Here we are then everybody. I have uploaded the final draft
and the new book should be available on Amazon by around the 20th November.
Obviously the ideal Christmas present for everybody who is anybody in the international transport game.
Hope that you enjoy it.
Mick
Vodka Cola Cowboy:
Nottsnortherner:
Morning Brian, Quoteā¦āsome parts of the journey are a complete blancā un-quoteā¦Is that because you broke down in the tunnel ?Nice one N.N. However, as Sandway keeps saying, the old grey cells arenāt what they used to be. So, he wouldnāt remember.
A year or so back I posted a story of an incident wereby I got stuck in a tunnel. It wasnāt a āblancā tunnel Nottsnorthener it was a Yugo tunnel up at Turnu Severin as I was trying to get into Romania and you are wrong Micky T. I do remember, Itās just that I donāt want to!!!
sandway:
Vodka Cola Cowboy:
Nottsnortherner:
Morning Brian, Quoteā¦āsome parts of the journey are a complete blancā un-quoteā¦Is that because you broke down in the tunnel ?Nice one N.N. However, as Sandway keeps saying, the old grey cells arenāt what they used to be. So, he wouldnāt remember.
A year or so back I posted a story of an incident wereby I got stuck in a tunnel. It wasnāt a āblancā tunnel Nottsnorthener it was a Yugo tunnel up at Turnu Severin as I was trying to get into Romania and you are wrong Micky T. I do remember, Itās just donāt that I donāt want to!!!
I stand corrected then Sandway. I will now go and slap my own wrist. 
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 2.
I arrived in Damascus with a load of furniture. Staggie was right. So far it had ben a doddle. Damascus was the first of four drops around the middle east. Amman, Jedda and Riyadh were the other three destinations but I wasnāt thinking of them yet. First I had to clear customs and unload but I certainly expected to be on my way within a couple of days. How wrong can you be sometimes!
I had parked up at the customs when I arrived the evening before and now I had to find a taxi to take me to the British Embassy for thats where the furniture was destined. First though I needed some local dosh. Luckily for me there was another British lorry nearby and the driver pointed me in the right direction to get some money changed up on the black market. The mass of Syrian pounds I received were some of the dirtiest bank notes I had ever seen but they were accepted everywhere which was all that mattered. I found a cab and in no time was entering the embassy. I have been trying to identify the building from pictures on google without success but I believe it was a modern townhouse type of building with no hint of glamour or history to it. After identifying myself at reception I was handed over to the admin officer, a very businesslike Englishman. āHave you sorted out in a day or soā he said. āThe furniture is destined for the Ambassadors new residence. Only problem is youāre early. The villa needs a fair bit of work to be done to bring it up to a standard expected by the Ambassador and his wifeā. Blimey I thought. Does that mean Iāve got to sit here for 4 months whilst they do the alterations. Luckily that wasnāt the case. It would all be crammed into one room so not to be in the way. Later we visited the residence and there I met Bernie Johnson who was a Clerk of the Works sent out from the UK to oversee the alterations as the company doing the work would be Syrian.
I expected to be tipped next day but that didnāt happen. The embassy had a local guy working for them who handled all customs procedures and to say he was the exact opposite of the admin officer is no lie. No doubt because he was working for the embassy it had gone to his head. Typical ragh-ad I thought to myself. Anyway, it was to be another three days before I could unload but that didnāt matter to much as my Saudi visa was now top of my agenda. I told the admin officer that I needed to obtain the visa and asked if he or perhaps one of the local embassy staff could accompany me to the Saudi Embassy to get it. The reply was not what I was expecting. It started off as a high pitched āyou want whatā exclamation which then turned into a good old belly laugh. One of his colleagues was nearby and the admin officer conveyed to him my request for assistance. So now I had the two of them having a good belly laugh at my expense. Hmmm I thought might have to do it myself. Got visas before so can do it again. But why do they find it so funny.
āOkā I said, āif its a problem Iāll pop round there tomorrow morning and get it myselfā. With that the admin officer realised I was being serious. No no its not that we donāt want to help. Unfortunately we canāt. Itās impossible for any British citizen to obtain a Saudi visa at present. Thereās been a diplomatic incident. You will not get one and you will not be going to Saudi Arabia. Take my word for it. Now this came as a huge shock to me. But why I stammered? Why have they stopped issuing visas. He then went on to explain that a drama-documentary type programme, written by a British journalist and produced by ATV and WBGH, an American company, had been shown on the ITV Channel on the 9th of April in the UK and a few weeks later in the States. The programme was called āDeath of a Princessā in which a Saudi princess and her lover were executed for adultery.
