There is much to be said for experience. Yet, sometimes you are better off keeping that information to yourself, especially if you are prone to criticize that "rookie" driver. I first crawled into a rig after telling a minor fib – that I knew how to drive – in 1973. My introduction to the big rigs was, "Truck 273. Deliver in Chicago tomorrow morning."

My favorite memories from those early weeks were the weigh stations that lay between Spencer, Iowa, and Chicago. I reasoned that since my bills told me what I weighed, I didn't have to stop at those handy little roadside scales. So I didn't. I have no reasonable explanation why no one ever chased me down, but they didn't.

From that shaky beginning came a sterling career that continued until December 1989, when I left the road and took an office job. For more than seven years, I slept at home and participated in things, such as the company golf league, that over-the-road drivers can only dream about. Then I quit.

I had received an offer to go to work as editor for a health care magazine. Less than six months later, the publication folded, and I suddenly found myself in dire need of a job. Well, heck, I had all this trucking experience, why not return to the road?

Only problem was, I no longer had a CDL. During my years as a "suit," I'd let my chauffeur's license lapse. No big deal. I was, after all, a professional with more than a million and a half accident-free miles, so I sauntered into our local license bureau and breezed through the written exams, modestly missing a few questions so as not to appear to be showing off. Then came time for the driving test.

You Never Forget, Right?

Amy Sievers is my neighbor and our local DOT testing officer. Mike, my potential employer, loaned me his rig, a long-nosed International with a 48-foot reefer. I was confident, even though most of my road time had been spent in cabovers toting 40 and 42-foot trailers. Still, a truck is a truck and a near-decade being away from them really shouldn't make any difference. Should it?

Apparently, it did. I didn't make any major screw-ups, just enough minor ones to come up short on points for passing, but it was embarrassing. Worse, I had to explain to Mike, "I can't leave for a run today. I flunked."

"Maybe I should let you practice a bit," was all he said.

Small town licensing stations rotate from town to town during the week. If I wanted to retest the next day, I would have to travel to Estherville. Mike agreed to meet me the next morning and I'd drive from his shop on in, about 20 miles.

The drive became more comfortable with each mile, and I felt pretty cocky when Amy smiled at me across the counter as I entered the testing station. I maneuvered the rig out onto the highway, then back into town without mishap, checking my mirrors, signaling, downshifting, all the things a pro should know how to do.

Rubber Meets the Road

As we neared the station, Amy directed me to turn onto a side street, then told me to stop and let her out. "I want you to back the trailer around the corner of that intersection," she said.

I watched my mirrors until I saw her signal to come on back, released the brakes, slid into reverse and began a nice, smooth backup.

It really wasn't a crunch. More of a bump, but as soon as I felt it, I saw Amy frantically waving her arms and I stopped. The car was just an old heap, with more dents than smooth spots, parked there next to the curb. We literally could not find the place where the tractor had actually touched it, but it had. All those accident-free miles, shot, and worse, during my driving test!

Amy spent the next 15 minutes filling out an accident report, then said, "Take it back to the testing station," she said, adding without her customary smile, "and don't hit anything."

Then I had to explain to Mike. "You sure you want to go back onto the road?" he asked, inspecting his rig with a critical eye.

None of the excuses seemed solid enough, including, "The car was placed there by evil Road Test Fairies!" Mike sighed, crawled behind the wheel and I took my place in the jump seat.

It was a long 20 miles back to his shop. I didn't beg, exactly, when I ventured, "They'll be testing in Spencer again tomorrow." Mike grunted like he'd just swallowed a barrel cactus, but agreed to meet me there.

Third Time No Charm

No welcoming smile from Amy the next morning, and Mike had been equally gruff when he said he was going to go have coffee, his tone hinting he was considering something stronger. Worse, I was rattled because my shifting was sloppy and my braking abrupt, but nothing really happened out on the road. As we returned to town, Amy directed me into the shopping center where a section of the parking lot had been set aside with construction cones. "Back between the cones and stop as evenly as you can with the last set."

Three times I tried. Three times I overcorrected, with the last time dropping the steering onto the grass bordering the parking lot. The fourth attempt, however, brought me in straight and true. Sadly, you aren't allowed to drive off the paving. Sunspots! Wind shear! I mistook the Hy Vee grocery van for an emergency vehicle! My excuses were growing weaker.

"Where are you testing tomorrow," I asked tentatively.

Amy's eyes said, "I don't want to tell you!" but she finally admitted she would be in Spirit Lake. That wasn't so bad. Mike's shop was in Spirit Lake, though I did have to remind him of it a couple times.

Fourth and Goal

I'm relieved to say that I passed, though I suspect Amy fudged a bit on points, since by that time, I was pretty close to being a basket case.

With the experience came a valuable lesson. Yes, there are a lot of green drivers out there, and true, many seem inadequately trained. Yet, all of us were exactly like that so-and-so who stalls it trying to start up from the traffic light. And who hasn't held up traffic after getting lost?

Every one of us has agonized trying to back into a parking spot at the truckstop. Each one of us got our experience because we went through exactly what those rookies are suffering through. And if you think back, there probably was some seasoned old driver that came up to you, too, and said… "You blithering idiot! Where'd you learn to drive!"