CHAPTER 4 -- On the road to Maimana

The road north was really no road at all; just a pair of huge ruts left from the trucks -- dusty and deep.  I started our first day of driving by promptly bottoming out on the rough road.  As the bottom of the steering column came down hard, the entire van shook.  Although trucks could negotiate the road by driving in the existing ruts, they were too deep for the van.  I saw right away that what I would have to do was straddle the ruts, with one wheel on the shoulder and one in the middle, and to go slow. 

We expected to reach the first settlement, Qal'eh-ye Now, by nightfall since it was only a little over 120 klicks -- 75 miles -- north of Herat.  We barely made it a quarter of the way due to the rough road and mechanical problems, the carburetor wasn't working right, but it could have simply been the extra load of three people and their stuff combined with the rough road and steep grades that necessitated a slow crawl.  At the steeper grades all would get out and I would drive because I was the lightest, the van would struggle up over the hills and I would wait at the top as the others would walk up, going down hill was no problem. 

The first day took the longest, as it was mostly uphill, until we crossed the first range of mountains that separate the north and the south of Afghanistan.  When riding Frank rode shotgun mostly and we talked a lot, Eduardo rode in the back with Andy and Karen.  We stopped late that day in an open field and set up a tent for the night, and made dinner from our hasty provisions of cookies and watermelon after that first exhausting day.  After smoking way too much of our newly acquired Afghan hash, Andy and Karen went off to spend the night together, as they were definitely becoming a couple at this point. 

The van had enough space to stow everyone's gear.  Andy and I already had a stove, dishes, pots and pans for cooking.  Instead of sleeping bags we had bedrolls made of blankets that our mother had collected in Rome.  Andy had a guitar, and we had a miscellaneous collection of books and clothing.  Frank contributed an eight-track tape recorder and a handful of rock and roll tapes that we played over and over to pass the time.  Most nights we just spread a large ground cloth outside and slept in the open air.  Andy and Karen were inseparable, although Eduardo was never far from Karen either.  Frank and I had struck up an easy friendship. 

Everyone was slow to get started the next morning, as we were still recovering from the exertions of the day before not to mention the hash.  We drew quite a crowd in the morning from the curiosity in the surrounding homesteads as we grab a quick bite of what was left of our provisions and broke camp.  We managed to reached the top of the Sabzak pass between the Band-E Baba range and the Safid ranges that day where we had a full view to the north.  We passed many settlements, walled-in compounds and small villages along the way, marked by the trees growing tall and green in the compounds in the midst of the barren surroundings. 

We passed many trucks plying the routes between the towns to the north.  Some were military-type trucks that carried as many people as they could cram into the back; men mostly-- packed in to standing room only in the truck bed, and all wearing their turbans the tails of which were flying in the wind.  Those trucks had open sides and were smaller than the big trucks.  The bigger trucks had closed sides on the bed, creating an open wooden box that could be filled with goods, although men still sat on top of the cargo, again with turbans tails flying.  The wooden sides of these trucks were usually painted with gaudy colors.  

As the van rolled downhill toward Qal'eh-ye Now there were several nomad caravans.  The animals were frightened by the engine noise from the van, and especially from the music from the tape player.  The sights and sounds were so impressive that we just stopped to watch.  Soon, animals carrying heavy packs made from animal hides surrounded us.  The packs were enormous, carrying everything that would be needed to set up camp.  Perched on top were the women, dressed in red or blue velvet, with silver adornments and head covering.  Dogs ran along between the pack animals, and in front were herds of goats and sheep.

 The men rode horses, carrying guns and wearing pajama-style shalwar pants, long tunics, vest and turbans.  Their clothing was usually in muted shades of light green, or light to medium brown.  Much later I inspected some shalwar pants -- the waists were typically huge, with no drawstring.  I never learned the intricacies to fold and pleat the waist and then tie it with a long sash. 

We reached Qal'eh-ye Now by late afternoon the next day as it was mostly down hill.  We got a quick meal at the samovar and a room for the night, Andy and Karen spent the night in the van in front of the samovar.  The next day we were warned that two German tourists who had spent the night in a tent in the garden in the compound there had their throats slit.  We were not sure if they were just trying to drum up more business by scaring us; we did know we were going to do a lot of camping.

We had been driving for a couple of days when we arrived at the edge of a small lake, several hundred yards across.  No other traffic was around, but truck tracks disappeared straight into the water from the edge of the lake.  Evidently that was the preferred truck route, although there were numerous footpaths going around the lake.  The paths that followed the shoreline were not level, but sloped along the bank.  The water was muddy brown, so we couldn't see the bottom.  I was driving once again, with Frank riding in the front seat.  Eduardo and Karen spilled out of the van with Andy to see if any of the paths were passable. 

Frank and I waited impatiently in the van.  We were supposed to wait for Andy to shout directions for us to follow.  I looked over at Frank who was sitting with his feet up on the dash.  We both had the same plan in mind.

"What the hell," I said, shifting into first gear.  "I don't want to wait.  Let's just go for it."

Frank nodded in agreement, and put his feet down on the floorboards.  That was all the encouragement that I needed.  I was a novice at water crossings, and accelerated a little too fast.  The flat front of the van smacked the water, sending a wall of water over the top of the van that washed the windshield clean for once.  Then the front rose up onto the water, and the rear, where the engine was, stayed on the bottom.  The front wheels acted like rudders, giving me some steering control.  I heard Andy yell as I started across, but by that time I was committed.  I had no intention of stopping, because it was too much fun.  Frank and I motored across to the other shore just as slick as we pleased. 

Andy, Eduardo and Karen were all shouting as they raced around the lake after us.  Frank and I ignored the shouts as we roared up the bank on the opposite side.  I was stoked to do it again but the others caught up before I could turn around for a second pass.

