Location Location Location

   

We think about suspension a lot - even if we don`t always realize it.  How comfortable our vehicle is and how soft or hard the ride; how it handles and how it drives through bends; how safe it feels and how much the body rolls; and, of course, how it deals with load. But what we don`t always appreciate is the other job suspension has to do.  A vehicle`s suspension system is not just about springs and dampers – it`s also about location.

All wheels have to be located. Not rigidly fixed in position like the crude wooden circles on a medieval cart; but constrained to work within parameters.  Wheels will move backward and forward and up and down as the suspension deflects.  Wheels arc in camber and attempt to twist their hubs and axles with brake and drive torques. As the vehicle corners, tyres and components play with alignment and force wheels to toe.  Cornering also tries to make them shift sideways.  To combat all these forces we have the suspension system.

To allow the suspension to work, the axle or wheel has to move in relation to the chassis.  For this to happen, while maintaining vehicle stability, wheels are constrained to work within a range of movement - a movement that will affect directional control.  Below are some thoughts on how it works with (mainly) rear suspension.

·         (conventional) leaf spring suspension does it all – suspension and location

·         the front half of the leaf can be considered a trailing arm – it straightens    on deflection, extending wheel base on that side of the chassis

·         swinging shackles are found at the rear of the spring – the wheel drives and brakes through the front, fixed shackle

·         all rear suspension effects directional control

·         trunnion bearing leaf spring suspension and transversely mounted leaf springs (front Merc Sprinter – rear triumph Spitfire) do not locate wheels/axles

·         parallel link or McPherson Strut independent suspension constrain wheels with triangulated lateral links (and strut in case of Mc Pherson) – in truth, Mc Pherson struts are only used on front suspension systems, as they are designed to turn with the steering but the strut and lower link locating principle also works at the rear

·         semi-trailing links (BMW) cause camber and toe changes when they change position – set up angle is important and can be altered if ride height is changed

·         air springs and coil springs have no locating strength

·         trailing links and torque bars provide constraint

·         axle attachment is important – on trailers, substantial U-bolts and trailing arm bushes constrain wheel alignment and lateral movement

·         some trailers use monocoque axles, using tri-functional bushes to mount trailing arm to chassis – its purpose is to act as a mounting bush (arm rotates on it), provide alignment constraint (steer), and increase suspension stiffness in roll

·         twist beam rear axles on some cars (Nissan, VW Passat, Ford KA, to name only a small number that use this technology), will use lateral stability link if the beam is at the rear of trailing arms – usually some sort of Panhard Rod

·         tie bars are sometimes used to absorb brake torque

Usually called `degrees of freedom`, a wheel can move in a number of directions

 Leaf springs do it all - suspension and location (side view)




Under deflection, leaf springs act like trailing arms, steering vehicle from the rear (top and rear views)

As spring straightens, wheel base extends (side view)

Air springs have no locating strength (angled view from rear right)

Trailing links (arms) and torque bars locate the axle (top view)

All wheels have to be located.  Struts and lateral links constrain the wheel using McPherson principle (angled view)

Wheel is constrained using triangulated link and strut.  Top thrust bearing is used on (front) steered wheel (top, front and side views)

Twist beams are common on light, FWD cars

Twist beams increase suspension stiffness in roll - they can cause camber change (angled view from rear right)

Most cars use beams mounted at front of trailing arms - if not, stabilizing (lateral) link is needed (rear and top view)

The Murky Past

I admire anyone who owns up to their mistakes - baring your inadequacy to the world is never easy on the ego. It doesn`t matter if the offending errors are the result of momentary lapses in judgment or just plain ignorance, no one likes to be wrong. People will say that owning up is cathartic and stress relieving, that saying sorry can do wonders for the soul, or that you learn from your mistakes (which is perfectly true, of course). And, they will tell you, there`s the undeniable fact that it`s best to just own up and move on rather than risk the ignominy of discovery later.   All great advice until you remember that it is you they are talking about.  Ultimately, There`s only one remedy - apart from the impossible prospect of always being right - and that is time. Time allows us to move forward, and the mind to organize the past.

Given time, most of our mistakes disappear into the distant smoke of our subconscious.  A few, though, glow in this murky cloud, becoming the essential rites of passage that those set on a particular vocation have to go through.  Excused in the way only time can give, they turn into the inevitable slip-ups of a person travelling the long road to knowledge, a different person to the one now looking back.  The mistakes of our distant past demonstrate our active pursuit of knowledge and furnish us with essential experience, creating time honoured old-sweats bestowed with skill and expertise. Wisdom gained by success and failure; a career of significant triumphs augmented by the hiccups of youth. And the murkier and funnier the recollection of these mishaps the better - a comical anecdote turns a grave blunder into the slapstick of a clanger.  Exaggerated silliness does wonders to mask the merciless reality of stupidity.     

