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J.C.
Milliman
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Road Trip! Saddam,
war in the Gulf & diesel fuel
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Stovebolt Page |
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J.C.
Milliman
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Road Trip! Saddam,
war in the Gulf & diesel fuel
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Once again, the folks at NPR got me going.
Apparently, they are experiencing some sort of epiphany about a possible war with Nebuchadnezzar (or his latest incarnation, anyway). They are agog that our commander-in-chief may be leading us to war over, get this, oil.
Oil.
No duh, oil. Of course it’s about oil! And if you’ve been out on the road lately, you know what I mean.
I had been long overdue for a road trip, and the opportunity to check out my new trailer on a quick jaunt to Western North Carolina seemed just the junket to get back out on the road, get a refreshing dose of White Line Fever (the ones on the road, not that other kind you pot heads!) and see a part of the country I hadn’t seen before.
All the while basking in the dulcet tones of that Cummins Chorus clacking away upfront.
Ah yes, the staccato of the valves, lifters and injectors in symphony with the soaring, swelling and ebbing of the turbo for that sopranic embellish. Throw in the lower end, the double bass and oboe of the exhaust, and to any gear head, you have music to rival Vivaldi and certainly far superior to anything Shostakovich ever penned – the music of that great American inventor and composer, Jesse Cummins.
On the open highway, where, for mile after mile (on I-85, anyway), there’s not much in the way of distraction, you can kick in the cruise control, turn off the radio (When it’s NPR, that’s relatively easy to do!) and enjoy the mechanical chorus.
Until the I-95 pot holes come along.
You’ve seen them, those gaping holes in the Earth, many that even rival Mars’ Valles Marineris (Watch out for the Viking Lander at the bottom!). They’re enough to jar even the Dalai Lama out of meditation.
But the real rude awakening, the true horrific ripping of my tranquil bliss to shreds, came when I faced my first fuel stop of the day.
The gears, tappets, turbines, injectors and valves silenced their furiously rhythmic cacophony when faced with the cruel reality of $1.89 a gallon. My sweet mechanical symphony was crushed in a second, my bliss fled like light when the flame is harshly extinguished in a windowless room.
Sad, but the arts are always the first to suffer.
So there I was, looking like a James Montgomery Flagg poster. You know the one – the man standing with his jacket half off, looking mad as heck because he’s just found out the Huns kill women and children, too. Only I was holding a gas pump handle and the newspaper said, " Diesel prices soar!"
What’s worse, diesel prices are currently higher, on average, than regular gas!
If you know anything about oil refining, you know that diesel is less refined (like me!) than gas; hence it’s easier to make.
So it’s more expensive? What the heck is up with that?
If my commander-in-chief wants to go to war over diesel fuel prices, it’s hokey dokey with me. And also with a lot of truckers I know. Shoot, we’ll lead the charge into the Majnoon, West Qurna and Nahr Umar oil fields ourselves. Ole Saddam, and his vaunted Republican Guard (who crapped out like tired Powerstrokes on a short hill the last time), doesn’t stand a chance against a bunch of hacked off American truckers.
Heck, I’ll even volunteer to go back there and whup some bootie. In fact, I already did, but the nice prior service recruiter told me my re-enlistment code was "8I."
"8I?" I said incredulously. Remember, this is the Marine Corps. "What the heck is that?"
"Yes sir," the Gunny shot back. "8I -- When the Iraqi’s get to 8th and I streets, we’ll call you."
This isn't the first time I've been mad enough to low crawl to Iraq and kick Saddam's butt 'til his nose bled. Oh no, I've been mad at him before. August 2, 1990, to be exact.
There I was, about to board USS Blue Ridge (the command ship of the U.S. Seventh Fleet) to participate in the historic first US fleet visit to the Soviet port of Vladivostock. Seabag in one hand, orders in the other and .... whoosh! Saddam invades Kuwait and those maggott boatswain mates aboard Blue Ridge yanked the brow out from under my feet and sailed off to the Persian Gulf, expeditionary medals and instant eligibility for the VFW. And left ole 1stLt. Milliman on the White Beach Pier like a teen queen stood up for the senior prom. Mad? You're darn tooting I was. Not only did I miss that port visit (and the opportunity to trade for one of those cool Russian naval officer hats), but I ended up missing all of Gulf War I.
Somebody had to stay behind on Okinawa to keep an eye on North Korea, you know.
So the Leathernecks are on their own this time as I have been benched. Again. I will be here, doing my best to protect the real interests of America – commerce. Commerce is the engine of Democracy. And commerce in America rolls on 18 wheels – but it won’t for long if diesel goes above two bucks a gallon.
The future is arriving via Peterbilt, baby! And all your dreams of PDA’s, cell phones, Play stations, designer dog dishes and everything else are in the trailer.
But the arrival times are in doubt as long as oil prices keep rocketing to "Old Europe" levels – which are commensurate with my blood pressure these days.
You want a threat to National Security? There it is – deprive Americans of their ability to shop and you’ve dealt us a mortal blow. Let the Europeans pay exorbitant prices for their fuel, we as North Americans have a fundamental right to cheap fossil fuel. It’s written somewhere, I think.
In all seriousness, folks, it ain’t about oil prices and we both know that. NPR may not accept it, nor the dizzy liberal wonks they interview, but there’s more at stake here than what we have to shell out at the pump.
Good golly, we’re not that shallow as a people.
Lunatic despots with torture campaigns and access to the raw materials of weapons of mass destruction should not be allowed to run free and whomp us with a nuke at their convenience just to appease the sensitivities of a few weak-kneed yahoos in Marin County.
Sometimes, a preemptive use of deadly force is appropriate and needed and I stand behind my commander in chief when he says this is one of those times.
And if we can get diesel prices back below a buck, well that would be swell, too.
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