Driving ... (Part the Third) - Close Encounters of the Police Kind

(Source)

So, There I Was¹ ...

Heading up to Andover, back in the days of my exile, upon a Sunday afternoon. All I wanted to do was get to my hotel, check in, then watch some football before spending four ten-hour days testing combat systems.

Some miles short of my exit on I-495, there is a big truck having trouble keeping pace with traffic. He comes upon another big truck having the same issue. After the two decide to have what the Germans call "an elephant dance," I see an opening in the far left lane of a three lane highway. I scoot over and blow past the elephant dance at a rather high rate of speed.

Moments later I am a mile short of my exit and there are pretty flashing blue and red lights astern.

Damn.

'Twas a Massachusetts State Police trooper and I was in his sights.

I sighed and eased Big Girl² off to the side of the highway and awaited my fate.

"Hi, where are you headed in such a hurry?"

It was an older trooper, a lieutenant as a matter of fact, I was pleased, it was not some young rookie with a chip on his shoulder.

"Headed up to Andover, well actually Tewksbury where my hotel is. I work up here in Andover four days a week. I'm out of Rhode Island, on loan to our facility up here."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a computer guy."

"Ah, so you're the guy who messes up my computer?"

Shooting him a peeved look, I said, "Certainly not, if anything I'm the guy who tests the system before it goes out the door. I'd be the guy fixing your computer."

"Ah, I see. You know you were going pretty fast, right?"

"Yessir, trying to put some distance between myself and a herd of assholes back there around Lowell. There were two idiot truckers 'racing' each other. Everyone else was competing to see how slow they could go."

At that the trooper chuckled.

"Well, I had you at close to 95, try to keep it down around 80 like everyone else. You have a good day sir."

"You too, and thanks."

With that we went our separate ways, a decent chap, just doing his job trying to keep the highways safe.

Now I'm not going to say I've never gotten a ticket before, because I have. Two as a matter of fact, only one of which was "earned." That one was in Virginia going down U.S. 13 on the Eastern Shore. Again I was trying to get past a trucker who would only go fast when it was safe to pass him. Blew past him and there was a sign indicating that the speed limit was now 45 and I was going 75.

Damn.

There was also a sheriff sitting right there. He pulled me over and asked, "Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Yessir, I do."

I guess he was waiting for me to say something else, but as nothing was forthcoming he asked for my license and registration, which I handed over.

Some minutes later I was the proud possessor of a speeding ticket. In all truth, the guy could have jacked me up for reckless driving as I was a good 30 miles over the limit when I went past him. He probably didn't because he didn't have his radar up. Dodged a bullet there.

The other ticket was received for "driving with long hair."

In the town where I worked just after my first year of college there was a local cop well-known for his dislike of "hippies." (Which in Vermont in the 70s was any male with long hair.)

I was heading home in my Dad's Dodge pickup truck, which looked something like this ...

This is a 1964 D Series, Dad's might have been a little newer.
(Source)

The old girl was reliable as hell, but I doubt she'd get much over 55 mph going downhill with a tailwind. The speed limit where I was pulled over was, you guessed it, 55.

Anyhoo, I'm headed home when about three miles outside of town I look in the rear view mirror to see the flashing red and blue lights of a police vehicle.

I pull over and look in the rear view mirror, damn, it's the "hippy hater" hisself.

"You know why I pulled you over, boy?"

Pausing a moment, I looked at the guy, "Nope, no idea. Sir."

"Well, you passed a school bus back there in the village with its lights flashing."

I thought for a moment, no way that was possible, school got out long before I got out of work. So I took a deep breath and said, "I don't think I did. Are you sure about that?"

"Well, you were also doing 65 in a 55 when I pulled you over."

Rather than get into some big stink I just sighed and said, "Well, what now?"

After handing over my license and registration and sitting there fuming, the guy comes back and hands me a ticket for doing five miles an hour over the speed limit.

I took it and looked at him, "Really? Well, you have a nice day. Sir."

One more police encounter then I'm done. Well, this was a security policeman on Okinawa and I wasn't in a car.