In 1973 I was a 17 year-old aspiring lorry mechanic with an aging Yamaha 250 motorcycle – it was all I could afford – that had a very noisy exhaust and an engine that spluttered a lot.  An older, time served mechanic in the workshop suggested I pack the system with wire wool; which, with the assistance of a long rod, I did. The exhaust note was perfect, a showroom ting-ting, and for the first half mile of a test ride it was a different bike.  But then things changed; the exhaust got louder, the bike faltered a bit.  I looked in the mirror – not something I did too often; I was practising looking ahead, for the day of my test when a man wearing a trilby hat and carrying a clipboard would leap out in front of me from behind a parked van. What I saw was a different world – a scene from Midway (a WWII film about a battle between the Japanese and American carrier fleets). Through the smoke, all I could make out were the weaving headlights of cars trying to dodge the balls of flaming wire wool being fired from my exhausts.

I passed my test and sold the bike to buy an old Norton `cafe racer` – again, it was all I could afford.  I hadn`t realized that the exhaust pipe retaining threads in the head were stripped and the down pipes were held in place with repair gum. After about half a mile, riding the bike home, the exhaust note changed, there was an awful clang and the sound of scraping metal, I looked back and... .   

Shine

“And now for the winner of the 2011... ”.  The man on stage with the microphone is trying his best to add a bit of tension to the proceedings. There`s music playing, “Shi-ine, shine on me”, the song says; bikini clad girls are smiling, showing their perfectly white teeth; the crowd, it seems, is getting excited; and pressure is written on the face of every competitor – except mine.  Although I`ve been working towards this moment for the past two years - sending bits off to be chrome plated; getting panels airbrushed; putting it all together; polishing - now the day of reckoning has come, I don`t really care what the bloke up on the stage says. Whatever the result, the whole experience has been great - the admiring glances, the appreciation; I`ve loved every minute of it.  Truck show awards are just icing on the cake.

Since way back, when I decided to to go it alone and get my own show on the road, I`ve customized my wagons in some way.  In the early days, when money was tight, I would make do with a few stripes, or my favourite, doors a different colour to the cab (I`ve always liked yellow doors on a white cab; it`s both subtle and eye catching).  Once I`d mastered the spray can – little at a time; not rushing it; plenty of preparation, even between coats – I could produce some pretty good designs on top of the truck`s basic colour.  Now, 20 years down the road, the possibilities are endless.  For one thing, I have more money but the real difference these days is that technology has opened up a world of design and truck decoration that, at one time, could only be dreamt of. It doesn`t mean that all special paint work is good and the only thing to remember, as I always I tell myself, is that it`s like tattoos – there`s loads of crap out there.  A great tattoo is one that catches a person`s eye, someone with no interest in tattoos what so ever, and makes them think, “that looks good; that person looks good”.  A truck`s paint job should be the same. (I don`t have any tattoos, incidentally, in fact I don`t decorate my body at all - no rings or piercings, or whatever it is that`s all the rage - I`m just not the right type.)

When I got this truck, the one I`ve entered in the competition, I decided she would have to be different.  I didn`t want one of those tired old western scenes, or motor racing stars, pop stars or galloping horses all over the cab, like it was a rug in a pound shop. I not only wanted the truck to make people turn and look, I wanted everyone who saw it to be impressed.  I knew this wouldn`t be possible unless I had something to build on that looked good in the first place, so I was pleased with my choice; the truck certainly had potential.  First of all, she was a heavy duty, high powered 6x4 tractor unit. She had been on tipper trailer work and was already fitted with exhaust stacks, and once I`d removed the hydraulic tank and tipping gear there was plenty of room for spoilers and wind deflectors.  In keeping with her strong, engineered appearance, I decided on a simple but imposing design of chrome and dark grey; Brunel would have loved it. 

The months passed and bits arrived.  Winter came and she was washed and polished; summer came and she was washed and polished. More bits arrived, until, eventually, everything was in place.  The whole front grill had been given the appearance of chrome plating, as had the visor and bumper.  The cab, including mirrors, I`d had painted gunmetal grey and all the spoilers and deflectors, a lighter grey.  With black chassis, chrome exhaust stacks, red painted air valves and brake callipers, and polished alloy wheels, she was striking – a real stunner. For our first trip out, I replaced my trusty work horse with her on my King low-loader trailer and we took a large machine press from a warehouse in North London to a factory in the Midlands. We shone in the dull drabness of the North Circular Road. 

Outside a cafe, one close to the warehouse where I had just loaded, I was accosted by a driver as I climbed back into my cab.

 “Beautiful”, he said. “Never seen anything like it”. 

I was pleased. “It`s been a lot of work”, I told him.