Ramifications were huge. The Saudiās were not pleased with the way they had been portrayed. Trade sanctions were introduced. James Craig, the British Ambassador was asked to leave the country and restrictions were placed on the issuing of visas to British businessmen. Yes, I could see I might have a little problem but if the programme was first shown on the 9th of April and I didnāt leave until mid June how come nobody back in the office knew about it. It was a conundrum that I was never going to get to the bottom of. Was Staggie trying to play it down when he said āIāve got a little job for youā.
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 3.
I was told it was impossible to get a Saudi visa. The office back in the UK had not got one for me and now the the admin officer at the British Embassy in Damascus was telling me that no way would I be going to Saudi Arabia. The making and showing of the film āDeath of a Princessā was the reason. However, the admin officer said he would have a word with the embassies consular service department to see if they could help. He said he would let me know the following day. As there was nothing else to be done I returned to my lorry that was parked up near the customs. There were a few drivers there, including a Frenchie, an Italian, one or two others and the English driver that I had met earlier. I could see that my trip was going to end in Amman and after discussing it with the other drivers they all agreed.
The next day I returned to the embassy to be given two bits of bad news. one, I wouldnāt get tipped that day and two, the consular section couldnāt help with my Saudi visa. With that I returned to my lorry which was still at the customs. Later I dropped the trailer and decided to find the Saudi embassy. I had been given directions and found it easily. I parked up nearby and walked to the entrance where I was immediately stopped by security and asked for my passport. I handed it over but as none of the security men spoke english it was taken inside. A little later it was returned by one of the embassy staff in his brilliant white flowing robes befitting an important Saudi who asked me in excellent english how he could help. When I explained thatI needed a Saudi visa as I had to deliver furniture to the British Embassy in Jedda ( I thought it best not to mention the delivery to the British Saudi Cooperation Office in Riyadh) he looked at me and said āI am sorry but it is not possible to give you a visa to enter Saudi Arabiaā. He repeated the sorry bit said goodbye and was gone. Oh bother I thought.
The following day I still hadnāt tipped. Most of the small group of drivers were in the same position. Hanging around and waiting. Then a new driver turned up. He may have been German or Austrian and he knew his way around. āI wonāt be unloaded for a few days so Iām off to the swimming poolā he said. It turned out the Sheraton Hotel was nearby and he knew where the small back entrance to the pool was located. A couple of us accompanied him and a few hours by the pool lifted my spirits immensely. I got talking to the new driver and told him of my problem withe the visa. He commiserated with me and made a few suggestions mainly centered around backhanders. I couldnāt imagine a Saudi official needing or taking a bung so I dismissed that idea. He did come up with another idea though, one that I decided was worth following up.
Now in middle east folklore there are a few names that immediately spring to mind āLaurance of Arabiaā being one Young Turk another but there was one man, one of our own fraternity, one whoās name Iād heard mentioned many times by middle east drivers enjoying there efes or over a glass of cay. That man was the legendary Sami Sirissi. He was in business as a customs agent and general Mr Fixit. I may have heard his name mentioned in hushed tones often but I hadnāt a clue where he operated from but the new driver knew. It turned out Sami Sarissiās office was within walking distance from where we were relaxing beside the pool.
There was action early next morning. The local customs guy from the embassy was banging on my door and he was with a customs officer. They wanted me to drive to the ambassadors new residence where there were some men waiting to offload the furniture. The customs officer came along to watch but I expect it was just an excuse to get away from his office. At the residence I again met Bernie Johnson, the Clerk of the Works. He made a cup of coffee for me and I explained I was having a problem obtaining my visa. It turned out Bernie was dossing down in the residence so he could pocket his hotel allowance and suggested, if my visa problem continued, I move in with him. I think he wanted some company as the Syrian builder wasnāt ready to start the alterations yet, so thats what I did. There was running water, a few bits of old furniture, a cooker Bernie had bought cheaply and a couple of old mattresses. It was home from home.