A buddy and I were headed to work after having dinner in the chow hall. As we started out, we noticed that if we didn't hot foot it, we would be late. So we starting running.

As we ran the damned bugles started tootling (when I was on Okinawa the damned things were going off all the time, reveille, pay call, chow call, retreat, damned things were always going off). When that happened you were supposed to stop, face the music, and present arms.

We were only half paying attention so we kept running. Not far from the shop we heard someone yell, "You two airmen! Stop right there!"

So we did, heard the music then realized what was happening. We presented arms next to a fuming security cop. When the music was done, he actually took our ID cards and frog marched us to the security shop, just next to the road as I recall.

Once there he was reading us our rights and gloating like he'd just caught the freaking Rosenbergs selling secrets to the Russians. Then his boss walked in.

"What's going on here, Staff Sergeant Smith?"

"I apprehended these two airmen not stopping to render honors."

The Master Sergeant looked at us, saw that we each possessed a single, lonely stripe, and asked, "Is that true?"

My buddy quickly answered, "We were running late for work, had to run to get there on time. Didn't realize what the music was."

"Where you boys work?"

"18th Avionics Maintenance Squadron."

"Flightline, huh? You guys still on 12-hour shifts?"

"Yessir." we both chimed.

"Smith, gimme those IDs."

Smith did so, reluctantly I might add.

"Here you go guys," handing us our IDs, "if you get any grief being late for work, have your boss call me. Now git!"

Off we went, we could hear the Master Sergeant berating the guy who jacked us up. From that day forth my opinion of the Air Force Security Police went way downhill. I know some of them were good, but most of them were, as juvat once said, nothing more dangerous than a 19-year old with a beanie, a badge and a gun. Not many possessed much in the way of common sense.

Later events in Korea made me despise them even more, but that's a story for another day.

So there ya go, your Sarge, Your Humble Scribe, scofflaw and part time rebel.

Sigh ...

I try to be good, really.

¹ SJC applies.

² Big Girl was my 2005 blue Honda Element, gifted to me by The Nuke, when she decided to upgrade her ride.

Driving ... (Part the Second)

I-25, Raton Pass
(Source)

So, There I Was¹ ...

It was the 1st of April in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Seven. It was a bright sunny day in San Antonio, TX. I was standing next to my trusty steed (a car very much like the one in the next photo, though mine had hubcaps) contemplating the long drive ahead, for I was bound for Fort Collins, Colorado that day.

1000 miles, give or take a mile or so.

Now I had come down from Colorado back in January, for to attend the Air Force Officer Training School, a story I partially covered here, this story is about the drive back. Which I did all in one go, one thousand statute miles, five million two hundred and eighty thousand feet, give or take a foot or two.

1982 Volkswagen Jetta
(Source)

When I left San Antonio it was sunny and rather warm. The weather stayed fairly pleasant all the way to New Mexico, then ...

Let's just say that spring in the Rocky Mountains ain't like spring down in the flatlands.

When I stopped to refuel in Raton, NM, it was starting to snow and it was cold. A lot colder than my short sleeves and light jacket would tolerate. So I popped the trunk and dug out my heavier coat, the one I'd worn down to Texas. There, felt a bit warmer.

Went in and paid for the fuel (you could do that back before the gubmint caused prices to rise so high that fuel then run without paying became a thing) and the fellow behind the counter asked ...

"Which way you headed?"

"North, up to Colorado."

"Tonight or tomorrow, might not be able to make it tomorrow, just sayin'."

"Oh, I was planning on pressing on tonight."

"Well, you'd best git, the State is up there plowing I-25 and putting down sand. You should be okay."

"Thanks. I'm off then, have a good night."

"Drive careful buddy."

"I will."

Now you see that opening photo? That's the Raton Pass which I-25 runs through on the border of Colorado and New Mexico. In the snow. I'm about to do that at night, in the snow.

As I hit the on ramp for I-25 I had to wait for a plow to head past. Well, not "had to," wanted to. What better way to get up and over than by following a truck plowing and sanding all at the same time?

