The big six wheeler skidded to a halt, with boiling clouds of dust swirling around and over it. I marched up to the colossal front wheel, and tried to get my boot up high enough to step up on the tyre. In the end I settled for the hub, only just a little higher than my waist! Carefully I began scaling the sheer metal sides. As I popped my head up over the side this huge masked man shouted "Greetings Capitano!" and crushed every bone in my arm, in the mistaken belief that he was shaking my hand. He pointed down through the open roof hatch at the driver's position, and roared over the bubbling nine litre Rolls Royce twin diesels behind us. "Sit there and strap yourself in..."

So began my trip around the more hilly parts of Wiltshire at the wheel of an Alvis Stalwart Amphibian. John was my instructor, clad in dusty army green, with nose and mouth swathed in a voluminous chequered scarf. I still don't really know what he looks like…
As we rumbled along he regaled me with stories of his tour in the Gulf as part of Operation Desert Storm, interspersing his narrative with shouted commands such as "Floor the accelerator! Hard right on the wheel!" and my particular favourite "Don't put the power on until the drive wheels touch ground again!"

Yes, it may weigh in at eleven tons, and it's top speed is only twenty miles an hour, but no ride round Le Mans can even come close to equalling the sheer adrenaline rush of that amount of power under your right foot. Frankly I was terrified as we ascended the first of three knife edge jumps, and the ground disappeared as the sky filled the wide mud spattered windscreen. Then John shouted "Floor the accelerator! Go on, give her everything, the power will kick in." It did. The heavens leapt at me, the front jumped into thin air, and the back followed. For what felt like hours the whole eleven tons just left Earth and went into orbit... Then the ground reappeared, and I gritted my teeth! The seat straps (aircraft style harness) saved me from becoming part of the landscape, but almost sliced off my arms and legs in the process! The back came down, and the front bounced again, John shouted for more power, and I made all nine litres count as we shot up the next jump which ended so John assured me in a huge water splash! Alas it was in the middle of the summer drought so the water splash was on its holidays. As dust swirled in through the open side windows and roof hatches John cackled and drew his scarf tighter over nose and mouth, telling me how much it reminded him of Kuwait! I just chewed grit...
All too soon we were pulling in to the vehicle park, and the next lucky sod was waiting to clamber up the side of the metal leviathan. Boy, were my legs wobbly as I climbed out! By the way - adrenaline is brown, I know 'cos I got through quite a lot of it!

But I didn't have time to worry, the next trip was looming. This time it was in an ex British Army FV432, a fully tracked armoured personnel carrier. This one was fitted with a 20mm gun turret, so I was able to pretend that my boss was on the receiving end of my superb gunnery. Pity it was only pretend really...
Then I tried blindfold driving in the dual control Land Rover with another scarf swathed instructor blaring instructions - more adrenaline for this one, and excellent training for driving on our roads! Then it was a trip around the workshops, where dismantled bits of tank and armour waited to be fixed, they were closely examined and well photographed by me for a possible future diorama!

The afternoon playing with big boy's toys ended with a rattling ride back to the Shears Inn in the old Humber Pig. Of course, I'd a great deal of dust to wash away by this time, and stopping at a Pub made perfect sense to me!
Next time I go I'm going to get to drive one of the veteran Chieftain tanks, and then there's the Abbot self propelled gun, in fact, no self respecting Treadhead should be without at least one visit to Highlands Park!