Later that day I set out to find the headquarters of the great man himself, Sami Sirissi. I parked my lorry where the road was less busy and walked, following the instructions given to me by the German/Austrian driver. I went past the bus station looking out for the imposing building I imagined would house a man of his stature, after all heād been in the film āDestination Dohaā. I didnāt find one but what I did find was a little, rather seedy, run down office with an asbestos corrugated roof and the name S.S.SIRISSI over the door. I had arrived and I must admit, a bit taken aback. Was this the office of the man who could work miracles. I somehow doubted it. I entered his small office. A desk was immediately on my right and sitting there was a small lean man with a lined face. I said āMr Sirissiā. He confirmed it was he and I then introduced myself. I then explained I had a problem and that I had been told he was the only man in Syria who could help me.
āI will do my best, please tell me about your problemā.
whisperingsmith:
Great Guy Sammi (Abou Said)I made a short video to remember him by at https://youtu.be/ZuqDK5dUlQo
Thatās the best telly Iāll see this week 
! Robert
gr8 vid never met the guy but my uncle did through the seventies told me one time down there he went to toilet looked up to be greeted by large spider monkie 1 of sammis regulars apparently think ive got one of sammis cards in my uncles things
Really enjoying the tale Sandway, good stuff! Whisperingsmiths video is outstanding! Brilliant to see some real history.
Thank you for an absolutely fantastic bellyful of nostalgia wisperingsmith. I almost felt as if I was walking down the street to Samiās office when I viewed your video. Not sure Sami will be around now but if he is lets hope he and his family are safe.
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 4.
Iād tipped a part load of furniture in the Ambassadors new residence and then been invited to move in by Bernie who was dossing down there to save having to shell out for a room in a hotel. Never thought I would ever be āsquatingā in an Ambassadors house but Iām glad I did as I really didnāt fancy Hotel Scania in the centre of Damascus. I didnāt know how long I was going to be there but I had to try and get a Saudi visa before I left. I thought maybe a few days but it turned out to be seven days before I had a decision.
I had sat down with Sami Sirissi in his little office and explained what the problem was. He knew all about the film āDeath of a Princessā and that the Saudiās had asked the British Ambassador, James Craig, to leave the country. āIts all a bit of a messā he said. Damm right I thought and Iām in the middle of it. I still thought I was wasting my time sitting there in Samiās office drinking cay but what the hell, if I wasnāt going to get to Jedda or Riyadh lets spread the job out a bit. I gave him my passport and asked him to look after it. I know I had another one back in the office in the UK but as I hadnāt contacted the company yet I didnāt want to have to tell them I had lost my passport and would they send my second one out. āI have one or two contacts in the Saudi embassyā he said. Leave it with me for a few days and Iāll see what I can do. And thats what I did.
As there was nothing I could do I spent some time every by the pool. When not there then a trip to the souk or just hang around with Bernie. He had sussed out a UN building nearby where we could get a reasonable evening meal and a drink. I rang Sami after a couple of days but there was no news. I had a small short wave radio with which I could hear (just) the news and sport. Bernie and I were in the residence in the afternoon of Saturday the 5th July when we listened on my radio to the 1980 Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Final when Byorn Borg beat John McEnroe. I visited Samiās office on day four but still no news and it was at this stage I almost admitted defeat. āBest you get my passport backā I said. I knew I had run out of time. I now had to come up with a plan. I decided I would continue to Amman where I would contact our office to tell them I couldnāt get the visa. I would then suggest I unload the furniture bound for Saudi in Amman and that the embassy there arrange for a local Jordanian company to make the final onward delivery. Sami, I am sure could read my mind. āLets give it another two daysā he said, āsometimes these things cannot be rushedā. I finally agreed and said I would ring him late afternoon in two days time but if there was no sign of my visa I had leave for Amman the next morning.
By now I was getting bored. I wanted something to happen. I wanted to be on the road again. I had managed to get hold of some British embassy headed notepaper and envelopes. I wrote short letters to friends and my father in law and his wife who lived in Koto Kinabalu in Malaysia. They thought it was a hoot me using the embassy notepaper. Donāt think the embassy would have seen it that way though. I told Bernie I would be leaving the following day and rang Sami as arranged. āI donāt have your passportā he said, but come along in the morning and I will return it to you then. Dejected at the lack of a result Bernie and I went out to the UN restaurant that evening for a last meal. I felt like the condemned prisoner eating his last meal.
