The Tailgater

One of Clint Eastwood's early movies featured the storyline that as an ordinary driver he inadvertently picks up a tailgater driving a truck. The entire movie was about how the tailgating terrorist proceeded to make the driver's driving experience a living hell.

So it was in my own case this past week. I was driving my classic Jag between Denia and Valencia when I noticed that a Man brand truck was stuck to my rear bumper. The only things I know about the driver are that, (a) he was a complete and utter imbecile; (b) he was intent on making me as uncomfortable as he could; (c) and that he, and the whole world would be much better off were he to simply lie down and give up his last breath.

Firstly, let me state what I think are redeeming qualities of  truckers. These guys are responsible for massive moving vehicles that potentially, in the hands of irresponsible persons could cause the motoring public and pedestrians a lot of trouble. Mostly the drivers handle their responsibilities well. They also show extraordinary good judgement, except when driving in convoy. Then they all seem to lose their collective minds and cruise along nose-to-tail.

That creates a wall of trucks through which people wishing to exit the highway cannot penetrate. Why do they do this? They know it is illegal. It is against all common sense, and for each driver it's potentially a death trap.

How do we know when we are leaving enough braking space between us and the vehicle ahead? We can know by picking any landmark and when the vehicle ahead passes it we count "one, one thousand, two one thousand." We must be able to count in a normal tempo, and to complete the count before we reach the same landmark. That will work at any speed, provided your brakes and tyres are in good condition, and that you are alert.

Under rainy conditions and at night we are better prepared if we leave additional space. To get that space count up to "three, one thousand" or more.

The genius I had tailgating behind me probably thought that I was one of those ultra car proud Jag owners who treat their cars as though they are the most valuable thing in the world. No! In so far as I am concerned it's a car, and every time I take it on the road I run the risk of encountering some horses' ass who will end up writing off my car. When that happens I will simply get another one, if I'm still alive.

I found myself driving for both of us. I had to control him by slowing him down in anticipation that we may have had to stop. A stop for me might have been easy, but for him in his 12-wheel rig is a lot more difficult. Finally I had enough of the risk he was imposing upon me. We were approaching an off ramp that I knew was there, which also had an easy on-again ramp, so without signalling to him I suddenly increased speed and pulled off road. Had he tried to follow me he would have jack-knifed his trailer and made an awful mess.

So, to that one man who clearly has fecal matter where his brain is supposed to be, I wish upon him a whole case of very bad piles that will force him out of driving every thing.

One thing that is for certain is that he has no place behind the driving wheel.

Copyright (c) 2016
Eugene Carmichael