A Trucker's Tale – Bobtailing

Jan 25, 2024 - one year ago

Education is a wonderful concept, and one that allows us to decide which methods we use to gain knowledge. We can be taught by an instructor, or by using instructions. We can read about the subjects we want to learn. We can watch other people perform certain tasks, and then mimic their actions. For some of us though, our education comes, all too frequently, by using trial and error methods. Sadly, often, these trials end in error.

A Trucker's Tale – Bobtailing — *1927 AB Mack Chain-Drive Boom Truck.*

For example, I had always been instructed that bobtailing required cautious driving due to the simple fact that bobtailing tractors had very little wheel traction. Either wisdom, or education, or possibly past experiences had also proved that a single-axle, six-wheeled tractor possessed even less traction than a three-axle, ten-wheeled tractor.

One morning, Obie told me to bobtail the five miles to our furniture warehouse to retrieve a certain trailer which needed some repairs. Rather than taking the shorter route along a curvy, two-lane country road to town, I drove down another road so I could access the three-lane US-70. Not that I remember why I took US-70, but it was probably so I could drive a little faster than on the curvy road.

When I reached a stop sign at US-70, I pulled-up behind a fellow in a pickup truck, who was also going to drive east on US-70. When traffic cleared, we both entered the highway. I kept a proper distance from the pick-up (I thought) as we traveled several miles at 45 miles per hour. After quickly checking my side mirrors, as every good trucker should, I turned back around just in time to see the pick-up rapidly slowing in front of me. I applied the brakes—hell, I locked them up—and the bobtailing tractor didn’t even slow-down. (ABS brakes were still on the drawing board.)

Even though I was sliding, I turned the wheel to the right and damned-nearly missed the pickup, but the left front of my tractor caught him on the right rear of his truck. This spun the rear of my tractor around so I could destroy the mailbox belonging to a muffler shop. The impact shot the pickup to the left across two on-coming lanes of traffic, and by the grace of God, he somehow missed every one of them.

I jumped out of the tractor and ran across the road to check on the driver. He had gotten out of his truck, and he was inspecting the damage. He said the truck belonged to his brother, and that he would go inside the nearby service station to call him to come have a look at the damage. I asked him if he was okay physically, and he said that the impact had not been too hard and that he would be just fine.

I crossed back over the highway to where my tractor was sitting sideways in front of the muffler shop. The shop’s owner, who I knew, told me he had put the mailbox in the back of his shop. He said no one needed to know that I had destroyed federal property.

A North Carolina Highway Patrolman arrived, gathered his facts, and then issued me a citation for following too close. He said he was sorry, (I also knew him) but he had to give me a ticket anyway.

The pickup driver’s brother arrived while the patrolman was perfecting his penmanship by writing my ticket. I watched as the brothers carried-on a quite serious and animated conversation. They were still discussing their issue as I followed the patrolman across the road to join them. Speaking on his brother’s behalf, the truck owner said that the driver had neck and back injuries and that he was in a lot of pain. The pickup driver was fine until his brother arrived. Now he was in great pain. Imagine that? An ambulance arrived to haul him to the hospital for what turned into his two-week stay. Knowing most everyone in our small town had its advantages, because a nurse informed me that all the nurses on that fellow’s floor disliked the guy because he was a jerk, and that there was nothing wrong with him.

Obie surprised the hell out of me by stating, “Oh hell. These things happen.” When my court date came along several months later, Obie surprised me again when he gave me a blank check with which to pay the fine I would be assessed.

When I took the stand, I went through the events, testifying that I did not observe any brake lights or signal lights on the pick-up. The patrolman corroborated the fact that neither sets of lights on the pickup were in working order.

Now I am certain that the outcome of my trial had nothing to do with the fact that the judge and his wife frequently played bridge with my mother and father, but the judge ordered, “Mr. Clerk, strike his guilty plea, enter the plea of not guilty, and he is found not guilty.” It had to be because his lights weren’t working, right? All Obie could do was grin and say, “I’ll be damned,” when I handed back his unused blank check.

Months later we learned that Obie’s insurance company had settled with the pickup truck driver for $5000. This was for the driver’s pain and suffering. His brother’s pickup must not have experienced much pain and suffering because the owner never fixed the minimal damage, as we saw it often around our small town.

This life lesson was burned into my memory, and I always drove slower and more alert when I was driving trucks, especially while bobtailing.

I was now 18 years old and had graduated from high school, so it became time to bid farewell to my Early Trucking Years. Little did I know how profoundly the rest of my life would be governed by the trucking education I had received while growing-up in this family of truckers.

Ed Miller has more than 40 years of management and ownership experience in the trucking industry. Today, he is a part-time tour bus driver, published author of “A Trucker’s Tale” and regular contributor to Supply Post. He is a father of three and a grandfather of two, and lives with his wife in Rising Sun, Maryland.