I felt more experienced a few days later when I came to my second water crossing, a stream running across the road, probably only four or five van lengths across.  It was at the end of very long day’s drive; in fact, night had fallen and I could barely see across the stream with our weak headlights.  The van rolled to a stop.  Dark as it was, no one wanted to get out to test the water, not even Andy this time.  We all peered out the windows, looking at the dark water.  I decided to ford it once again. 

No one raised any objections; they just held on to their seats and to each other.  I started slowly this time so as not to hit the water too fast.  As always, I was straddling one rut, in this case, the left one.  Looking across the water, the ruts disappeared first into the inky, dark water; next the raised area between the ruts disappeared.  Finally, both shoulders of the road sunk below the water level. 

As I drove out into the water the raised ridge between the two ruts gave way, but the left wheels were still on the high shoulder, which resulted in the van lurching and leaning suddenly and steeply to the right.  I fell out of the driver's seat, but by hanging on to the steering wheel, I managed to get my right foot back on the gas pedal and floor it just as the engine was starting to sputter and die.  I had a death grip on the steering wheel as I pulled myself back into the driver's seat.  At the same time, I steered down into the trench while I fought to get the van level, while never letting up on the gas pedal that I kept pressed to the floor. 

I was in such a deep trench that I could see the opposite bank coming at us, and it was level with the bottom of the windshield.  The van wheels struggled with the rough surface under the water, and I was afraid I might not make it out of the ford.  I think everyone was too frightened to scream or yell.  They were all hanging on to each other in the back as the van lurched and pitched and bounced from side to side each time the wheels began to spin or dig in. 

Finally, the van shot out the other side, as if leaving a catapult, even though it was fully loaded with five people.  Amazingly, none of our gear or supplies even had time to get wet.  The entire crossing probably only took seconds, but it definitely felt much longer.  This time I did not want to go back and do it again.  I was drained from the experience, as was everyone else.  My arms and legs were still trembling from the exertion and stress. 

Frank and I rolled a cigarette later after making camp.  The moon wasn't up and the sky was filled with twinkling lights.  Andy and Karen were curled up together in spoon fashion.  Eduardo was already beginning to snore.  Frank stretched out on his back, while we talked.  He had a pet theory about the fundamental differences between Eastern and Western cultures that he incessantly expounded upon. 

"It's the toilet!"

"toilet ?" I queried. 

"yea the toilet, it makes all the difference." 

"Deep thinking is enhanced by sitting on the toilet and leisurely pondering all the problems of the day.  Just like that statue of the thinker.  That's the contribution of the west." 

"I will have to think about that next time I find a toilet!'  I said laughing.  

I half-listened to him describe Rodin's statue of the thinker from the old Dobie Gillis series on TV, and then complain about not having enough time to think long thoughts while he squatted at the side of a field in the early morning.  Just hearing his voice drone on relaxed my nerves from the close call with the van.

***

We had left the region of steep hills and mountain passes before we got to Qali'eh-ye Now.  We were in an area of rolling hills before reaching Maimana.  The road wasn't as rutted or as steep but the van seemed to be getting worse as we continued the van was losing power, which may have been caused by a leaky air filter.  Air filters back then were often the oil bath type, which run the air through oil to take the dirt out.  Although, we had tried to change the oil whenever we had the opportunity, there was a leak in the filter where dust was getting in. 

We reach the town of Bala Morghab half way beyond Qal'eh-ye Now and Maimana an hour before dark and stopped for supplies and gas.  As we got chai and some food and wandered the bazaar shopping.  A crowd developed and started following us around growing as we went, we didn't have the sense of any danger but the local police intervened anyway.  In our rush to get gas and leave town I forgot to put the gas cap back on, which provided another route for sand to get into the engine.

As the van continued up and down the dusty hills of Afghanistan, the engine power correspondingly decreased to less and less.  Soon, it reached the point where we couldn't make it over any of the hills with the van fully loaded.  Everyone except the driver had to get out and push, so we developed a routine that had us poised to be ready to bail out of the van as soon as it slowed while going up a hill. 

As the van slowed the doors would burst open with four disheveled young people jumping out, running behind and pushing to get the van over the hill.  The road was so sparsely traveled no one else ever saw our antics.  Once everyone was out and pushing, the van would begin to steadily accelerate and climb to the top of the hill.  When I reached a level space at the top, I would come to a stop and wait for the others to trudge uphill.  Dusty and tired, they climbed back into their seats.  Then down the other side, to repeat the entire routine again as we started to climb the next hill. 

No one was ever hurt jumping out of the van but I must confess I did almost lose the van on a hilltop once.  The driver's side door had become increasingly sticky, yet another quirk of our van, which meant that it wouldn't always open from the outside on the first try, and sometimes it would take several tries to open.  The emergency brake was still not working, but I had gotten accustomed to that.  On this occasion, having arrived at the top of a hill and while waiting for the others to trudge up the dusty road, I got out thinking the van was on a level place.  As I stepped away for a moment to take a piss, the door slammed shut just as the van began to roll backwards.  I leaped for the door, but, of course, couldn't get it open since it had chosen this moment to stick again.  After a few anxious attempts to jerk the door open as the van began to slowly roll back, I raced around the front, leaped in the passenger door and slid across to the driver's side to hit the brakes just in the proverbial nick of time.

Clearly, we were not sure how much farther the van was going to take us, and our chances on horseback were looking better and better.  We were fully motivated to trade the van.  Fortunately, the next town was Maimana, the provincial capital of Faryab, and the largest town between Herat, and Mazar-E Sharif.  We were not yet a quarter of the way across Afghanistan.  As we drove into Maimana town, I saw the ubiquitous Afghan man with a rose in his nose.