Truck Roadeo: Driving, Dodging

Massachusetts isn't a big trucking state--not like Pennsylvania and Ohio and the other mid-country states that Route 80 passes through on its way east and west and not, indeed, like California, where enormous rigs that wouldn't fit on eastern roads wind their way gracefully along four-lane interstates. In Massachusetts, trucks are just trucks--they get something from here to there without much of the glamor of the open road found elsewhere.

So it really wasn't surprising that the state Truck Roadeo took place here with little publicity, some disorganization and considerable indifference among some of its entrants. In fact, it had been canceled for several weeks, due to a general lack of interest.

A Roadeo, by the way, is an event in which truck drivers compete in maneuvering their rigs through a closed course for time. Among other problems, they must parallel park, back into a loading dock and drive forwards and backwards through a serpentine course, around obstacles that allow only inches of clearance. The course is difficult, and even drivers with 20 years' experience sometimes wash out.

Early one Saturday morning, at an airfield near Boston. The sky is gray and threatening rain; humidity is high and everyone watches the weather uncomfortably. Only a few drivers and officials have arrived by the scheduled starting time of 7:30 a.m.

Frank Grinnel, a retired trucker himself, is the organizer of the affair. "I've been associated with the Roadeo since 1949," he says as he unloads equipment from the back of a station wagon. The beer cooler goes in the shade by the hangar. "Yes, we've been having these for years now. Used to be there was more interest, more people turn out. But it'll be all right, you'll see." His manner is gruff but friendly; everyone here seems to know him.

The drivers park their rigs along the taxiway, drop the trailers and line up the tractors next to a large hangar. No one can use his own equipment here, in the interest of fairness, so each man looks for another truck that is the same model as his own.

They are all company men. Owner-operators are excluded from competing--this is an American Trucking Association event. The companies sponsor the roadeos in the interest of driving safety. No one can enter who hasn't worked fulltime for a trucking company for the last 12 months and had an accident-free record in that time. If a driver wins his class here, he and his family will be sent by his company to the National Truck Roadeo in Minneapolis this fall. Massachusetts's only national champion, Mel Thompson, is out this year because he smashed up his rig several months ago.

After long delay, the drivers are carted off by bus to a room where they will take a written exam on trucking, the trucking industry and highway safety. Many feel a little resentful about this part of the event--they don't want a good driving score pulled down because they don't know the intricacies of Department of Transportation regulations. Meanwhile, judges and officials confer on rules and procedures, drink coffee and swap stories. It may rain.

At 11 a.m. the drivers return, the course has been laid out and judges given their instructions. About 100 people, mostly friends and relatives of the drivers, are on hand to watch the driving.

And so it begins. The first class to run is straight trucks. Only one entrant showed up for this class, so a five-axle trailer driver switched over to give him some competition.

The man's tension is apparent as he works the truck back into the parallel parking space, only a couple of feet longer than the truck. The crowd for the first time has something to watch, and starts to focus attention on his misery. He hits a barrier, and another, but finally coaxes his truck between the barricades and goes on to the next problem.

Some of the drivers here are so unmotivated as to be practically indifferent. Told to attend by their companies, they realize their chances of winning are low, and many mediocre performances result.

Around mid-day, the Channel Five news team shows up to do some filming, but not of the roadeo. The woman tells Grinnell, "I want to interview five drivers--any five will do." A request goes out on the public address system, and five men show up, laughing and joking about their chance to be on TV.

The woman explains that she wants to ask them questions about the trucking strike, fuel prices and their thoughts about future shutdowns. Someone mentions that these men were not out on strike, these are company drivers. "That's OK," she replies.

Each man in turn goes on camera and gives off-the-cuff answers to her questions about the possibility of another shutdown. No one says anything surprising. One confided later that he wouldn't have said anything if he had wanted to--not while wearing his company shirt on television.

That night Channel Five reported that the chance of another truckers' strike was nil.

The day runs on. After two or three entrants run the course, it all looks pretty much the same. People in the grandstands sit back for a wait, a long wait: each driver is allowed 12 minutes before he is flagged off the course, and most use at least ten. Kids play in the grass, and everyone grumbles a bit that no refreshment truck ever showed up with lunch.

The old man was having a great time. He didn't seem to know anyone there, but had come alone, drawn by the trucks.

He hung around with the drivers, talking to anyone who would listen:

"I used to be a teamster. Drove one-horse, two-horse rigs. Then when trucks came in I started driving trucks. I was a trucker for 40 years, and it was the best damned 40 years of my life."

"You should have seen me then, I tell you. Cocky as hell. Why I used to carry an extra pair of glasses all the time cause I was always getting them busted up in fights. Denim pants and shirt and a gray cap with a Local 25 button on the back. I used to think I could beat any man I met. Course I couldn't always.

"Hell, I'm getting old, though. Seventy-three last year. I guess you might say I am getting to where the old days just look better and better all the time." His voice quavered as he spoke, and people listened politely and went their own ways.

Lowell Crouse was one driver who cared about winning. Soft spoken, a little retiring, he wasn't the kind to make a strong impression on anyone. But when his turn came to drive, everyone watched.

"He's been out practicing for weeks," his wife said in the stands. She was more nervous-looking than he.

Driving a five-axle tank trailer, he drove the course with incredible ease, hitting no barricades and never stopping. He wound the truck backwards through the serpentine course without a moment's hesitation, and finished in nearly three minutes under the allotted time.

The crowd, until now indifferent, cheered as he stepped from the cab.

Lowell and his family will be going to Minneapolis in the fall.