Next morning I loaded my gear into the lorry and said my goodbyes to Bernie. I then made my way to Samiās office. I found him sitting at his desk talking to someone on the phone. He waved me to sit down and a young boy brought me a steaming glass of cay. After a couple of minutes he put the phone down said hello and opened his drawer where I could see my passport was lying. Had it been there all the time. Perhaps Sami didnāt have the contacts but was to embarrassed to admit it. Face means so much in the arab world. He took my passport from the drawer, opened it and handed it to me. I looked, and then looked again. There was a new visa. A Saudi visa. I looked up to Sami. He was beaming, āIām sorry it took so longā he said.
Well, as from today the 17th November 2017, my new book āThe Champagne Truckersā, is available from Amazon.
They are selling both the paperback and Kindle versions. The Kindle is also available on Kindle Unlimited and through
Kindle Library.
Mick
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 5.
I had almost given up. A Saudi visa, so it seemed was just out of reach. Sami Sirissi was my last hope and I was all for calling it a day. He talked me into waiting two more days and Iām glad he did. He finally came up trumps. There it was stamped in my passport. The Saudi visa that would enable me to finish the job I had set out on from the UK weeks before. It looked genuine and Iām sure it was. I was over the moon. Sami must have pulled a dozen favours from someone at the Saudi embassy to get it issued. When I asked how much I owed him he just made a sound with his tongue, shrugged and shook his head. It didnāt matter how much I remonstrated with him he wouldānt take anything from me. Finally I gave up trying, thanked him profusely once again and made my way back to the lorry. Now all I wanted to do was get back on the road. I went back to the Ambassadors house to give Bernie the good news then hitched up my trailer and in no time was heading down the Amman road to the border.
I sped through the Syrian border controls at Derra and then had my ears assaulted by the deaf and dumb boy screeching at me to give him my papers at Ramtha on the Jordanian side. I remember very little of my time in Jordan other than to say I got to the British embassy on a Thursday and met my contact Tom Murphy. He explained that nothing could be done until Saturday. He asked if I would like to go to the British Club on Friday as he and his wife would be there. I readily agreed and so spent another pleasant day by the pool. I tipped on the Sunday and left Amman that day. A few years later I would be flying into Amman quite regularly often staying at an hotel out near the airport but as for Amman itself I remember nothing. Iām sorry to say I canāt remember the first thing about the embassy or any part of the city.
I headed down to the Saudi border passing signs for Petra on the way. One day I ought to come back and do the tourist bit I thought but never did. The weather was quite hot by this time and one thing I did was buy a large flask and fill it up with cold water, that was a life saver. Again I remember very little of the border or the procedures there except to say it was all very straightforward except for one thing and that was nothing to do with with my Saudi visa. I was wondering if they would let me enter bearing in mind the hullabaloo over the film "Death of a Princess but that part went extremely smoothly. No, it was to do with clearing the load. Although I was sealed in Amman for some reason the Saudiās wouldnāt allow me to run down to Jedda. Perhaps they didnāt trust us pesky Brits. Well, Iād better re-phrase that. They did allow me to go but I had to have a Saudi guard ā ā ā ā ā ā me to the customs in Jedda. When I was told this and then introduced to this old sullen guard I thought this is going to be fun. Whereās he going to sleep. Whoās meant to feed him and as for ablutions!!! Perhaps he will disappear into the desert on the passenger side and me on the drivers side. Well, as long as he didnāt want to come with me I suppose it didnāt matter.
In the end I had a good run down. The guard didnāt speak any english and uttered very little even in arabic. We left the border first thing in the morning and did a good hit the first day. It was hot and the old guard helped himself to my water every now and again. Only sips though. I didnāt mind as there were plenty of little shops from where to restock. I stopped at a roadside shack for the night and the guard treated himself to an evening meal. I decided to eat in and so another tin of Irish stew was consumed. The last thing I saw of him as I drew my curtains was making himself comfortable across a large bench seat adjacent to the table from where he had just eaten his evening meal.
The following day we arrived in Jedda and he directed me to the customs complex. I was still in shorts and wondered if I should put long trousers on before I went inside the office but I couldnāt be bothered. It was by now very hot but as we entered the building the cold air hit me. They must have had the air conditioning on full blast. It was very busy in there with hundreds of Saudiās all running round in their brilliant white robes. I certainly looked out of place. My papers, which the old guard was looking after were handed over and I was told they would contact the British Embassy. I could see nothing was going to happen that day so resigned myself to spending a long hot uncomfortable night there.
