"What
the fuck am I doing?" I yelled to myself as I realized I'd
gotten in to one of those, "well, it seemed a good idea at the
time," heart-sinking moments. Only this time I didn't have a
hangover.
It all
started with a simple concept. Lee & I decided it'd be an
adventure, and great fun, to haul freight all over the Lower 48 and
Canada for the biggest trucking company in the nation.
We just
had to learn to drive a truck.
Next
thing I knew, I sat drenched in sweaty fear, in charge of an
extremely large truck in dense Southern Californian traffic. I
believe it's called a blast of reality.
Somehow
or other, after a couple of days, my competence improved. Marginally.
One of
my minor hitches proved to be getting the 450 hp truck up to a
respectable speed. Ants overtook us as we watched the grass grown on
the sidewalk.
John
McDonald, my long-suffering driving instructor nagged me constantly
in his slow Alabama drawl, "Anne, you gotta go a little faster.:
Bravado
took over and I pushed down on the throttle - straight in to the arms
of a red light. Instinct took over and I slammed on the brakes. The
cars around me were enveloped in thick smoke from my locked wheels.
One joker lent out his widow coughing loudly in my direction.
"You
shouldn'tta done that," was the laconic comment from McDonald as
he got back in his seat. Come to think of it, he said that quite
often.
"Yes,
but rather effective, don't you think?" I snapped.
"If
it'd been raining, you'd be jack-knifed," he shot back.
"Yessirree."
McDonald
thrived on having the last word.
He is
also a brave man. I believe this because he took me through the
excitment of the freeway tango. It goes like this.
I take
the truck down on to the freeway, cruise up to 55 mph then race off
the next exit and immediately tear back down on to the freeway. It's
teaches you how to get with the traffic flow. I rather enjoyed the
freeway driving. It was the street traffic that scared the wits out
of me.
Lee and
I were not alone. We'd joined 27 colourful characters at the truck
driving school for 11 days of intensive instruction.
People
from every walk of life sat in that room - like multilingual Lee with
a master degree to independent Audra, a pizza delivery lady with lots
of silver in her nose and ears. There was Bryce, well, Bryce is Bryce
with his tattoos, rude T-shirts and a big, soft heart. And we all
bonded without a hitch as we faced the prospect of driving a big rig.
Each day
we re-enacted High Noon as the class stepped out into the dusty
parking lot and faced the trucks lined up on the opposite side. You
could almost hear the twanging guitar in the background. I drove
truck 359 and hauled trailer 4585. Numbers indelibly etched on my
brain.
We
ground gears trying to double clutch our way through the 10 gears.
The intricacies of air brakes and power divider started to make
sense. Squashing orange cones became the norm while learning to back
and wiggle in to docking spaces.
Heart
failure was a common occurrence, for us and the anonymous driver of
the car waiting at the light as we cut corners too tight. Backing,
coupling and uncoupling trailers, pre-trip and post-trip inspections
of the tractor and trailer became part of every day life.
During
class time we did fun things like trip planning exercises. Less
interesting is learning the endless federal rules and regulations.
Did we
have fun?
You bet!
We had
to pass a test for graduating. How I passed I have no idea. Perhaps
it was my explanation to the examiner on my way out to his truck.
"You
need to understand something. I'm British and when I'm tense and
under pressure I revert to my own language. If I tell you I'm
checking the petrol with a torch, don't run away in blind panic. I
actually mean checking fuel with a flashlight."
He
probably decided on the easier route - pass this crazy lady and get
as far away as possible from her.
We both
passed and then had to head out on 3-weeks over the road training
with a trainer before going for our commercial license.
But
that, as they say, is a WHOLE 'nother story.
 |
| Instructor John McDonald watches one of us has another go at the orange cones during boot camp. |
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