 “My father drove one of the first of these in the country, back in the fifties”, he said.  “They were one of the few companies to have foreign trucks, everyone had British then”. 

“Yes”. It was about all I could say. 

“I`ve driven most trucks in my time”, he went on. “Mostly, in the old days, on continental work.  It was different over there then, more of an adventure and there was much more comradeship, everyone helped everyone else.  My first truck was a Leyland Marathon.  That took some driving. I`d do twelve, fourteen hours behind the wheel and think nothing of it. Italy mainly but sometimes Greece.  We did Spain as well, on the odd occasion.  My brother was the first to drive onto the Eurotunnel train, he works for himself, does a lot of fruit.  He`s got one of those high powered Volvos and hires the fridge trailer.  He`s doing alright for himself, does a bit of storage, we go to his farm in Kent a lot ...”.

I nodded frantically, made some rapid excuses over his continual chatter and closed the cab door.  The air inside was quiet and still and smelt of leather.  I turned the key in the ignition and instantly, but only for a moment, the radio became centre of attention - a female singer was convinced that someone thought the song she was singing was about them.  I headed North on the motorway, vainly watching the reaction of other drivers to my pride and joy.  To my satisfaction, car drivers and truck drivers alike were looking at us.  A family in a people carrier stared as they passed, the children in the back turning their heads as they went, as if wanting the experience to last as long as possible.  A Harley dude waved.

I stopped at some services to buy copies of a few of the trade`s magazines; I was thinking of sending some photographs to one or two of them.  In the shop - the newsagent bit that sells sweets, drinks, sandwiches, books, DVDs, CDs - there were rows and rows of different magazines on display. As you would expect, every subject was catered for, and all represented like glossy `fashion mags`, crammed with photographs. Motorcycle magazines displayed journalists dressed in expensive leathers, captured mid-corner, knee down, racing style.  Sailing magazines, running magazines, cycling magazines, they were all there, alluringly bright. Every one of them waiting for the next person who wants to shine; someone who will come along and flick through the pages, imagining they are in that car, or on that yacht.  

“How long have you been driving, then”? A voice said.  I looked round and saw that someone had sneaked up on me while I was dreamily thumbing through a magazine dedicated to vintage lorries.

“Oh, I don`t know, a while”.  I replied, a little taken aback by the directness of the question.

“I mean trucks”.  He nodded to the magazine I was holding. I noticed another chap standing close by, listening. Casually dressed and of a certain age, they gave the impression of retirement.

“Since I was old enough”.  I said, keeping it short.

“Some people get a bit carried away with it, don`t they? Forget it`s just a truck.”  He turned briefly to his companion with a smug smile. 

“I don`t know, do they”?

“Some do”, he said, “You see them on the motorway, silly stickers and fancy paint. Some of the older, real professional drivers must cringe when they see them”.

I didn`t say anything, I just smiled, politely.

“They must realize it makes them look like right wallies, surely”. He wasn`t giving up.

“How about you”, I asked him, “Do you drive a wagon”?

“Never could see the attraction”, he said. “What do you drive?”

“I use a Renault Magnum tractor”, I told him, which was perfectly true; it was my `every day` wagon.

“What about the one you drove in here, that wasn`t a Renault”, there was a hint of anger in his voice.

“Correct”. I said, and just stared at him; politeness only stretches so far.

With that he walked off, briskly, importantly.  “I`d better phone the office, check if my truck`s back from service”, the words came over his shoulder as he went.  His friend looked at me; he was clearly embarrassed.  Above the din of families and mobile phones, the sound of clattering plates from the restaurant area opposite and the beeping of tills, the service station`s background music was clearly audible; Some old crooner was singing, You`re too Good to be True.

I continued along the motorway and left at the exit that would lead me, within only a few minutes, onto the industrial estate and the factory I was destined for.  It was still quite early when I parked up in front of its massive roller shutter door.  The removal crew and crane were booked in for the following day, so there was nothing to do but eat, sleep and polish. The factory owner arrived the next morning, about an hour after the main workforce; preparations, by then,  were well under way for getting the machine off my trailer.  I was putting some kit into a locker on the trailer`s neck when he arrived – driving an Aston Martin in the same shade of grey as my tractor unit.

The trucks are grouped around on the grass in front of the stage and we, the owners, stand beside our respective vehicles.  The crowd that had, up until now, circulated amongst us, are standing still, watching and listening, captivated by the man with the microphone.  A middle aged couple are standing next to me, he is heavily tattooed and they are both wearing brightly coloured T-shirts, emblazoned on the front with a picture of an American truck.  The words Rollin` Thunder are written across their chests.  They had been reading the information plaque next to my truck, the one giving its specification and the sort of work we do.

“What did you have it chromed for if you do heavy machinery”? The woman is asking me. “It`ll last five minutes on a building site.  I wouldn`t have had the brakes painted, there`s no point ...”

