I had come to a standstill. I considered I had done very well. I was now on my seventh day out from the UK. Of course, we counted the days from being on the midnight ferry out of Dover. If you had to come down from Manchester or Newcastle that would add another day but as we were coming from Sevenoaks we never counted the first day which always seemed like cheating a bit. Anyway I was now on my seventh day out from Dover and with a bit of luck could still make Baghdad to meet my eta date. I knew a gang of British builders were being flown out who would be chomping at the bit if I was late. But there was nothing I could do now except wait.
If you have ever been in these queues you will know time consists of sitting around for hours sometimes then as the queue moves forward theres a madcap moment as all the lorries start there engines and move off trying not to leave any gaps incase a Turkish or Bulgarian lorry or even worse an Italian one tries to get ahead of you. Then its wait until the next move. Sometimes ten minutes sometimes three hours. Nights were the most fraught times. It was almost impossible to stay awake. I would often be asleep leaning on the steering wheel only waking up when I heard all the other lorries driving past me. I had arrived at the back of the queue with two other British lorries but they both disappeared ahead of me during the night as I kept nodding off. Daylight came and it was out into the scrub for a dump then back to the lorry to get the water container out and splash water on yourself to finally wake up. Not that you had been asleep apart from short catnaps now and again. Have a look at the lorries ahead and behind you. Don’t recognise any of them. Perhaps I slept for longer than I realised. Try to gauge the distance to the border post. With a bit of luck might get through and up to Zahko tonight.
Finally got through Habur, thats the Turkish side and into Iraq in the evening. Cleared the Iraqi side about 2200hrs but was to knackered to go anywhere. I don’t remember where I dossed down. May have even stayed in the compound at the border but I doubt it as would have been woken by the guards wanting cigs or ■■■■ books.
I was now into my ninth day on the road. I was refreshed and revitalised. I would certainly make Baghdad in the ten days allowed and although my eta was not fixed in stone it had become a personal challenge for me to be there on that day. I was feeling good as I got to the Dohuk turning north of Mosul. It was then disaster almost struck. I was at one moment driving along without a care in the world and the next I was on the side of the road at a bit of an angle with my front wheel down in a gully. A car coming towards me had lost it and almost smashed into the front of me. I swerved out of the way at the last moment but ended up in the gully. Oh bother, I thought as I looked around me. Well, apart from the cab looking in a bit of a mess and I hadn’t overturned all seemed ok. It was not till I got out and had a walk around that I realised my load had shifted. There was a large bulge in the side although it seemed quite stable I didn’t fancy going on without inspecting it from the inside.
But first I had to get out of the gully. Although my predicament wasn’t to bad I couldn’t drive forward. I tried to back out but I was in just a little bit too deep for that. I was stuck. I needed help. Obviously the gods were looking down on me or they were getting concerned about the embassy staff and their crossed legs but out of the blue help arrived in the form of an “alpine turk”. An Austrian lorry pulled up behind me and this giant of a man got down, walked around to the front of my lorry took one look and said “ve zoon av u outa zer” or words to that effect. I thought blimey he’s going to push it out on his own. But no, he went back to his lorry got a chain out, tied it to my bumper and in no time I was out of the gully and he was on his way. Well, there had to be some decent Austrians around somewhere and by pure luck I had found one.
But although I was back on level ground I still needed to sort the load out and I didn’t fancy doing it by the side of the road as I needed to break the plomb, unlace the back and clamber up inside. I decided to carefully drive down the road until I found a suitable spot off the road where not too many people could see what I was up to. I found somewhere just north of Mosul and got up inside the trailer. There I found that luckily the septic tank hadn’t moved but other items had. I spent the next few hours, and it was getting pretty hot by now, sorting out the load but finally I was happy that it would be safe for the last leg into Baghdad. I relaced the back and carefully replaced the plomb. I’m coming lads. Hang on in there!!!
Re: any old promotor drivers around
Postby sandway » Fri Jul 21, 2017 6:38 pm
THE SAGA OF THE EMBASSY KHAZI. (conclusion).
