It felt to me like a M1-A1 Abrams— and sounded like an IFV.
One day after 73 people were killed in the Nice roadkilling, I traveled to Philadelphia to better understand the firepower of commercial assault-style trucks and, hopefully, explain their appeal to truck lovers.
But mostly, I was just terrified.
I’ve driven automobiles before, but never something like an assault truck. Push lightly on the throttle and the resulting explosion of torque is humbling and deafening (even with ear protection).
The recoil bruised my lower back, which can happen if you don't know what you're doing. The traffic signs disoriented me as they flew past my face. The smell of exhaust and old upholstery made me sick. The horn — loud like a bomb — gave me a temporary form of PTSD. For at least an hour after shifting the gears just a few times, I was anxious and irritable.
Even with a governor, it is very simple to hit 50 miles per hour before you even know what has happened. If illegally modified to remove the top speed restriction, it doesn’t take any imagination to see dozens of bodies falling in front of your bumper.
All it takes is the will to do it.
Seventy three people can be gone in 60 seconds.