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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.

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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.    

Drifter

“I only stayed with her as long as I did because of the kids”.  It was the stock phrase from Tyrone, who spoke of little else than how unhappy his marriage had been and who he was chasing at the moment.  The latter part hadn`t changed since I first got to know him, despite the fact he was married then.  Tyrone was always chasing women - someone from one of the offices, maybe, or from the factory floor, or someone he`d met on a sales conference or training day.  Tyrone may not have been happy at home; but he sure made up for it elsewhere.  “Hang on, I`m a victim here”, he would joke when I showed any sign of sympathy for his ex-wife or suggested that he should have worked harder on his marriage.  He was younger than me by about ten years and definitely, by comparison, someone who dedicated himself to women as opposed to a woman.  I had been out with a couple of girls, met the one I would marry, had children, concentrated on family and career, and been happy.  To Tyrone women and career were one and the same thing.  A new car and smart suite, combined with nights away, meant sponsored, serial womanising - and I suppose some part of me envied him.

To Tyrone, impressing was everything.  He always wore modern, designer suits and shoes.  Brand names were his bible and he displayed them whenever possible.  His complexion matched his dark hair, which was always lightly oiled and shaped in a distinct pattern.  Tyrone always made sure that he was flexible enough to be the one to help or advise a female colleague or customer, usually gleaning as much information as he thought necessary from an appropriate source before bearing down on his target with assured expertise.  If it was paint, he`d spend hours on the internet researching the correct terminology or procedures.  Driving and training, he knew it all.  And it wasn`t just trucks, Tyrone made sure he knew about cars as well, confident that he could impress any women with his knowledge.  He made sure he could identify what a problem might be, who could fix it – locally, quickly and who was the cheapest – and, above all, how he could help the lady to the garage and then home.  Tyrone worked hard for every new liaison.

I didn`t really see much of him except during breaks, when we were part of a small group that would gather in the canteen – the rest of us usually ending up being entertained by Tyrone`s tales of conquest.  But one day he did venture down to my small office, poking his head round the door as if unsure that he was in the right place and looking somehow out of place.  “Err, TW, can I have quick word”.  “Sure, come in”, I said.  “What can I do for you”.  Tyrone sat down on a comfortable chair close to the door and rubbed his hands together between his knees, which were tight on his hands, as if he was cold.  All the while he looked about the office, at the photographs of old trucks, at the graphs and the memorabilia collected over a lifetime in the business.

I knew when I first saw him in the doorway that whatever he wanted his visit would ultimately be about women, or more specifically, a woman.  And I was right.  Apparently, at a recent trade show in Europe, Tyrone had met a woman who he had singled out for attention.  Stunning is the word he used, slim and dark she was a real beauty, literally.  She had been married but this was now dissolved and her children were all approaching late teenage years. “She`s French”, Tyrone said, “and her eldest is a girl of eighteen.  And she`s the problem”.  “Good God”, I said, “there`s absolutely no stopping you, is there”.  “No, TW, you don`t understand”, Tyrone protested, with a grin on his face.  “She`s had an accident in her car and the police are saying it was her fault.  Her mum asked me to comment and I didn`t know where to start.  I`m speaking with mum later and I need a heads up on it.  You`re an engineer; you think about this sort of thing all the time”.  “Not accidents, I don`t”, I said.  “She lost control of the car”, Tyrone said, “it`s right up your Champs-Elysees.”

Tyrone soon became animated as he related the story and although he remained firmly fixed in his seat, his body bent this way and that, as if absorbing the energy of the course he had found himself on. According to Tyrone, the girl had been travelling through a rural area near her home with a few friends in the car, a small Peugeot hatchback.  As she rounded a bend it seems that part of the car drifted across the centre white line, clumping an oncoming small truck.  No one was seriously hurt, but as a new driver the little French girl is in for some grief.  The police say she was going too fast for the bend – she and her friends insist she wasn`t.  The truck driver, an elderly man who lived locally, isn’t able to comment either way.  Apparently, it was a narrow road even for a small truck. “If she`d lost grip, she would have heard skidding, surely”, Tyrone said.  “There`s a lot to consider”, I told him, “road surface and weather; tyres are particularly important; you need more information before you, I mean I, can comment accurately.  Just gather as much as you can, ask about the scene, impress her with your investigative thoroughness and we`ll speak next week”.  With that he was gone, repeating the word `tyres` over and over as he hurried out the door. 