I`m not listening; not to her, the music or to the man on stage.  I`m not there. In my mind I`m driving an Aston Martin through the town where I live, to the admiration of all who see me.

Front

Come in, sit down.  Thank you.  Now to start with, in your own words, explain to us what you can bring to this company...

Most interviews I`ve attended seem to start this way.  It`s straight in there with a predictable question that lets the candidate settle down and talk while at the same time not letting them off too lightly.  Afterwards, a few carefully crafted questions and close attention to the answers - and some probing, if necessary - will decide if the person sitting there is what they claim to be. 

Presentation is always a key issue - how someone is dressed, their body language and posture. It's how others will see them that is important, and this is displayed there and then, to the interviewers, in those brief moments. And that's what an interview is, it's a presentation.

Why do you think it is that some people do better than others, despite being similarly qualified? 

Experience in the role they are applying for has got to be a factor but even if you go for a job you are really comfortable with, there are no guarantees.  Sometimes it`s claimed that prejudice by the interviewing panel is a factor, but I can`t see it in this day and age.  No, there is more to it than that: for a person to be right, there`s something needed that`s fundamental.

                       ****************

I`ve always felt it a complement, the invitation to sit on an interview panel, but it`s never easy choosing exactly the right person for a job – whatever that job might be.  We were seeing five candidates for a single position on the fleet sales team.  With me were David, a friendly twenty something Humanities graduate from Human Resources and Amanda, a business-like, elegant and charming, attractive thirty something who heads one of the sales teams.  A room had been set aside on the top floor of the main building - which could not be farther from my office - so that we wouldn`t be disturbed by too much `passing traffic` in the corridor outside.

We settled ourselves behind the long, dark wood table, sinking into the leather swivel recliners.  I looked down at my feet and at the deep, deep red carpet that enveloped the soles of my shoes.  The walls were covered in a heavy paper and there were several patterned glass lamps on brass arms jotted about.  The windows behind our chairs were hung with thick net curtains that let light in but showed nothing of the world outside.  Anyone coming for an interview today, I thought, would be left in no doubt as to the standard at which they would be expected to operate, or the overall standing of the company they were seeking to join. It wasn`t long after we were seated that one of the bosses` PAs, who was acting as usher and general organizer for the day, showed in the first candidate.

CANDIDATE 1

Fergus was a likeable character.  In his early thirties he had been in sales for a number of years, mostly in trucks and plant machinery.  I noticed that although he was well groomed and obviously comfortable in a suit, the cracks in the skin of his hands were engrained with traces of oil. This was a man who was hands-on, mechanically and no amount of scrubbing would get rid of the evidence. I opened the interview with questions that established Fergus knew his trucks from the ground up and had an excellent understanding of vehicle technology. David asked him about behaviour in the workplace and equal opportunities, questions which he dealt with very well.  Amanda probed his track record and his reason for change, as he was apparently successful in his current job. He wanted, he said openly, to be nearer home and family and to travel less, both of which would come with the job we were advertising.  Amanda looked unimpressed and David appeared to come over a bit emotional.  As for myself, I could see the logic of Fergus`s motives.

Amanda persisted a bit more with Fergus`s commitment and lightened a little when more on the extent of his performance and ability was revealed.  He had (with supporting documents to prove his claims) a number of fleet customers with whom he had developed good relations, securing long term plant and truck purchasing contacts as well as servicing options.  Towards the end, both David and Amanda looked to me for any final questions before we let Fergus go.  I had one.

“Considering the aesthetics of truck cab design, and ignoring technology and any practical considerations, what do you think are the most important aspects of its exterior appearance?” 

Fergus looked lost.  He thought for a short while and then mumbled a bit saying he didn`t really know.  Colour, he mentioned, eventually.  But that was it, no more – he had no real thoughts on the matter.

When he had left us we tidied up our notes, the ones we would need for a selection decision meeting scheduled for the following morning, and awaited the next candidate.   All three of us had agreed not to discuss the interviews before the meeting but as we sat there, Amanda turned to me and asked where my final question had come from.  When I said all would be revealed, I was rebuked, rather nicely, and told I shouldn`t be allowed out of my `den`.

What I`d had in mind was to see if Fergus had a concept of what makes something appealing to look at.  I wanted to know if he understood why a prospective customer might see a truck, like the look of it but not know why.  I wanted to see if Fergus could appreciate a truck beyond the type of gearbox it was fitted with and therefore understand his customers better.  They might not know why they find certain styles appealing but if he did, it would be a great advantage.   

