Entry # 58: July 8, 2006

Camp Buehring, Kuwait (Somewhere near the Iraq border)

A funny thing happened on the way to Buehring today. I got pulled over for speeding. I was the only car on the road in the middle of the desert. If there ever was a place to put the pedal to the metal so to speak, this was the place. But I shall start at the beginning.

MAJ Sargent (my current company commander), CPT Roppoli (who will replace MAJ Sargent soon), and myself took a trip to visit some folks who we work with and with whom we share intel stuff. It was a good road trip for MAJ Sargent to share some stuff with CPT Roppoli about the company as well as a good time for me to get to know my new boss, not to mention introduce CPT Roppoli to some key figures he will be interacting with down here. So we did our thing, had a meet and greet, answered some questions, etc., etc. Then we piled in our vehicle and headed on back.

Now Camp Buehring is in the middle of nowhere. When people claim they’re out in the middle of nowhere, they’re wrong unless they’re at Camp Buehring. It is positioned right smack in the middle of the desert, complete with sand dunes, searing heat, scorpions, and camels. The nearest paved road is a 30 minute drive away. The nearest sign of civilization is a good hour drive away. It is nowhere.

I passed the closest sign of civilization (an air base used for logistical support) and was headed back to our beloved Buehring. I was cruising at an easy 100 km/ph—or 62 mph. About five miles down the road, having passed no one in either direction, I noticed a SUV with flashing lights tailing me.

“I think I’m being pulled over, “ I muttered to MAJ Sargent with a puzzled look on my face.

“Maybe one of our tires is low,” replied MAJ Sargent.

I pulled off to the side of the road and waited for our tracker to stumble his way up to us. Turns out, it was a Navy policeman. The only water in sight was in my water bottle.

“Shouldn’t he be out in the gulf flagging down oil tanker captains who like to weave through the buoys?” I pondered aloud.

Well, the Navy 5-0 fella eventually made his way up to our window and asked for my military and civilian driver’s license. I handed him a piece of paper saying the Army certified me and a laminated card saying the State of Georgia believed I could handle a vehicle properly. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” asked the swabbie.

“Is one of our tires low?” MAJ Sargent replied.

“No, I clocked you at 100 coming past us and then when we tried to pull you over the first time, you sped up to 115. Why did you do that?”

“Well, no one was ahead of us and we were the only car on the road besides you. And I really didn’t think you were pulling us over.” I smartly replied.

“Do you know what the speed limit is on this road?” the squid kept on.

Now I have driven this road myriad number of times and not once have I seen a speed limit sign. Thinking this was a trick question, I answered, “There isn’t one.”

I was wrong. “The speed limit on this road is 80 km/ph, sir. Wait here, just a minute.”

I could have taken off to Baghdad with this Navy guy and his flashing lights tailing behind me and I wouldn’t get a ticket. What jurisdiction does a Navy guy have in the middle of the desert anyway? It’s not his turf, or rather surf.

The sailor returned two minutes later. “Sir, I’m gonna let you off with a warning. Just please slow it down.”

“Roger that, 10-4 ole buddy.” I said in my best Smoky and Bandit impersonation, as he handed me back my licenses.

“Now, we know what the Navy does in the desert. They send the fat ones who can’t swim to annoy the Army guys” said MAJ Sargent. I laughed and then peeled out as I pulled back onto the road, leaving a large cloud of dust. I did 130 km/ph the whole way back home. The day the Navy tells me how to drive in the desert is the day I tell them how to sail an aircraft carrier through the Strait of Magellan. And so the Soldier’s life continues…