I was on the last leg of my record breaking trip to Baghdad. I had been told by Staggie, our transport manager, to be in Baghdad by a certain date as a team of builders were being flown out, at great expense no doubt, to install a new septic tank that was in the back of my supercube trailer. I normally took thirteen days to get there but now it was day ten and I was south of Mosul with Baghdad almost within sight. I had stopped the night somewhere just to the south of Mosul and now I had all day to complete my journey. Of course ten days from the UK to Baghdad was nothing out of the ordinary for some drivers. There were legendary tales of drivers who did the trip in six or seven days. Andrew Wilson Young of Astran was one no doubt.
Mid morning I pulled over for a break. Well, although I had a card in the tacho at least I wasnt stopping for that reason. I was sitting there eating one of the rock cakes my wife always sent me off with every trip and drinking a cup of coffee when two more British lorries pulled in and parked up adjacent to me. One was driven by Leo Smith who I had met before but I can’t remember the name of the company he was driving for and the other was a D & A Mcrea lorry from Darlington but I can’t remember the drivers name. They were also tipping in Baghdad and after a chinwag and more coffee we ran down together. I remember it was quite hot and after a few hours on the road we pulled over for another break and the two of them climbed up into one of their lorries as it had air conditioning. They kept the engine running and the windows shut. I just suffered as usual.
That evening we all parked up at Fallujah. Now that place could have done with a septic tank. Well about twenty I reckon. It was one big sh-t hole. For maybe the first time that trip I had a full nights sleep. There were always a couple of soldiers there. Not sure what their job was but normally we didn’t see much of them. They had their own little hut and rarely ventured out. However, a couple of years later they enticed the girlfriend of an Astran driver to come into the hut where they attacked her. Later she told her boyfriend what had happened and he immediately took her to the British Embassy where she was looked after. The embassy which of course had special contacts within the Iraq security forces reported the rapes and the perpetrators were arrested within the hour.
Next morning the three of us registered at Fallujah and then, and I don’t remember why, went down to Abu Graib and parked up on a side street opposite side of the main road to the prison. Maybe we just thought it was a good place to park up as all the bad guys were locked up nearby. There I dropped my trailer and drove to the embassy. I arrived mid morning, parked up nearby and walked into the oasis that represented the grounds of the British Embassy. After a cursory glance at your passport the security guard allowed you in and you walked up this long driveway to the buildings which backed onto the Tigris river. Whenever I entered the grounds I expected British soldiers in their red coats with flintlock rifles over their shoulders to come marching by. That place always seemed to be in a time warp. You could never say the gardens were lush or full of flowers and colourful but it was like entering a little bit of heaven. It was a place of peace and tranquility after the streets of Baghdad.
I met the chap at the embassy who had been given the job of managing the installation of the new septic tank and the other necessary work required before the Iraqis could take over the area of land near the front for road improvements. After handing over my paperwork he called the agent who was responsible for customs clearance. Even though the goods were for the British embassy you still had to clear customs. I heard a few years later Bill Took, another Promotor driver took a load of furniture down there. I don’t know how or why but he managed to tip before customs had cleared the load. It seems there was a bit of a furore and later Bill was made “persona non grata” to Iraq. Knowing Bill I can’t imagine that worried him one little bit.
Later I was introduced to the foreman of the builders who had flown out the day before from the UK. He and his gang of men had been put up in the “Baghdad Hotel” in town. It was the best hotel in town at that time but was still a flea pit. Later I was informed the load had been cleared and could be offloaded. I was then told that it was to late to do anything that day and that the builders wanted me back there for four thirty in the morning. Seems they’d be told it got very hot during the day and so wanted to tip the trailer early. Fine by me I thought as I drove back to Abu Graib.
Next day saw me back at the embassy on time. The whole gang was there with a small crane and the lot was off by seven thirty. They seemed very motivated. I could imagine the Ambassador and his staff anxiously looking out of their windows willing the builders on. I had done my part. I had achieved the impossible, for me, of a ten day transit time from the UK. The builders were going to work overtime and the Ambassador would lose the use of his khazi for only an hour or so whilst the new sewage system was connected to the existing pipework. A good result all round.