CANDIDATE 2

Perry was an Old Etonian; well that type anyway.  He was a pleasant enough bloke who had turned out in a green sports jacket, light cream shirt, blue flannel trousers, brown brogues and the sort of striped tie that looks like it should represent  something old and established – a regiment or ancient cricket club, perhaps.  A colourful hanky draped from the single breast pocket of his jacket.  There were bulges everywhere - a packet of cigarettes in a front trouser pocket and a wallet in the back; a loose bit of paper poked out from the top of a shirt pocket, visible below his unbuttoned jacket; and something long and bulky was tucked in under the jacket itself, probably a newspaper.

Perry was a bit flippant with David who was soon fazed by some enthusiastically delivered but pretty non committal views on correctness.  Amanda, though, was charmed.   She seemed less interested in Perry`s sales performance than she was with his contacts, both personal and professional.  Apparently, he conducted a lot of his business at the races or at events like the Henley regatta.

He didn`t falter when I asked about basic technology; the type of things you`d expect any competent truck salesman to know.  He knew what people wanted, over and above the practical consideration of productivity and correctly pointed out that some customers were looking for an image.  I was impressed.

Amanda continued with Perry, but now much in the same way she had done with Fergus, asking him to detail his customer base and sales figures.  He was vague to say the least. David asked about his family; Perry lacked concentration and questions had to be repeated.  Once again, it was I who had the last question.

“Why do you think symmetry is so important in truck design?”

Perry answered nearly straight away and not unpredictably.  Symmetry was essential in all vehicles, he told us.  They must be the same on one side as they are on the other or they`d be all over the place, different forces pulling on one side than on the other.  He was right, of course but it wasn`t the answer I wanted.

Symmetry is everywhere - and present in nearly all vehicles

Afterward, Amanda frowned at me and David said he hoped I had good reasons for asking these questions, as interview records are scrutinized in the event of a complaint. I assured him I had.  I just wanted the oddly bulging, variety of colour called Perry to tell me just one thing that a customer saw when he looked at a truck - with his own two eyes – before deciding if it fitted their `image`.

CANDIDATE 3

Steve (not Stephen, he corrected me) was up next.  He breezed in confidently and repositioned his chair a good two feet farther away from us before sitting on it, he was so quick we hadn`t chance to actually ask him to sit down.  When he spoke, Steve leant forward, resting his left elbow on his left leg, close to the knee.  It made him look as if he should have been smoking a cigarette - while plotting something. Dressed in a woollen, pin stripped suite (navy), highly polished black shoes and a light coloured shirt with the biggest cuffs I`d seen since Great Expectations was last serialised on the box, Steve looked smart.  Newly cut hair and expensive looking watch completed the impression of someone who spent money on the way they looked - and liked what they saw in the mirror.

His answers to some of David`s questions would have, at one time, been considered by some to be funny, but now they were unacceptable.  I can`t repeat them here.  Amanda concentrated on second hand sales, as this represented a considerable part of Steve`s extensive experience in the business.  He`d been in the game a long time, he proudly announced, and boasted he could sell sand to the Arabs.  Quick turn over was his forte, get `em in, get `em out his mantra, it drove him, he said.

We were all impressed with Steve`s earnings. If he were to be believed, in the last twelve months he had surpassed anything most of our current sales staff could expect. Amanda pursued this with him but not until after I had asked a question.

“You have taken an old Volvo F88 as part exchange from an operator that now has no desire to keep a historic vehicle.  How would you dispose of it?”

Steve was in no doubt that he could `off load` such a truck in little time.  He was right when he said it would suit a larger firm that was looking for a novelty vehicle but he also thought an owner driver might be `persuaded` to buy it.  There were young people out there who were `into` the retro image, he said.  When I asked how he would assess their naivety, to make sure they fully understood the implications of running such an old vehicle, he smiled, patronizingly. In his opinion, the smile continued, the customer was always right.

Certain vehicles help ctreate an image - but they must complement the owner

He left us after Amanda had got the details she wanted.  I was then interviewed briefly on what a Volvo F88 actually was.  I sighed, teasingly.  I was not, however, so light with my view of Steve – sharp suite, sharp practice, and it showed.  Just because something looks good doesn`t mean there isn`t a problem underneath that could cause grief in the long term.  A 1970`s built F88 would, in good condition, be an eye catcher and undoubtedly fit a certain image.  These old vehicles are great to see but could they be productive? There`s a lot against them: parts, reliability, payload, power, comfort and low emission zones, the list goes on.  Experienced operators, large or small, know their business but some of the less worldly would need a bit of investigation or they could end up with a commercial pup. 

Old vehicles can be an eye catcher - but are seldom productive by today`s standards.  They have harder lines that reflect a different era.

There was a bit of a break before the next candidate was ushered in and sitting before us.  We hadn`t, as agreed, discussed any of the previous three but I was still keen to find out what the others were thinking, particularly about Steve.  It may be, I thought, as the only sales professional on the panel, Amanda would see him differently - someone whose skill could be `modernized`.  I would just have to wait to find out.