Fascinating stuff Brian, I canāt wait for the next episode to find out what else could possibly go wrong.
B.T.W. if a trip to Petra isnāt on your bucket list, then it should be. 
Regards Steve.
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 6.
I had arrived in Jedda the previous evening after being chaperoned from the Jordanian border by an old Saudi guard. He had disappeared as soon as my papers had been handed over to customs. Perhaps he had to thumb a lift back up to the border. Canāt somehow see that though. Most probably went by air conditioned taxi. I was sitting in my lorry wondering what to do next. I had had my breakfast which didnāt consist of much as I was getting low on supplies. It consisted of coffee and biscuits but I wasnāt to worried as I had seen a Safeway supermarket from where I would replenish my supplies. That was one thing I liked about Saudi. They had joined the modern world unlike Syria, Iraq or Iran. You could even make contact with the outside world unlike Iraq where it sometimes took three days to get a phone call through to the UK and even then you were likely to be connected to a wrong number.
After breakfast Mike Sweeney and a local turned up. Mike was to do with security at the embassy and had the job of getting my load cleared of customs. The local guy handled that though whilst Mike and I chatted. By late morning I was on the move. I followed Mikeās car and was soon parked up in the road outside the embassy. Now here things are a bit confusing. Iām not now sure it was the actual embassy. It was a villa set in a nice area of Jedda but perhaps it was like in Tehran. There they have the embassy in the centre of town but have, what is known as the summer residence up in the northern suburbs. Of course in Tehran it was cooler up there in summer, you couldnāt say that about the villa in Jedda. It was by now early afternoon as I backed in through the gates and they clanged shut behind me. I had entered an oasis of calm, greenery and yet another swimming pool. Mike told me I would be tipped the following day and that I could make use of his spare bedroom and the swimming pool if I so wished. That was not an offer I or anyone else was likely to turn down especially after he invited me into his air conditioned kitchen whereupon he opened the fridge which was packed with a fair selection of the finest beer British breweries produced.
After a couple of beers and a shower it was time to check out the pool. Now I donāt want anyone to get the wrong idea. I know it looks like Iāve gone from the sundeck on the ferry to a succession of pools as I made my way south but it was hard graft all the way interspersed with a bit of luxury every now and again. Well thats what I would tell āStaggieā if he asked. In the evening Mike did us a meal and I had to visit the pool again for one last dip before turning in. Next day the furniture was unloaded by midday and Mike came across with a telex for me. It was from the Promotor office in the UK. It just read āImperative you contact this office from Amman on your way home regarding reloadā. Now as I hadnāt been in touch with the office since Iād left and they had no idea of my whereabouts I guessed āStaggieā had sent it weeks before ready for it to be given to me on my way through. By now it was to late to get back on the road and Mike had offered his hospitality for another night which I readily accepted. So it was back to the pool again, more beer and another one of Mike special meals.
The next morning I would be leaving early. It was a fair hike to Riyadh and I was allowing two days to do it in. Mike said he thought I had to go back about 200 km north to Medina and to pick up the Riyadh road from there as he was certain I would not be allowed to drive over Taif which was the direct route. I didnāt like that idea and told him. Well if you do chance it just make sure you donāt end up in Mecca on your way through. I thought āStaggieā would have a heart attack if he saw on his TV āInfidel arrested in Mecca with load of furnitureā. āDonāt worry Mike I know to keep out of that placeā I said. However, its at times like that you need to be talking to someone with experience of the place like the boys from the Trans Arabia thread. Unfortunately I didnāt see any of them.
I left at the crack of dawn and made good time to Mecca. I followed the signs around the city and was enjoying myself. I was as good as empty so nothing slowed me down. I had about thirty small chairs in the back which if they weighed a couple of hundred kilos I would have been surprised. I pressed on towards Taif and the mountain upon which Taif is located, it loomed ever larger in front of me. Hell I thought nothings going to stop me going over there. I was burning gas like a good un. Flat out I headed for the bottom of the mountain and I could see the road snaking its way up to the top.