So I followed that truck up to the border where, damn it, he turned around and began plowing the southbound side of I-25 in New Mexico. As I was bemoaning the fact that I'd lost my escort, what to my wondering eyes should appear² but another plow, this one working the northbound side of I-25 on the Colorado side. Nice!

(Source)

As you can see by the map, it's about nine miles to the Colorado birder from Raton, then about eleven miles from the border to  where the terrain levels out just south of Trinidad, CO. I made it through the pass nicely. Had the plow about fifty yards ahead of me, clearing the road and sanding as he went.

Now when I hit the "flats" south of Trinidad, the plow turned about to head back up to do the southbound Colorado portion of I-25. I pictured those two plows plying their trade all night long, keeping the roads passable. In the middle of the night, God bless 'em.

Now when I got past Trinidad I could see that quite a bit of snow had fallen. The road north looked clear but ...

The temperature had gone up, then down, so the road from Trinidad to Colorado Springs, roughly 125 miles, had the consistency of a hockey rink in spots. Slippery as hell! What would normally be less than a two hour drive took me five. And there were a couple of spots that I wished I'd been going a little slower. Things got sporty. But having earned my spurs in Vermont, in winter, I made it through.

North of Colorado Springs the the terrain climbs up a bit, my experience in Colorado, at least on the east side of the Rockies, is that the weather in Denver is often radically different than it is in Colorado Springs. It was on the 2nd of April, 1987. (Yes, I'd been driving all night. Had lots of coffee on board and was driven to get home to see my wife and kids after three months in the hell of OTS and being banished to Lackland as punishment for bailing on OTS. They said it wasn't but, pardon my French, f**k them. So you might say I was highly motivated.)

North of the Springs, it got colder, the temperature hadn't climbed then dipped, I-25 was no longer a hockey rink, just snowy and rough in spots. (In my experience the folks around Denver have no earthly clue on how to plow snow. The Blizzard of '83 and its aftermath helped to inform that opinion!) So better time was made, home got closer. By the time I got to Fort Collins, I noticed that they had had at least two feet of snow.

But I was home, tired, but home.

Went to bed and spent the entire month of April on leave, glad to have nothing to do but be with The Missus Herself and play with my kids.

At the end of the month it was pack up the old Jetta again and head out, east, then south. Down to Biloxi, Mississippi for another tech school. But that's a whole 'nother story and I can't recall if I told you that one or not. I'll have to check the archives. If it ain't there, then I'll post about it

But not right yet.

There's another driving story to tell before that one.

Call it Close Encounters of the Police Kind.

¹ SJC applies.

² Nope, not a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer.

Driving ... (Part the First)

Opel GT
(Source)

Travel, it's something I've done a lot of - by boat, by plane, by train, and (of course) by automobile. Usually I was the guy behind the wheel for 99.99% of those trips by car. But there was this one time ...

So, There I Was¹ ...

Lowry AFB, Colorado, December, 1975 - I was a lowly airman one stripe attending tech school for to (theoretically) learn how to maintain the weapons control system on the mighty F-4D Phantom II. Christmas was upon us and, this being the Air Force, we were looking forward to two weeks (or was it ten days) away.

Now a buddy of mine from my home town was also at Lowry and he too was heading back to Vermont for the holidays. The difference in our situations (other than career fields) was that he was on his way to his first real assignment whereas I had to return to the school for another couple of months.

So we would be driving in his car, he had a vehicle very similar to the one depicted in the opening photo. So keep that in mind, he's leaving to go to another assignment. Some things he would have the Air Force ship to his gaining base, he would need to take some things with him. Again, it's a small car.

Now I was attending class from 1500 to 2100², which was a sweet deal for me and my classmates. But ...

The school staff did not want people to leave school to drive without having a full eight hours of rest prior to doing so. I mean their hearts were in the right place, but ...

I explained that I wasn't going to be driving, my buddy was (well, for the first eight hours or so that was true, we planned on driving straight through, no stops, I would probably be driving later in the trip, which I did, for about an hour). The powers that be said that unless I had an airline ticket, I could not depart the area until eight hours after my class ended. I'll let you do the math.

