Off the beaten track is my preferred methodology. In trucking it means that whenever possible,
the less traveled roads were more enjoyable, at least sometimes. Leaving the truck stop in Joplin Missouri at
dusk on a very wet evening, I made a decision to run one of those winding two
lane, unfamiliar roads. Looking at the
map forty years later, the logic of that decision to leave Interstate 44 and
wander southeast was stupid as stupid does.
But, being who I am, the freedom to choose was and is an absolute in my
life but it does get me into trouble more often than not. I could never have been a company driver. Anyway, this night was my most memorable road
war story.
Memorable is probably the wrong word, it was memorable but
terrifying would be more accurate. The
road was very wet and I was comfortable following the lights of that car about
a half mile ahead. The road was winding
with many small hills that at times blocks its lights as it crested the next hill. About an hour into our enjoyable ride, I
crested one of those hills to see that car ahead approaching a bridge. The brake lights of that car lite up and we
both started slowing. Nothing seemed unusual
and I probably had my mind elsewhere but suddenly a synapse in my brain lit up. Call it what you will, an adrenaline rush, fight
or flight response, or whatever. “That car
is stopping!”. That stark reality began the most terrifying few minutes of my life.
I pulled the trailer brake first, without thinking. The few words of my driver instructor must
have penetrated to my subconscious. He
told us to brake the trailer first in a panic situation to make jackknifing
less likely, but my trailer started coming around into the other lane
anyway. I released the brake and the trailer
came back, foot brake on the tractor this time, again the trailer hydroplaned
into the opposite lane. Back and forth,
trailer brake to foot brake, I was sliding all over the road, my control was
marginal. There was no time to think or
consider alternatives, only react.
My fourteen wheels had slowed to the point of being able to
lock them up. Now the only question was
whether stomping on all the brakes was enough to stop me before running into
the back of that car. It was a station
wagon, with small kids in the back window, the car was still sitting there. Oncoming trucks were crossing the bridge and
she didn’t want to get splashed. It was
a woman driver! There was no where else
to go, oncoming traffic, no burn to the right, only bushes, the unknown darkness
and most likely water. Though I was
applying the brake for all it was worth, we were getting closer and closer, I
could see the panicked look on the faces of those kids in the back window. Then the entire car disappeared below the window
of my cab over truck.
My Mayflower rig had finally stopped inches from that car,
bumper up against bumper. There was a
break in the oncoming truck traffic so she went merrily on her way, probably
never knowing how close misfortune had been avoided. I slumped over the wheel exhausted. I have to watch my heart thee days but I know
it was pounding that night in the Missouri hills. Every recollection of those terrifying few
minutes have asked me the question, would you have had the guts to put it in
the drink, if there was no other choice?
I have no answer.
Thankfully, the question is irrelevant for somehow, the truck stopped. At the time of these terrifying moments, saying thank you heavenward was admitting a lack of control but I have since learned better. I had undeserved help.
G. Goslaw
Thankfully, the question is irrelevant for somehow, the truck stopped. At the time of these terrifying moments, saying thank you heavenward was admitting a lack of control but I have since learned better. I had undeserved help.
G. Goslaw
Landers, CA