I was now on my way home. Yugo, for my reload would be my second stop during my fourteen day return trip. My first stop was the beach at Kavala where three nights “rest and recuperation” were called for.
A few of the photos from Sandway’s trip.
HEADING TOWARDS ADANA. WEATHER GREAT, NO PROBS.
TURKISH/ IRAQ BORDER.
TURKISH/IRAQI BORDER AT HARBOR.
BULGE IN THE SIDE OF THE TRAILER DOESN’T LOOK AS BAD AS IT WAS.
PARKING AT ABU GRAIB, BAGHDAD.
A great story MRM, thanks for posting it. Although I never ventured beyond Europe’s borders with a lorry there were one or two things in it that brought back a memory or two.
The bulge in the tilt. My first trip with White Trux which forced a decision to ignore the Blanc because of it and down via Ventigmiglia instead, and that was a whole other story. I too checked inside the tilt, a load of drilling pipes bound for Mantova had shifted, but as with Sandway a bit of work with extra straps made it safe.
I went south through Adana and into Syria with the bus and when, via Lebanon, Jordan and Iraq we arrived at the Iran border we were advised by the police that it would be safer to park up in their compound for the night because of what they called ‘bandits’.
As I say, a very good read and I am very grateful to you for pointing me in the direction of this thread.
Spardo:
A great story MRM, thanks for posting it. Although I never ventured beyond Europe’s borders with a lorry there were one or two things in it that brought back a memory or two.
The bulge in the tilt. My first trip with White Trux which forced a decision to ignore the Blanc because of it and down via Ventigmiglia instead, and that was a whole other story. I too checked inside the tilt, a load of drilling pipes bound for Mantova had shifted, but as with Sandway a bit of work with extra straps made it safe.I went south through Adana and into Syria with the bus and when, via Lebanon, Jordan and Iraq we arrived at the Iran border we were advised by the police that it would be safer to park up in their compound for the night because of what they called ‘bandits’.
As I say, a very good read and I am very grateful to you for pointing me in the direction of this thread.
Thanks MRM excellent piece of remaniscing and you too David I guess at some time in our careers we all have been fronted with a load or part of a load slipping\moving.
For myself I recall an incidence of a load getting a lean on it when I was on the central high way to the north here in West Oz about 250kms south of Mount Newman. I was on my way home and it was shortly after dawn when I saw a northbound triple parked off the road with the middle trailers load of steel house frames on the point of falling.
I had recognised the truck as belonging to a friend who had a contract to supply and build homes on various Aboriginal community’s across the north of the state when I pulled up I assumed my friend may have been the driver but after banging on the door his driver as it turned out surfaced and I asked if he needed help to fix the load at that time he said what’s wrong with it so I said perhaps you better have a look which he did my assumption was that he had pulled over because he had seen it but that wasn’t the case he had pulled over to have asleep and didn’t know as it turned out a wise decision as i dont think he would have made the next truck bay with his load intact.
I pulled my gear off the road unhooked the prime mover and attached 2 chains to my bullbar tow hitch and the top of the frames and pulled them back to the upright position his straps that he had were all cut so I had 4 old complete straps in a tool box and we used then with some old carpet I had to wrap around raw steel to protect the straps then tie what we could of his straps together and placed them in various place on load all in all good as new when we finished ,he promised to return my straps at the earliest but after waiting now some 30odd years I fear that might not happen.
A footnote the driver purchased the truck off the company and became a sub contractor as far as I.m aware he is still at it.
Dig
Patience Dig, 30 years? Not even a lifetime. There’ll be a knock on the door any day now, yeah right.
What you did is what I miss, the brotherhood of the road, but even more important out in the middle of nowhere like that. Like being ‘given’ spare wheels by my mates at Buntines when my 16 punctures exceeded the 12 I carried. That was only the first trip when I had been given, at the start of the season, all the rag tyres. 
But it did exist in Europe too, in the days before extreme ‘hurry up’ and firm delivery times when you were either there or told to come back another day.