My buddy was pissed off, not at me, but at my school. I myself was furious, after all I was not some snot-nosed teen for whom this was the first time away from Mommy. Nope, I was 22 years of age and had spent three years working in a factory. Damn it, I was a grown-ass man.

Guess what?

Yup, they didn't care, rules are rules.

Fortunately we were cut loose from class early. But still I had to do my eight hours of penance.

Did I sleep much? Nope, not at all.

We finally got on the road sometime in the wee hours of the morning. We left about six hours after my class had ended, our junior sergeant (three stripes in those days), all of 19 years old, had tried to make me wait two more hours before leaving.

Now in Colorado in those days, if one was under the age of 21, all one could drink was 3.2 beer. Weak stuff, I can tell you. Our sergeant relied on us for getting him "the good stuff." As he admonished me for attempting to leave early, I asked him "So who's going to buy you beer when I get back?"

Yup, headed out the door and got in my buddy's car. It was packed with seemingly all of his earthly possessions. I had a duffel bag with my clothes, not even full, but still it was tough finding space for it. But we managed.

When I slid into the passenger seat, it was pretty cramped, I literally only had enough room to put one foot on the floor, I had to rest the other atop that one. But we managed to squeeze in, and off we went into the Colorado night.

Now it was cold and there was snow on the ground. Did you know that in those days the only way you could tell that you'd left Colorado was by a sign welcoming you to Kansas. Actually I don't even think there was one of those (we were on I-70). Modern day street view has a sign at the border which says "Sherman County Line," Sherman County is in Kansas. But there was this ...

(Source)

At least that sign is there now, might not have been back in the day.

Can you imagine, being in a very small car, at night, out on the Great Plains, it's cold, it's snowy and oh my word is it FLAT. At least it seemed pretty flat to a couple of Vermonters.

So Kansas went by in a blur, lots of farmhouses surrounded by trees, no doubt to cut the wind, and miles and miles of rolling prairie. Northern Missouri, after Kansas City, wasn't much different. It wasn't until we'd crossed the Mississippi that things began to look more "civilized." if you will. (Think more built up, more infrastructure.)

We stopped to get food, might have been a chicken place, might have been a burger place. We were both running pretty ragged at that point. I remember asking the girl behind the counter what state we were in.

"Uh, Indiana?" as if she wasn't all that sure.

Then my buddy said, "That's gotta be right, we just drove through St. Louis."

We got our food and left. I often wonder if that girl grew up to tell her grandchildren of the night two morons descended out of the night asking where they were. I know I would remember that.

Now Indiana is pretty flat, but as I recall it was night again and it had started to snow, not heavily mind you but enough to make us slightly nervous about the road ahead. We crossed through Indiana, where I took the wheel for about an hour while my buddy slept. He woke up to ask why we were stopped.

I confessed to nearly falling asleep which is why I had pulled over, but I was good to go now. He looked at me for a second then said, "I got this, I'll drive." Which he did.

Eventually, around Columbus, we turned north for Cleveland on I-71. We stopped at a truck stop which was jam-packed with tractor trailers. We felt like a small mammal wandering among the dinosaurs.

Cleveland passed in a blur, we'd gotten off at the wrong spot and wound up going through downtown Cleveland. As it was about 3 AM, it was not a big deal. All I remember is remarking that Ohio apparently knows how to deal with snow, the roads were all well-plowed.

Then, as Bill Belichick might have said, we were on to Buffalo. We would be turning to an easterly heading on I-90 there.

Snow, holy cow, snow. I estimated a good 14 inches of fresh powder when we stopped for fuel. I remarked to the chap on duty, "Had a bit of snow last night, eh?"

He answered, "Yup, another dusting, weatherman said we should get a couple of feet in the next couple of days."

Funny guy.

But again, the roads were all well-maintained - plowed, salted and sanded, the going was excellent, even in that little Opel GT.

But heading east through New York state on I-90 was a lot like Kansas, miles and miles of nothing, but with steeper terrain and lots of trees.

