The Afghan Queen: A True Story of an American Woman in Afghanistan by Paul Meinhardt Page A

recovered the wheel with the hub cap intact; the four large bolts had all worked free. I helped Mike mount the heavy tire back on the axle, holding the wheel steady as he tightened the bolts.
    There was no damage. The hub caps have a strong vise-like attachment to the wheel hub. Hubcaps were secured in vise grips with a built-in lock. Mike had to unlock the large hubcap. The lose bolts nested securely, as these were magnetically held against the inner concave hubcap. The magnetic hold was so strong that it took a screw-driver to pry them lose.
    Once we wrestled the wheel back on the axle and bolted the nuts securely, I noticed that the axle protruded about an inch from the bolted wheel base. The end of the axle had a screw hole. “Mike, what’s this hole for?” I asked. He replied, “Now I’m going to show you something I neglected.” He went to the glove compartment and took out a small case with screw bolts. He gave me one of the screws and asked me to screw it through the end of the axle.

    Road-Side Mosque outside of Kandahar
    Nearing Kandahar, Mike pulled over at a lovely kiosk-size mosque. He asked if I wanted to learn to drive the vehicle. “Sure,” I said, “You must get tired on these long drives. I love to drive, and it seems like you need some relief.” He replied, “Yes, it would be nice to have some relief.”
    Manual shifting is something I’ve done for many years, first on an old Ford Falcon. Mike’s vehicle was easy to learn. I persuaded him to let me drive into Kandahar. This, I enjoyed greatly. The mountainous landscape was breathtaking and the drive down to the foot-hills of Kandahar was no less exciting.

    Everywhere I go with my 35-mm Lica, I take a lot of photos. The photo above was taken ten miles outside of Kandahar as we were descending the mountain road. The air was so clear that the city seemed much closer.
    Mike said, “Lela, I think you like driving and traveling.” I replied that I love driving and travel. “It must be the Gypsy in me or my Turcoman heritage.” Mike replied, “We are all of Turcoman origins, I believe. It means endless trekking and trading. In this respect we are much like Gypsies; but we don’t see Gypsy caravans in Afghanistan. With all the migrating groups in Afghanistan, I believe Gypsies would be redundant.”
    “Why don’t Gypsies travel here?” I asked. He replied that probably Afghanistan was too poor and mountainous for them. “Afghans are hospitable to visitors that want to buy and sell, but not to those with questionable ways,” he added.
    The trip from Kabul to Kandahar on the A-1, according to the guide books, was 296 miles or 494 km. In most places the A-1 was paved and not bad at all. But mountain roads are subject to wash-outs, mud slides, rock slides and small earthquakes. All in all, other than some minor rock slides; we had no serious trouble on the trip.
    Every time we passed a rock slide Mike mentioned that the Kalq government would be installing heavy wire fencing over the rock slide areas—like in the States. At quake zones there would be bins of gravel and sand to fill road cracks.
    Local Kalq officials are paid for road maintenance, “Just as are local New Jersey towns,” he repeated frequently. Mike spoke with me in great detail about his transportation plans. “If we were a rich country, we could afford railroads. Possibly barges could move heavy loads over parts of the rivers, but cargo would need to be off loaded to trucks, and that is not economic.
    I believe an extensive system of trucks and buses over well-maintained roads is the best solution, possibly supplemented with heavy-duty helicopters. River-linking canals could be of value.”
    Mike directed me to a fueling garage just outside of Kandahar. There, he introduced me to his brother-in-law Al. Mike had two wives at the time. The first lived in Kandahar, and Al, his brother-in-law from this marriage, owned the garage.
    He asked Al to balance and rotate the tires and