I had almost forgotten our conversation when I met up with Tyrone at a test day the following week.  I could see he was anxious to speak and as soon as the opportunity arose he had me cornered.  The story of the French daughter had developed and the conquest of her mother was at a critical stage.  He had, thanks to me apparently, impressed with his questions but now he needed more.  Tyrone wanted to be the expert who would show the Gendarme for what they were – idiots when it came to vehicle dynamics and, therefore, completely wrong about Madam`s daughter`s accident. He told me a little of what I wanted to know: the car had suffered damage to the rear wing, as if it had been side swiped, and the rear bumper had been ripped off.  The road was damp.  There were no visible marks on the road.  The tyre tread was good. “And tyre pressures”? I said.  “Didn`t ask”, he said.  “Well do”, I told him.

The next day Tyrone told me he`d emailed his French lady and been informed that the tyre pressures were never checked.  She also suggested that the truck had come on to her daughter`s side of the road, as the Peugeot had been hit on the rear wing and not the front.   “Where was the debris”? I said, “And where did the vehicles end up”?  “I`ll ask”, Tyrone said.  The reply came during a visit to the canteen later in the day.  “It`s a text”, Tyrone announced. “`Car spun round quarter circle`. `Truck almost straight in his lane`.  `Glass and stuff behind truck in his lane`.  What does that lot mean”? Tyrone looked confused.  “The truck didn`t enter her side of the road”, I told him.  Tyrone looked disappointed.  “What now, I need to help her out if I`m going to get anywhere TW, come on, what next”?  I thought for a moment.  “Ask what the girl`s actions were as she drove through the bend.  Did she brake or steer differently when she saw the truck”?

It wasn`t until the next morning that Tyrone was able to bring me a reply to this last question.  “She didn`t sound too impressed”, he said.  “Thought I was trying to suggest her girl was in the wrong.  Anyway, I`m hoping for an invite, hoping to fly out this weekend, in fact, and then it`ll all be worth it TW; oh you should see her”.  Tyrone made a slight whistling sound and closed his eyes for a second, no doubt dreaming of impending delight.  “And? I said.  “Oh, sorry”, Tyrone was back with me.  “She says she saw the truck and took her foot off the gas, steering away from it.  After that, it`s all a blank.  Now, I need help TW, I need this weekend but I can feel it slipping away from me”.  “Lift off over steer”, I said.  “What?” Came the reply.

I sat Tyrone down in a quiet corner of the canteen and told him about tyres. "Tyres", I said, "are all there is between the vehicle and the road, as everyone knows.  But we sometimes forget that no matter what devices the vehicle has to modify its handling, the whole shooting match relies on something quite small: patches of rubber in contact with the road that are often no bigger than a human hand.  And when it comes to contact with the road it`s these patches that deal with all the forces acting on the vehicle.  Tyres are not keyed into the road like train wheels are to a track; they do it differently - tyres work on the road in their effort to get grip.  To change a vehicle`s course, tyres have to travel in a slightly different path to the one they are pointing.  This is a tyre`s slip angle - and it is everything.  Slip angle controls handling and grip and, therefore, stability.  It is determined by the tyre`s characteristics: construction, tread, materials, profile, pressure; as well as, side force, load and road surface.  Too much slip and the tyre drifts, too little and sufficient cornering forces may not be generated.  Geater slip angle at the front and the car under steers; too greater at the back and it`ll over steer.  "So", I told Tyrone, there`s a balance". “But the French girl”? He said.

"Tyres", I went on, "have a finite amount of friction available to them. Use it all for cornering and there`s nothing left for braking or traction.  There`s always a balance, as I have said. The French girl`s accident can probably be summed up as: Bit quick into the bend;  car  drifts out on wet surface; lifting off gas shifts weight forward and increases cornering ability at the front.  With traction demand stopping at the front, the front tyres are given more friction for cornering. With a steering angle that has increased from the driver, and is now too big, the car steps in at the front.  The result – lift off over steer on a car already on the white line.  Add to this any extra weight due to passengers, without any compensating increase in tyre pressure, and the car has higher than expected slip angles, especially at the back.  It was asking to yaw". 

When I had finished Tyrone looked at me, thoughtfully.  “Tyres then are not really following the path you think but they mustn`t drift too far off if they are to stay on an acceptable course”, he said.  “That`s about it”, I said.  A week later I saw Tyrone and I asked how the French weekend had gone.  “I didn`t go”, he said, “She went really strange when I suggested the daughter might be at fault, despite all that slip angle stuff”.  “I`m sorry”, I said.  “Don`t be. I think I`ll stick to familiar ground from now on”, Tyrone said, “travel a few roads I already know for a change; slow down a bit, maybe. Fewer disappointments that way”.