CANDIDATE 4

David entered the room slowly and a little nervously, adjusting his tie as he did.  He waited to be asked to sit down and then sat with his hands on his knees, so that his arms were straight.  That was the last time, I realized many minutes later when the interview was all but over, that I consciously noticed his appearance.  David was smart but nondescript in every way.  He looked like someone who worked behind the counter at a building society; someone you would speak to on and off for years but then be unable to describe. Average, you would say, when the police asked after you`d seen him leg-it with all the customers savings.

David didn`t seem the leg-it with someone else’s cash type.  A graphic design graduate and now truck salesman, he had a good record and lots of experience, despite being only thirty years old. Our David, for only the second time that day, looked pleased and Amanda had little to ask – documents were produced to prove all his claims with references to offer further support.  He wanted to move to a bigger firm because of the opportunities it would bring.

When I asked about design, David spoke of technological advances in materials science and engineering and the more aerodynamic, rounded and softer appearance this allowed.  When I asked about symmetry, David compared trucks to many other objects and, interestingly, the human form.  It`s what we expect because that`s what we are like, he suggested. 

Symmetry is what we like to see in a person`s face - the first thing we notice on meeting. To be acceptable and even attractive, maximum symmetry is desireable

David was our shortest interview – he was just so unremarkable, but at the same time, complete.  We didn`t have to tease anything out of him, so he didn`t take long.  Interviewing him wasn`t interesting, disappointing or enjoyable, it just happened. I got the last question again, although this time I sensed a feeling of relief from the other panel members.

“David, describe power?”

For the first time since just after he had sat down in front of us, I once again became aware of his appearance.  David fidgeted a little, shuffling on his seat.  He sat on his hands, child like, I thought, before answering. High powered trucks climb hills much better than low powered ones; some trucks have 700 horsepower engines; it`s to do with torque.  He was faltering.  They`re just bigger engines, really.  He stalled.  Then, obviously disappointed with his final performance, he left.

It wasn`t an unfair question because there are many ways to answer it, I told my two colleagues.  But selling trucks requires knowledge of this type and specifying power is a big part of any truck purchase.  It wasn`t that he couldn`t answer the question, because he did in a way, it was the way he did it.  David gave a weak answer, accompanied by all the signs that said he was not comfortable with it.

CANDIDATE 5

Miles was our last for the day and it was after lunch before we got to see him. The wait hadn`t had any effect on him at all and he entered the room with a show of indifference, as if this meeting was one where we should feel under pressure, not him.  Miles was in control, or so it appeared. As soon as he walked in I heard a slight, whimpering sigh from Amanda, who was sitting next to me on my left. Miles, I would say, had film star good looks, and he obviously knew it.  So it was no surprise to him, in fact he probably expected it, that Amanda flushed a little and then flustered when she opened the interview. 

I don`t think Amanda even heard the answers to the questions David and I put to Miles; she was too busy covertly grooming herself.  When it came to interrogating his track record in sales, however, she was the boss again and he got the grilling everyone else who had sat before us received.   David was obviously not unhappy with him and as far as I was concerned, technology wise, he was up to par.  Miles was, on paper, a good candidate but I sensed an air about him of mild indignation.     

David delved into Miles' family life for a short while and then, with nothing coming from a dreamy Amanda, the interview was set to close.  I, though, had one final question.

“What would you say makes a truck good looking?”

 "What?" Miles sounded either offended or confused; but probably both. I repeated the question and explained that customers often express an opinion on a truck`s looks. What was his opinion?  Amanda was scowling, David was shaking his head and all three of them were staring at me, in silence.  The interview of Miles was, apparently, over.

We reconvened the following morning having not spoken since Miles` interview had closed – Amanda stormed off and David, too embarrassed I think to have confronted me, had left with her.  I could hear their muffled conversation as they descended the stairs.   But by now she had recovered her good humour and resigned despair of `those that live in the basement with their calculators`.  The candidate selection meeting began and Amanda started with me.

“Well, TW”, she said, “we`ve all had time to go through our notes, who looks good to you”?  

Stour Fleet Academy

As the river Stour travels across the wide expanses of Suffolk, passing through seemingly empty space,  worlds of habitation occasionally spring up along its course to greet the traveller.  Towns and villages like settlements and colonies are dotted along its path, the way planets may one day greet the bold interstella space explorer, and it was one of these that was home to the Stour Fleet academy.  Occupying a small office on the top floor, and sharing a reception area with at least 20 other small firms, the academy was housed in a large, modern office block.  The Stour Fleet Academy was a brand new business venture (I had read on the internet when I booked) that provided a training service to fleet operators, both large and small, so that their drivers could obtain CPCs.  It was here then that I arrived early on a Monday morning, keen to be enlightened in the art of Safe and Fuel Efficient Driving (SAFED). 

