Matt Jones: And yet, I didn't die

Apr. 1—My work revolves around the vehicle. Some days I head West, some East, some South and sometimes I even head North from Ashland to photograph the stories about those in the Tri-State.

As I photographed and wrote about motoring for this section, I thought about my favorite motoring moments — moments I'm certain the statute of limitations has expired on. After writing a top ten list, I realized, no one wanted to read that much and I cut it.

So here they are, five things I've done in a vehicle that hopefully amuse the reader but, more importantly, take space in this section.

Before I start, I'd like to put in a disclaimer, just because I didn't die, doesn't mean you won't. Don't let my stories of stupidity inspire you. Be smarter than me. I lived in spite of my own best efforts.

5. Exploring on two wheels

The Ford Explorer was a breakthrough, a huge hit. When I got stationed in California, I needed a car and found a salvage titled Explorer. It was two-door, red with a five-speed.

Some of you might remember these Explorers had a recall because when combined with Firestone tires, the geometry of the vehicle caused an "increased chance of rollovers."

Well, I was still young and dumb and by this point in my life almost certain of my invincibility, so recall-shmecall.

It was a great car for southern California. It could go anywhere I needed to go. Often taking me to places I shouldn't have been.

One weekend, I found myself heading out California 52 toward I-15 in my Explorer. In those days, speed limits were vague suggestions and off-ramp signs didn't mean anything to me. So, I took the fly over at speed, which was well above the posted limit.

As I got to the crest, the ramp tightened to the left and I was unprepared for such a change in direction. I cranked the steering wheel to the left and felt as the driver's side wheels departed the road. Luckily, I remained calm and let the Explorer live up to its name as it drifted toward the barrier which was, I could see as I glanced out the passenger window, down to the ground, quite elevated above the roads below. The wheels found the pavement short of the wall and I was able to maintain control as I laughed, partly because I was stupid and partly because even then part of my brain knew I was lucky.

4. Hydroplaning in a hurricane

I grew up in Virginia Beach. Hurricanes were a part of life. Life doesn't stop for a little rain and wind.

In 1999, I learned in addition to life not stopping, your car doesn't if you are hydroplaning.

As I left work one night and headed home, Hurricane Floyd came to town. It wasn't the first hurricane I'd driven through. We'd had Dennis just a few days earlier.

Dennis had come through and dropped around three inches of rain in four or five days with winds in the 50s.

I was 17 and an expert driver, even if only in my own mind. I was a seasoned pro at hurricane driving.

Well, Floyd had a different plan. Driving to work, I had to take a back road because my normal route was flooded. After my shift, the rain had lightened up so I took the normal (quick) way home. Since it wasn't dumping with rain, I decided to drive normal.

Everything was perfect until it wasn't.

As I took the left split to head down Holland Road, some of the six inches of rain Floyd had dumped that day had nowhere to go as Dennis had saturated the ground. So as I went to turn left, my tires hit the puddle and went straight.

Through the puddle I hydroplaned and over the curb.

Now readers, the way the roads are at that intersection create a triangle of flat grass with sidewalks. Not the worst place to skid in to, except for the one power pole along the southbound side of traffic.

Four feet left or right and I'd have just spun through the muddy field and busted a couple tires and maybe a rim or two. But no, I hit the pole.

The airbags deployed and I came to an abrupt stop. After I realized what happened, I got out and assessed the situation.

The pole was several feet into the front of the car and the entire engine had shifted backward. The car was totaled.

Soon the police arrived and asked me where the driver of the car was, because the driver shouldn't be up and walking around, but I was fine.

One of the EMTs was a member at the church my mother was a minister at, and knowing she'd have to drive north past the wreck before getting on scene, called her and told her "Mary, when you drive past just know he's fine. He's walking and talking. Don't let the car scare you, he's not injured."

And I wasn't. An early '90s Ford Taurus might not be the coolest or fastest car, but on that night it was a damn safe car.

3. Boats on the dam

Not all my moments involve tires. When I was deployed to western Iraq, one of the groups I covered was the Marines of Small Craft Company out of Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. I traveled to Haditha Dam to tell the stories of the Marines safe guarding the dam, which is still a key part of the country's power supply as well as way to prevent down stream flooding.

As I interviewed Marines about their day-to-day life in the Soviet-built dam, I was invited by some of them to join on patrols both north of the dam on Lake Qadisiya and south on the Euphrates River. I jumped at the opportunity.

On the first night, I was assigned to north of the dam, where Marines in Riverine Assault Craft patrolled the lake to ensure no one was able to attack the dam from that direction.

I grew up on the water, went boating regularly, even sailing in the Atlantic Ocean, so I thought I could handle a metal boat on a lake. I was wrong.

The wind across the lake whipped the water into waves. The waves, while not overly high, maybe four-to-five-feet, were constantly hitting the hull as we floated silently in the dark.

