98
THE BLUNT END
August 2019 Truck & DriverTal es of driving,
dar ing and disaster...
B
efore retiring, I worked for a major
supermarket with a Mercedes Actros
6x2. Its plated gross weight allowed
the vehicle to be utilised to haul every
trailer in the extensive fleet; equally,
we had dinky little 8m and 10m trailers for the
urban mayhem, so much of the time my
working life was fairly unexciting, involving
deliveries to stores in the central belt of
Scotland. One day I headed off on a run-of-the-
mill delivery to Edinburgh, only 10 miles or so
from the distribution centre. I bimbled along
happily enough and soon reached the Gogar
Roundabout, a separated junction at the end of
the city’s bypass which had been the subject of
virtually non-stop major roadworks for years,
the challenge being to guess which of the lanes
were coned off on any given day.Coned off
I entered the roundabout in the correct lane
intending to turn right when signs told me
the exit slip had been reduced to one lane,
mine being the one coned off. The load was
heavy so speeds were modest and the second
I exited the roundabout, I indicated to move
over to the right into a gap between vehicles
already in that lane. Cue ‘white van man’ from
the distant horizon, accelerating hard and
apparently determined to insert his vehicle
into the diminishing gap ahead of my truck.
I was already committed and moved over
smartly, thinking no more of the matter. I fully
expected a flypast with an accompanying five-
finger shuffle but
lost sight of the van
at the next junction
and presumed it had
turned off. I arrived
outside my delivery
point and the white
van stopped behind
me. He must have
been following me
very closely. The
driver approached
me and flashed a
card with the word‘Police’ on it but no visible photo. He then
ranted about how I had almost killed him, how
I was driving at a ridiculous speed and, had
he been with a colleague, he would certainly
have charged me with dangerous driving
(Scottish law requires two police officers or
other supporting evidence to corroborate any
offence). I tried to reason with him but he was
talking rather than listening and slammed my
passenger door violently before stomping off.
I was not convinced I was actually dealing
with a kosher policeman. I took a photo of the
van, an old white Vauxhall, completed my
delivery and spoke to management back at the
ranch, who suggested I report my suspicions to
the, err, police. Later I was visited by a nice
policewoman who told me the vehicle was
actually used by the central workshop at police
HQ – in other words, the garage van! She hadn’t
traced the driver but was as concerned as me
that someone might have been ‘naughty’,
pretending to be something they were not.
I heard no more until a few days later when
a young manager at work buttonholed me
while brandishing one of those dreaded ‘Well
Driven’ reports. In an interview the Stasi would
have been proud of, I was interrogated as to
why I had been such a hooligan with a total
disregard for road safety. I asked for a copy of
the report to allow me to respond in writing but
this was declined. The reason? I might phone
the ‘policeman’ and abuse him! I suggested a
redacted copy might resolve the problem.
When I eventually got to read the script my
flabber was well and truly gasted. He claimed I
had been speeding – in a 30-tonne truck round
a roundabout? Hmm, much more than 20mph
would risk disaster. I had almost killed him. He
had followed me and stopped me to point out
the error of my ways. No, he approached me
once I had stopped. He also took umbrage at
me having the audacity to ‘film’ him.
My response was predictable. My truck was
equipped with tachograph, Fleetboard, dashcam
and Microlise systems. Analysis of all the
telematics data was available for inspection by
any person reasonably requiring it. Needless to
say, the silence has been deafening.In the distant past, when dinosaurs roamed the planet, truck drivers were
a very different breed, made from sterner stuff than us mere mortals
DAVID RUSSELL
Retired truck driverShutterstock