I announced myself at reception to a young girl sitting behind a very high desk, the sort they have at police stations to stop the sergeant being throttled by irate lorry drivers with prohibitions issued because of `air coming from the bottom of the unloader valve`. “Stour Fleet Academy?” I said.  “I`ll call him for you”, the receptionist said and then, with too much of a smile for my liking, “Have fun”.  I sank into a chair opposite the door of a small lift and waited.  A couple of minutes passed before a bell sounded, an illuminated sign above the lift door showed the letter G, and the door opened.  Walking briskly into the reception area, I saw the man I assumed would be my instructor for the day.  Dressed in clean and pressed drivers' working trousers (the type with stitched creases at the front) and blouson jacket to match, he quickly scanned the empty foyer and settled his gaze on me.  He took one pace, stopped momentarily, and then leaning forward very slightly, as if about to topple, or walk, he took hold of the front of his jacket with both hands and pulled down on it.  With that, and in one continuous movement, he made for me, hand held out.

“Luke”, he said, “and you must be TW”.  We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and were soon back in the lift heading for Luke`s office and the command centre of the Stour Fleet Academy. “Bridge”, Luke commanded in a loud and clear voice directed into the ether, as we stood waiting for the doors to close.  Luke leaned backwards with both hands behind his back and surreptitiously pressed one of the numbered buttons on the lift`s console.  I glanced at the receptionist through the closing doors; she was trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh. 

Once in the office, a small room with walls panelled in a light, reddish wood and little else, apart from a desk made of wood that matched the walls, Luke went and sat in his chair, and leaned back in it.  I stood in front of him - I seemed to have little option - and looked around. On the desk I saw a baseball, a flute and a chrome radiator badge from a Foden.  “Relics”, Luke said, pointing to the badge, “a little hobby of mine”. Behind Luke, on a window shelf, I saw a model of a Volvo Globetrotter tractor and trailer, in unpainted white.  Luke began. “We`ll go for a run about and see how we get on”, he said.  “The course I use ensures exposure to a variety of challenges.   In some areas there are pedestrians that will come at us like a meteor shower as soon as the traffic slows to a stop/start pace.   In others, long stretches of straight featureless space will test our powers of observation and concentration.  And, don`t forget, fuel is important; it can`t be warp speed all the time”.

I was pleased that we were soon down in a yard behind an adjacent warehouse and I was sitting in the passenger seat of a Volvo tractor, the subject of the model I had seen just minutes before.  The tractor was attached to a fully loaded curtain trailer, also in white but with black sign writing from a rental company, You and Us Enterprise.  “When we get back”, Luke said, “We`ll put her in cargo bay four”.  I looked over my shoulder at the single, continuous loading platform, behind which none of the shutters were numbered. 

Out on the open road, Luke started his demonstration drive while laying out the principles of safe and efficient driving.  Observation was the first point he covered: “Long range scanning”, he called it. Lifting vision enables you to anticipate hazards, he explained, and predict the movements of other vehicles, cyclists and pedestrians beyond the immediate vicinity of the front of the cab.  “On screen”, Luke said, making it sound like a command, but pointing to the mirror on the outside of the door beside me.  Mirror work was critical. “You should always know where each corner of the trailer is”, he said. When I frowned he added, “I didn`t say you should be able to see each corner, just know where it is.  That will deal with static objects; mirrors do the rest and deal with moving ones”.  Position was next.  “Take command of the road if you have to”.  It wasn`t long before we were out of the town and, as is often the case, travelling behind another truck.  “Don`t come up too close to the War Bird in front”, Luke said, as he came off the throttle.  “You can look up his nearside on a left hand bend and see what`s coming up if you are back far enough. All this, of course, will help with fuel economy”. War Bird, I thought, that`s a new one – though, when you look at what goes on these days, somehow fitting.

The idea is to give yourself time to deal with incidents, I soon became aware, and time is achieved by distance – seeing things well ahead gives you the time to prepare for them in advance.  “It`s the same with fuel economy”, Luke said. “Take this wormhole, for example”.  I saw we were approaching a roundabout.  “Once we`re in it, it`ll be too late, so we`ve got to get it right from the start”. We were closing on the roundabout as Luke said this and I watched intently as he started his approach.  “Look ahead and see what`s in there already”, he said. "Off gas and judge your gap.  Brake if needed but if you approach it steadily, hopefully you won`t have to.  Get the gear”.  Luke block changed the Volvo`s manual gearbox, “and we`re in”. I had to admit it all went very smoothly.  No energy wasted through braking, no racing of the engine – a comfortable and safe passage through to the other side.  “With a real wormhole”, I said, “you wouldn`t be able to see what was in it”.  Luke looked pleased with this observation.  “Most drivers approach the event horizon so fast it makes no odds”, he said.  I had to agree to some extent - drivers these days seemed to treat give way lines as if they`d just leapt out in front of them.