Eventually we crossed into the homeland, lots of snow in Vermont, very picturesque in a pre-Christmas sort of way. As I recall the trip took about thirty hours, give or take an hour or so. We made good time.

Spent Christmas with Mom and Dad and my brothers and then headed back to Denver. I flew back and honestly I remember absolutely nothing of that return trip. I don't even remember how I got from the airport (Stapleton in those days). There might have been a shuttle to the base, I don't really remember.

Now I don't hate long, long drives ...

But I'm not a big fan either.

More to come.

Drives to San Antonio from Fort Collins, CO, and back.

Drives to Alexandria, LA from Omaha, NE, and back.

Then the last long Christmas drive, Omaha to Vermont.

Good times, however ...

My butt is sore just thinking of it.

¹ SJC applies.

² 3:00 PM to 9:00 PM for you civvies.

The Early Days of Ma Vie Militaire¹

94th Aero Squadron - Flightline at Rembercourt Aerodrome, France, late October 1918.
Air Service, United States Army - Gorrell's History of the American Expeditionary Forces Air Service, 1917-1919,
National Archives, Washington, D.C.

As many of you probably know, I'm a retired Air Force guy. Served twenty-four years (and 18 days, but who's counting) in that organization and for the most part. loved most of it. (Yes, there were times at Offutt AFB, NE where I was not really all that happy. Long story, which I might tell some day. Who knows?)

But did you know this?

August 1, 1907

OFFICE MEMORANDUM NO. 6

An Aeronautical Division of this office is hereby established, to take effect this date.

This division will have charge of all matters pertaining to military ballooning, air machines, and all kindred subjects. All data on hand will be carefully classified and plans perfected for future tests and experiments. The operations of this division are strictly confidential, and no information will be given out by any party except through the Chief Signal Officer of the Army or his authorized representative.

Captain Charles DeF. Chandler, Signal Corps, is detailed in charge of this division, and Corporal Edward Ward and First-class Private Joseph E. Barrett will report to Captain Chandler for duty in this division under his immediate direction.

— J. Allen, Brigadier General, Chief Signal Officer of the Army (Source)

Yup, ten years before the United States got involved in World War One, the Air Force was created as the Aeronautical Division of the Army Signal Corps. It had a strength of three guys - a captain, a corporal, and a private first class. No sergeants, which is odd because the modern day Air Force seems to have nothing but sergeants of varying flavors, responsibilities, and descriptions. It wasn't until September of 1947 that it became the United States Air Force, but, as you can see, it had already been around for forty years.

When I came onboard in May of 1975, it was a lot bigger. I mean to chat a bit about my time in Basic Training in this post. It was only six weeks long, but I was ready to re-enlist for twenty on the second day². (Not the first, that day was a blur of no sleep, lots of loud voices, and very little discernable pattern to anything.)

Basic Training was easy, very, very easy. As in: not hard, not hard at all.

Did I mention that it was easy?

For in the fall of 1971 I entered college at the nation's oldest private military school - up at the butt crack of dawn for calisthenics, followed by a vigorous mile-plus run. (We would run until our company commander got tired, I swear to God, that sumbitch never got tired.)

After this wonderful activity we would be told to go back to our rooms and dress in such and such a uniform. We would do so, fall back into formation, then get to do it all over again. That would happen two or three times (as I recall) before the cadre were required to march us to breakfast. (I should note that we reported to school before classes began so that we could be yelled at and drilled.)

Great fun, very tiresome in many ways. As I look back on it, it all smacked of a very Red Army sort of experience. You were ranked according to your time in the organization, the Seniors ran everything, the Juniors were wandering pains-in-the-ass, and the Sophomores were the people yelling and spitting on you for most of your time at school. The actual officers were few in number, one per company as I recall. So we weren't really being trained, just indoctrinated.

Which is fine by me. It renders an individual who will follow orders and execute tasks on command. Lots and lots of drill, which some question in these modern times, but I'm here to tell you, it works.