Then I saw this small hut on the right set slightly back from the road. Suddenly there was a uniformed policeman or soldier emerging from it. He seemed in a hurry and started to blow a whistle and wave his arms. Oh bother I thought.
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 7.
I was giving it some welly as I headed inland away from Jedda towards Riyadh my destination. The mountain and town of Taif was ahead of me. All I had to do was navigate the snaking road leading up and over the top. Mike Sweeney at the British Embassy thought I wouldnāt be allowed to use that road but he didnāt know why. He thought I would have to go to Riyadh via Medina which was many hundreds of kilometres out of my way. However, I was sure I had heard somewhere that it was only at certain times of the day that lorries were stopped from ascending the mountain. I had decided to go by the direct route and thats why I was now approaching the mountain. So far there had been no warning signs informing me I couldnāt use that road.
I was almost at the base of the mountain. My Scannie was flat out. I was flying. I couldnāt see anything was going to stop me now. Then I saw the little hut set back from the road from which a policeman or soldier was emerging. He had seen me. He was blowing a whistle, waving his arms and running towards the road. Oh s-it I thought. Am I about to be turned back. In that brief nano second my brain said stop but my guts said no way. Go for it my guts said. The bloke blowing his whistle still hadnāt reached the road. I didnāt ease off. I blasted by him at well over sixty miles per hour. I looked in my mirror. He was just standing there looking at me disappear round the first of many corners as I started to climb. I was on my way. As I made my way up that spectacular mountain road I started to doubt my, perhaps foolhardy, actions. It was obvious that the police or military would be informed by the bloke in the little hut and that a roadblock would be in place just over the top. Well it was to late to do anything about it so I pushed on. Finally I crested the mountain and the city of Taif was ahead of me. But no police no soldiers no roadblock. Ahead the road to Riyadh lay open for me. It would take me another day and a half to get there but once again I have no recollection of that time. The last thing I remember of Taif is the Sheraton Hotel and the big Cadillacs parked up outside. Of course it was a popular place. As the temperature rose down on the coast Taif was always that bit cooler being so high up. As Iāve said the Taif mountain road is one of the worlds most spectacular. It was built in 1965 and more recently been duelled. Its about 22km long and climbs to over 1800m. Look it up online to fully appreciate it, especially on Youtube, but the amount of traffic on the road now is truly frightening.
I have no recollections of the journey from Taif to Riyadh. I spent two nights somewhere en-route. I filled up with fuel and kept my flask topped up with ice cold water but remember none of it. What I do remember though is being parked up outside the British Saudi Co-operation office, or should that be Saudi British Co-operation office, in Riyadh and the last of my load of furniture being unloaded. I had tipped first thing and was soon on my way. I headed north out of the city and it was here disaster struck. On the northern outskirts of the city there were roadworks everywhere. New roads were being built and it was like driving over the proverbial āploughed fieldā. Unfortunately I hit a raised drain cover and as I did so my flask, which I had topped up only an hour before, exploded. Ice cold water was flowing all over my engine cover and down around my feet. I stopped, removed the bungy cord holding the flask in place and flung the flask down into the roadworks.
I made my way back to Amman following the tapline for a large part of the way. It was on this stretch of straight and fairly level road that Promotor driver John Preece attempted to do a thousand miles in twenty-four hours. He just failed. Iām sure there are people out there who have done it. I mean its just under 42 mph average. Shouldnāt be difficult. Not my idea of fun though. Still John could be a bit loopy at times. Once back in Amman I made my way to the British embassy where I had tipped part of my load on the way down. Tom Murphy, who had been my contact there helped me get a telex message back to our office in the UK requesting reload instruction. As I had a box trailer and was shipping into Koper I expected my reload would be a load of wooden Yugo furniture from Nova Goricia or from that area up near the Italian border which is just north of Koperā¦
When finally I received the telex message with my reload instructions I was gobsmacked as well as being excited. I was picking up a load of furniture but not from Yugo. The only problem I could see involved getting a visa again. Was this another job for Sami Sirissi in Damascus.
sandway:
āIāVE GOT A LITTLE JOB FOR YOUā.