We stopped at a cafe at the start of a dual carriageway and went in for tea and toast.  “Ten-Forward”, Luke said, as we climbed out of the cab.  Ethel’s, the sign stretching the entire length of the roof said.  We walked in to a homely, warm atmosphere of chat and the smell of  cooking.  “Luke”, the lady behind the counter looked pleased to see him.  “The usual”, she enquired, and then together, both their voices as one, “Tea, Earl Grey, hot”.  After which, she smiled, he smiled and I smiled, but out of awkwardness rather than any understanding of the thing they seemed to share. 

We sat at a table close to a window looking out on the lorry park. I would drive after the break, Luke told me, and he wanted to see all we had discussed put into practice.  “Keep her going”, he said, “It takes more energy to get her going from standstill, so if you can, trickle along.  Judgement is crucial.  Judge gaps, light changes, everything.  Keep the revs low, let her lug a little, there`s plenty of torque in these new engines.  Plan ahead using the methods we`ve seen this morning”. “Ok”, I said. “Inertial dampers”, Luke said, “they`re ever present.  Higher the speed, the more they work – against us.  Air resistance, rolling resistance, it`s all friction trying to slow us, and the faster we go the more its effect – disproportionately so. So, we can help by keeping the revs down as well as reducing accelerations. Gentle with the throttle, gentle with the brakes, stay in high gear – that`s the way”.  “Ok”, I said, again.

Walking out to the truck shortly after, another driver approached us, obviously intending to speak.  “Still trying to give drivers the benefit of your limited knowledge are you Luke”?  He said, walking straight on by. The unfriendly, bitterness of the remark surprised me a little but Luke seemed not to be phased by it. “Q”, he said, raising both eyebrows.  “Now, remember what we discussed”, Luke said, once we were sitting in the Vovo.  Then, after lifting his right hand and accompanied by a flick of the wrist, he delivered the instruction to move off with the word “engage”.  

We continued along the dual carriageway for a while, taking care to watch our speed, and not just for reasons of economy: “this is the Dominion of the local traffic police”, Luke told me.  He instructed me in the advantages of using the tractor beam (variable cruise control) which allows a more relaxed and fuel efficient drive in most cases, and the proper use of the photon torpedoes (headlamp flasher).  "Why have the rear of another truck ten feet in front, unless you have to", he said.  Eventually we turned off and travelled through a number of towns and villages, each with varying road widths and junction layouts.  The road took us to a village surrounded by hills, I could see trees high up in the distance in every direction. It wasn`t long before we began to climb a steep gradient, as the road climbed up to a church in the centre of the village.  I automatically reached for the gearstick, “Hold on, Number One”, I heard Luke say.  “Let her lug”.  We were slowing rapidly.  “We`re losing power”, I said, “We can`t go on like this”.  Luke lent over and shielded the gearstick with his clip board.  “We`ve got to", he said, "she can take it”.  A deep and, to me, telling vibration started to shake my seat. “Shields up”, Luke shouted, and I went for the gear lever.  I block changed into low range, missed third and took second.  “Give her all you`ve got”, Luke shouted again and I planted my right foot.  To my amazement the Volvo dug in and hauled all 44 tonnes of us over the brow of the hill, the engine revs still, to my ears, remarkably low.

My lesson seemed to be over for the day and we drifted back to the yard, effortlessly – I felt relaxed and comfortable with my new found mode of driving.  I quizzed Luke a bit about his plans for the future and if he thought his business would grow.  “I`m not really in it for the money”, he said.  “I love machines and trucks, that`s all.  I do my thing.  And I know how much damage trucks can do, not just to individuals in accidents but to the environment, as well.  I know, I`ve been there”.  I didn`t press him on this last point but instead agreed with his general idea. “You`re not wrong there”, I said.  Luke looked out of the window to his left, at the countryside rolling by, “Not everyone would agree, there`s a lot of resistance, and denial.  Many drivers don`t see this sort of training as gaining a new skill. There`s a lot like Q”.  “I can imagine”, I said.  Luke continued staring out the window. “We`ve had so many changes to contend with in the last decade, it`s hard for a lot of drivers to keep up.  But changing driver behaviour is important”.  “The big one”, I said, “the future”.  Luke looked straight at me “It`s the final frontier”.

I collected my certificate and proof of training before I left and made my way to my car, which I had left behind the warehouse where the Volvo was parked.  Looking up at the cargo doors I could just make out some faint figures coming through the painted facade above them. Bay 4, one read.  I looked back to the building that was home to the Stour Fleet Academy, “Live long and prosper”, I said to it.