My Virginia Beach cred took a hit that night as I hung over the side of the metal boat and offered the return of my dinner as an offering to the lake for even a momentary reprieve from the waves. Whatever deity was in charge of the lake accepted my tithe and the waves minimized and the rest of the mission was, literally, much smoother.

Undeterred, the next night I headed to the runway of the dam and joined a combat reconnaissance rubber craft as it patrolled south on the Euphrates.

There was chatter of insurgents operating in the area. We loaded up and floated down, scanning the banks and hills north of the river. As we silently floated down the river with lights out, the boat got grounded.

Well, because I wanted to show I was part of the operation and not just a tag-along, I quickly jumped in the river and, with my camera in one hand, started pushing with the other. What was knee deep water quickly became waist-deep as beca worked to free the boat and my boots sank into the sandy bottom, bringing the water chest high. My flak jacket and life vest combined with my lack of training made it difficult to get back in the boat. Even after handing my camera to a Marine in the boat, I struggled to get my leg over the side of the rubber boat. Every time I went to push off, my boot sunk into the soft bottom of the river. Eventually, and maybe with the help of a Marine from the unit, I clambered back in and we continued on our patrol south.

2. Cross county in the Bronco

After the Explorer, I had a Bronco. Not a Bronco Sport, a full-sized white Bronco. (I'll let you insert your own OJ joke here.)

Mine did have stupidly large off-road tires and lift, because I pictured myself as someone who would go off-roading. I didn't.

I decided this would be the perfect vehicle to drive from Camp Pendleton to Virginia Beach. From the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean. Everyone should drive across the country at least once, and I picked the safest vehicle for such an adventure.

You see, the great thing about road tripping in a '90s Bronco, the fuel tank empties before you've had long enough to get tired enough to fall asleep.

On my trip I averaged 10 and some change mpg for the crossing, I could get a whopping 12 mpg on some highway stints, and single digits in traffic or mountains driving. Despite a 33-gallon fuel capacity, I struggled to get 350 miles on a tank of gas.

So my day would be wake up, grab breakfast, fill up, hit the road. Stop for lunch, fill up, drive for a while, fill up, drive, take a dinner break. Fill up. Drive for a couple hours, stop for the night.

Some of you doing the math at home might be saying, that number of fill-ups is unnecessary. At 10 mpg, I'd get around 325 miles to the tank, and at 80 mph that's almost four hours. While I could do that in a stretch, when I stopped, a new problem arose.

Back then, at some gas stations, the prepay amount was still set at $50 and then the pump would shut off, and you'd have to prepay again. Well, with a 33-gallon tank and gas at the time being roughly $3 a gallon, a fill up would require two restarts of the pump. As I'd fish my credit card out to re-restart the pump, it went from funny to annoying.

As I watched the fuel gauge fall, I was serenaded by the scream of the off-road tires being pushed past 75 mph (or more) on the pavement and the howl of the wind noise made by pushing a vehicle with aerodynamics of a shed down the interstate, which meant even if I got groggy, it was never quiet.

Despite all the issues, looking back, I'm glad I drove from coast-to-coast, though if I had to do it again, I'd play it risky and pick another car.

1. HUMVEE Training

After the initial deployment to Iraq in 2003, the Consolidated Public Affairs Office in Camp Pendleton, California, realized we, as an office, were woefully lacking HUMVEE-licensed drivers. The solution was to get several of the junior Marines in the detachment licensed.

The classroom part was easy, even the practical part, which consisted of driving in the motor T yard and using a trailer, was quickly accomplished.

However, in order to be fully licensed we had to have so many hours behind the wheel on the open roads (and trails) with a licensed driver in the passenger seat. For an office with zero licensed drivers, that presented a problem.

The solution was simple.

Our Master Sgt.'s husband was the commanding officer of an artillery unit who had a motor T pool. So, the three junior enlisted Marines from CPAO headed north and hooked up with three fellow junior Marines from there. and just like that, six 20-and-21-year-olds were turned loose aboard Camp Pendleton each day with no oversight, other than get hours and don't wreck.

The first part came natural, the second part we, despite our best efforts, also passed. I won't say we passed with flying colors ... the only thing flying were the trucks.

Each day we headed out and went in a random direction and drove for a couple miles on paved roads until we found dirt tracks and decided to "see where they went." Sometimes they went up mountains and down washed out roads, some days down ravines to the Pacific Ocean, but every trail was certainly taken too fast.

While we were reckless we ended the week wreck-less.

Each day the governor on the trucks was tested multiple times, off road and on. It was a great week, unsupervised and free, something that rarely happened in the military.

So there they are, whatever small percentage of readers is still reading this entirely too long recount of just a few of my idiotic actions. For anyone asking how I lived? I have no idea. Maybe my mother could pray faster than I could drive. Once again, please don't try to recreate anything you read here.

MATT JONES can be reached at mjones@dailyindependent.com.