Lane 7.I was giving it some welly as I headed inland away from Jedda towards Riyadh my destination. The mountain and town of Taif was ahead of me. All I had to do was navigate the snaking road leading up and over the top. Mike Sweeney at the British Embassy thought I wouldnāt be allowed to use that road but he didnāt know why. He thought I would have to go to Riyadh via Medina which was many hundreds of kilometres out of my way. However, I was sure I had heard somewhere that it was only at certain times of the day that lorries were stopped from ascending the mountain. I had decided to go by the direct route and thats why I was now approaching the mountain. So far there had been no warning signs informing me I couldnāt use that road.
I was almost at the base of the mountain. My Scannie was flat out. I was flying. I couldnāt see anything was going to stop me now. Then I saw the little hut set back from the road from which a policeman or soldier was emerging. He had seen me. He was blowing a whistle, waving his arms and running towards the road. Oh s-it I thought. Am I about to be turned back. In that brief nano second my brain said stop but my guts said no way. Go for it my guts said. The bloke blowing his whistle still hadnāt reached the road. I didnāt ease off. I blasted by him at well over sixty miles per hour. I looked in my mirror. He was just standing there looking at me disappear round the first of many corners as I started to climb. I was on my way. As I made my way up that spectacular mountain road I started to doubt my, perhaps foolhardy, actions. It was obvious that the police or military would be informed by the bloke in the little hut and that a roadblock would be in place just over the top. Well it was to late to do anything about it so I pushed on. Finally I crested the mountain and the city of Taif was ahead of me. But no police no soldiers no roadblock. Ahead the road to Riyadh lay open for me. It would take me another day and a half to get there but once again I have no recollection of that time. The last thing I remember of Taif is the Sheraton Hotel and the big Cadillacs parked up outside. Of course it was a popular place. As the temperature rose down on the coast Taif was always that bit cooler being so high up. As Iāve said the Taif mountain road is one of the worlds most spectacular. It was built in 1965 and more recently been duelled. Its about 22km long and climbs to over 1800m. Look it up online to fully appreciate it, especially on Youtube, but the amount of traffic on the road now is truly frightening.
I have no recollections of the journey from Taif to Riyadh. I spent two nights somewhere en-route. I filled up with fuel and kept my flask topped up with ice cold water but remember none of it. What I do remember though is being parked up outside the British Saudi Co-operation office, or should that be Saudi British Co-operation office, in Riyadh and the last of my load of furniture being unloaded. I had tipped first thing and was soon on my way. I headed north out of the city and it was here disaster struck. On the northern outskirts of the city there were roadworks everywhere. New roads were being built and it was like driving over the proverbial āploughed fieldā. Unfortunately I hit a raised drain cover and as I did so my flask, which I had topped up only an hour before, exploded. Ice cold water was flowing all over my engine cover and down around my feet. I stopped, removed the bungy cord holding the flask in place and flung the flask down into the roadworks.
I made my way back to Amman following the tapline for a large part of the way. It was on this stretch of straight and fairly level road that Promotor driver John Preece attempted to do a thousand miles in twenty-four hours. He just failed. Iām sure there are people out there who have done it. I mean its just under 42 mph average. Shouldnāt be difficult. Not my idea of fun though. Still John could be a bit loopy at times. Once back in Amman I made my way to the British embassy where I had tipped part of my load on the way down. Tom Murphy, who had been my contact there helped me get a telex message back to our office in the UK requesting reload instruction. As I had a box trailer and was shipping into Koper I expected my reload would be a load of wooden Yugo furniture from Nova Goricia or from that area up near the Italian border which is just north of Koperā¦
When finally I received the telex message with my reload instructions I was gobsmacked as well as being excited. I was picking up a load of furniture but not from Yugo. The only problem I could see involved getting a visa again. Was this another job for Sami Sirissi in Damascus.
The pic of the old fort looks like the one at Kaf near the western end of the TAP-line. robert
I think you are spot on there Robert. I had no idea where in Saudi I took the photo but just googled Kaf and there is, as you say, a fort that closely resembles the one in the photo.
Many thanks. Another bit falling into place.
sandway:
I think you are spot on there Robert. I had no idea where in Saudi I took the photo but just googled Kaf and there is, as you say, a fort that closely resembles the one in the photo.
Many thanks. Another bit falling into place.
On one of my Gulf trips I did pause, sometime in early 2002, at Kaf to take a couple of pics of my lorry in the ruins! Here they are. Robert
Found another shot of Kaf from an old post on TruckNet (below). For drivers who did M/E in the '70s, Kaf was east of H4. Nowadays, it is east of Haditha. Robert