So, even with a three year gap between college and the Air Force, Basic Training down at Lackland was awfully easy compared with what I had experienced in Army ROTC for a year. (Or high school football two-a-days for that matter.) So rather than freaking out over getting yelled at or being tired, or having to run, or march, I could focus on what they really wanted me to do. Learn how to follow instructions and obey orders. Which if you really pay attention only takes a week or two, three to four to do things instinctively, without the need for conscious thought.

Another thing I learned was that following orders is pretty damned easy. No need to think, just do. Someone else was paid to do the thinking. For some people, following orders is so easy that they can detach themselves from what it is they are doing. Problem is, eventually they will find themselves in a position where they are the ones giving orders and they have no rational thought-process to back up what it is they are ordering people to do. That sort of thing can cause problems. Think about it.

Anyhoo, that's enough for today.

For those of you who might worry that I won't complete the tale of the Eminence et al, not to worry, I plan on getting back to that eventually.

(For those of you worrying that I might go back to that tale, sorry ...)

Ciao.

¹ My military Life

² Dinner was steak and lobster tails, yup, USAF chow was the best. Really, I'd re-enlist for the food? Well, duh!

Once Upon a Time ...

3708 BMT Squadron, Flight 0512
(Source)

A long, long time ago, Ma and Pa OAFS loaded their oldest son into the family motor vehicle for the long-ish (~80 miles) drive to Manchester, NH. There to drop said son off at a hotel where he would be spending the night on his very last day as a civilian.

I remember the hotel, vaguely. It reminded me of one of those old West hotels where basically you have a bed, a chair, a window - no curtain on the window, mind you - and a washstand. Oh wait, this didn't have a washstand, it might have had an actual bathroom, I don't quite remember, might have been one of those "have to go down the hallway" to use the toilet kind of places. After all, it was (shudder) forty-eight years ago.

I don't remember much of the processing through the Manchester AFEES¹ that morning. There was a bus from the hotel, as I recall, and there were six of us headed to San Antonio to be in the Air Force. For some reason, unknown to me, I was entrusted with everyone's paperwork. Six big envelopes, all sealed. Perhaps it was my year of Army ROTC, which was in my records, which should have given me a single stripe upon entry but hey, the USAF sucked at paperwork back then. They probably still do. (Of course, not telling me that did save them a few bucks, not that I really cared.)

Whoa, Sarge, wait! Army ROTC, WTF? Have you mentioned that before? (Yes, here, here, and here.) So let's just say that I felt no trepidation upon entry into Air Force Basic Military Training, I mean six weeks? Come on. Boy Scouts have it rougher. Anyhoo.

I don't remember much about the plane ride to San Antonio, other than we had to land in Houston as storms were making air travel in and out of San Antonio a bit dicey that night. Two of the knuckleheads traveling with our group thought that it would be a good idea to go exploring, I offered my opinion that that was a bad idea. They didn't listen. Needless to say, they missed the flight to San Antonio.

Upon arrival at Lackland Air Force Base (nowadays known as Joint Base Who-Gives-A-F**k, and I don't, I'm old school) there wasn't a lot of yelling, or if there was, it wasn't very impressive, at least not to me.

Some junior airman wanted to get "all up in my grill" over having six packages of paperwork and only four bodies, I pointed out that I was tasked with delivering paperwork, not bodies. I won that stare down. (You have to learn early who can yell at you and who cannot, the Smokey Bear hat is a dead giveaway that they can yell at you.)

We got to stand at attention behind our racks (beds to you of the civilian persuasion) for most of the night while we waited for the rest of our flight to arrive. I discovered that while there was a microphone in the barracks, there was no camera. So I sat down. Which freaked out my fellow soon-to-be-airmen.

The rest of the flight showed up, we got about two hours of sleep and then ...

Drum roll please ...

Twenty-four years later I retired.

Yes, I plan on filling in that 24 years at some point here on this blog-o-mine. But not today.

😉

¹ Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Stations, nowadays they're called Military Entrance Processing Stations (MEPS). That change occurred in 1982, Manchester doesn't have an entry point anymore.

Editors Note: Yes, I am in that picture at the start. A much younger me.