FanStory.com - Truckin, Ch 12by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Clyde bought a tank of fuel for a trucker he’d tormented. And Clyde escaped police scrutiny after witnessing a crash.

Chapter 12

One night, stopping at a convenient motel, Clyde tuned into PBS Newshour, his and Jane Ann’s favorite news program. Judy Woodruff’s special segment was the Turnpike Terrorist. Her initial comment had to do with the increased frequency, promising a more in-depth discussion later in the show with a roundtable discussion between the president of the Teamsters Union, Jason Summers, and the CEO of J. D. Trucking, Inc., Thomas McNeely.

“Mr. McNeely, let me start with you,” Judy began. “I know you heard the interview I had with Assistant Director, Allan Tylerson, that we broadcast yesterday. He said that by their count there have been well over a hundred attacks on trucks since the recent trouble began, by some counts two or three hundred. He claimed that they began in November last year and that they’re looking at all truck-involved accidents up to a year before that date. What, may I ask, is your theory of why this is happening, and why now?”

Clyde was glad, now, that his incident wasn’t deemed an accident. The FBI would not run across it.

“Well, Judy … and thank you for having me on your program. First let me say that I can only speak for my company, and our fleet of over 29,000 drivers and associates. But I’ll try to be generic enough to represent other carriers. By our reckoning, truck drivers are confronted with, on average, 344 vehicular engagements per shift. That is, they have to make a driver’s decision. And I’m not talking about how many times they are passed on the highway, I mean how many times they must decide whether to brake, change lanes, make unplanned shifts, what have you. If they don’t do something, things could go terribly wrong.” He hadn’t answered her question, but Judy moved on regardless.

“Mr. Summers, one point three million members …”

“That’s right, Judy. And let me tell you. On this subject I feel privileged to speak on the behalf of the other drivers, the independent drivers that are out there, day in, day out, night in, night out, battling the weather, the traffic, their employers …” Summers nodded toward McNeely. “You know, Judy, truckers are required to drive eleven hours a day, and then stop wherever they are for a rest of only eight hours, total.”

“Yes, but isn’t it true that many of them, and many that don’t belong to the union, do so because they don’t want to be held to only eleven hours, that they want to keep driving?”

“That’s not true, Judy. They …”

“Look, they’re not all men,” McNeely interjected, cutting Summers off. “We have women drivers, and teams, couples that can keep their rigs moving twenty-four hours.”

“Let’s turn back to the issue, shall we," Judy asked.

“Knights of the Road, Knights of the Road,” Summers offered.

“But you heard Mr. Tylerson say, in his comments yesterday, that trucks account for over half of all fatalities when the statistics are specific to freeway accidents, and 66% of the dollar value of damages.”

“Well, that’s not really fair, Judy,” McNeely said. “Between a big rig and a car …”

“But isn’t that just the point?”

“550 feet,” Summers said. “It takes 550 feet to stop a fully loaded truck going fifty-five miles an hour. An empty truck going the speed of traffic could take over a quarter mile. And that’s if the truck is in top repair, which we all know, they are not. And if a trucker complains about his rig in disrepair, well, he finds himself parked, without a load, maybe dead-heading back, driving for free.”

McNeely began to speak but was cut off by Judy. “Mr. Summers, you mentioned a moment ago something about Knights of the Road. Would you like to elaborate on that?”

“Sure, Judy. You know, years ago, truckers used to stop for disabled cars. You know, help them out. Kids used to pump their arms to get truckers to sound their air horns.”

“Yes, I remember that,” Judy chimed in, a huge smile on her face. “We would lay on the shelf, the ledge under the back window and… well…”

“Yeah, I did too. But now that driver has a computer tracking his every move. And sometimes cameras, and counters. Did you know Judy, that some outfits count how many times a driver applies his brakes? And he’s governed to 67 miles per hour? And did you know that most of the carriers only pay for miles, not waiting time, or loading time, or time tied up in construction zones?”

Judy didn’t have a response, or follow-up question for the rapid-fire tirade. “Mr. McNeely?”

“Let me just respond to the speed, the governed speed. We’re dealing with Mack, the manufacturer of most of our fleet. And we’ll be talking to the others, Peterbilt, Kenworth, and the others. They’ve agreed to immediately increase the governed speed to seventy, the speed limit on many of our interstate highways. They’ve also agreed to step it up to seventy-five after 10,000 miles. That alone, Judy, should go a long way toward the time it takes to pass a motorhome, or say, a car pulling a U-Haul trailer.”

Clyde, sitting on the edge of the bed noticed that McNeely deliberately avoided saying anything about passing other trucks.

“And one other thing I need to add. At J. D. Trucking, we red-line any truck that a driver declares unsafe. If it involves the drive train or safety. That truck is off the line until it’s fixed. Look, our customers don’t like it when their product is on the side of the road. And we don’t make any money fixing terrorized motors and tires.”

“Finally, starting with you, Mr. Summers, what about caravans, like that famous singer, who was it …”

“C. W. McCall,” Summers offered with a smile.

“Yes, what about them, caravans?”

“Nightmares. That’s all I can say.”

McNeely added, “We’ve done focus groups, believe it or not. Motorists don’t like ‘em.”

“Hate ‘em,” Summers injected.

“Motorists get blocked from their exits. They get bottlenecked with slower motorhomes, and the like, in the passing lanes …”

Summers took his turn. “And when several of them all want the same truck stop for refueling and whatnot… well, it just doesn’t work.”

The two vigorously nodded agreement.

“Well, Gentlemen, we’re gonna have to leave it there. I know there’s much more to be said on the subject, but unfortunately, we’re out of time. Thank you both for being here. And we all hope that the current trouble that brings us here will come to an end.

“But before we go, we have come upon a report, very unscientific, mind you, that about fifty percent of the general public is holding the Turnpike Terrorist as some sort of Jesse James figure, a sort of folk hero. The other fifty percent believe he is a menace to society and should be prosecuted and held responsible for his actions.

“And there you have it: the Turnpike Terrorist – a Robin Hood, or just a hood.”

The guests offered their thank yous and Judy ended the segment.