row2k Features
Point of Greatest Hazard III -- In Praise of Trailer Drivers
October 22, 2003
Rob Colburn

Driving a trailer full of boats is a special skill. This column is in deep appreciation to all those people – coaches, assistant coaches, boatwrights, club managers, et al -- who take on that daunting responsibility, thus making it possible for us competitors to travel to regattas. Thank them repeatedly, and thank them best of all by loading the trailer balanced and well-strapped, as well as always sending at least one other person riding in the truck with them.

An extra set of eyes to keep watch behind, help direct tight turns, or spot that container lid beginning to open up in the wind's buffeting can nip trouble in the bud. An extra pair of hands in case a boat shifts, or to help deal with the unexpected crises is vital. Bows of boats on a trailer swing surprisingly wide on turns. The driver can watch the left side, but the roof of the cab obscures the hazards on the right. An extra pair of eyes in the right seat to prevent the bows from hooking telephone poles, signs, or tree branches, could save your fleet. Sterns develop minds of their own at awkward times. Like cats, they need watching; they like to rub up against things when you're not looking.

They also can be hard to see, especially at night when they and the safety flags dangling from them ride too high to reflect the glow from a following car’s headlights. This can mislead drivers to key their following distance from the back of your trailer, unaware that the shells actually protrude twenty feet further back (sometimes practically above the hood of their car). An inexpensive clip-on battery-powered light (like the ones used for early morning practices) on one of the sterns will draw attention. Outlining the back of your trailer in highly reflective tape (3M makes some) will help following drivers pick out the shape of the trailer – visual cues which a few small red taillights do not always convey to the unfamiliar. Newer trailers usually come with this feature, thank goodness. (Four harrowing hours driving the ‘chase’ car behind the team trailer through the mountains of Pennsylvania amidst the tail end of a tropical storm will give you a new appreciation for how a sixty-foot object can blend itself into the murk.)

Nor does the journey have to be long to turn into an adventure. One memorable (though fortunately short) return journey from a regatta illustrates in microcosm. During the 5-day regatta, our shells had been derigged and loaded as their events finished, often shifted from rack to rack, -- even between trailers -- to make room for whichever boats needed to race next. (This is a long way of explaining why our usual loading sequence had not been followed.) One eight was too far forward, another too far back, and most of them had ended up on one side with the fours on the other. The trailer tended to bob and nod philosophically behind us like a partially anaesthetized patient.

There is a particular quiet hum that a well-maintained and balanced trailer makes on the road, punctuated every so often by the happy chirp of axle springs.

That was not the sound our trailer was making.

We pulled over to check some straps, (standard procedure to check everything aboard the trailer after a few miles of shakedown). As proof of the community of rowing: two members of the Mexican national team, also returning from the regatta, saw the boats and pulled over behind us to check that we were okay.

We thanked them and assured them we were. That is until we had to merge to the right lane of an expressway after a left lane entrance. [There are special circles in hell for designers of left lane entrance ramps.] A succession of pulsing, juddering screeches and two metallic bangs erupted from the trailer behind us.

Warren fought, white-faced, to keep the trailer from whipping the truck around like a rat being shaken by a terrier. "The right-turn signal is activating the trailer brakes!"

The audible interference of the pulses through the CD player confirmed it. Incorrect grounding? Worn insulation? We hadn't noticed the 'blinker effect' when we had pulled over earlier because the brakes had already been three-quarters applied.

The hitch -- heaven knows how -- held under the strain. The tires had every right to blow – but fortunately didn't. The boats stayed on; the trailer stayed upright; the oars did not come hurtling through the rear window of the cab, and nothing important, valuable, or immediately lethal broke loose. We didn't dare use the right blinker again; frantic hand signals worked us across three lanes of traffic, and the rest of the trip home. (Another strong argument for having at least a second person riding with the trailer.) Nearly catatonic, and much delayed, we eventually reached the boathouse and our teammates waiting to unload the boats.

"Was that you guys? We heard it from across the river."

"Next regatta, maybe we should just row the boats there, okay?"

"Er, next regatta is Canadian Henley." (Seven hundred miles.)

"I repeat my initial suggestion."

So, the next time you see him or her, give a big thanks to your program's trailer driver, for The Road leads ever on and on.

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