Back when the world was a bit more sane – and I was seeing the Northwest through the windshield of a Freightliner hay truck ...
I had stopped at a rest area sometime after zero-dark-thirty. Walking back to my truck, I noticed a rig parked near mine with the driver between his two trailers and not happy. Being a curious sort, I wandered over to see what kind of party this stranger was having.
Another driver had hailed him on his citizen band (CB) radio and informed him that the marker lights on his rear trailer were flickering, not working more than they were shining. Try that with your $1,000 cell phone – alert a stranger on the freeway that there’s a problem with his or her vehicle!
I asked if he had it figured out. He did not. I asked what he had done other than curse at it. He said he had just wiggled the trailer light cords, or pigtails. He said that since the front trailer’s lights were on steady, he thought it was OK. He went on that since the pigtail connecting the lights between the two trailers looked new, he thought it was not the problem either.
I asked if he had a test light and screwdriver. He did not. I asked if he had help on the way, or if he needed me to see if I could be helpful. He had not called for help; he said that if he had to call for help, it would be three or more hours of waiting. He was hopeful that I could find something simple. I wandered back to Old Yellow and found my test light, a good screwdriver and a decent flashlight.
We unplugged the pigtail from the second trailer. I forced the alligator clip of my test light into the ground socket on the plug, then used the probe to test for fire on the two lines that generally feed the taillight or marker lights. Both lit up the test light and burned steady. I asked if the brake lights and turn signal lights on the second trailer worked. He said they did. I explained that with those working, the issue was probably not a ground wire.
He held my flashlight, successfully illuminating the plug on the trailer without shining the light in my eyes. Surprisingly, the screw holding the trailer end of the plug socket turned freely, and we slid out the guts of the receptacle. The screws that fastened the wire from the trailer to the receptacle showed some corrosion and were loose. Everything else on that plug half was pristine and tight.
I pushed the piece back into its housing and tightened the anchoring screw. When we plugged the pigtail back into the socket, the marker lights and taillights on that trailer both burned steady. The driver thanked me. I suggested that he carry a handful of tools with him and that he was bright enough to fix the loose connection by himself. He agreed. I pondered several times over the years whether I should have billed that major truck line for a roadside repair.
If he would have pulled through a weigh station with flickering marker lights, he would have been stopped. Depending on the manpower situation at weigh station and the attitude of said personnel, he either would have been told to fix it before proceeding, or they would have triggered a complete safety inspection of his truck and trailers.
Me? The event broke up the monotony of the remaining four-plus hours until I had a warm bed waiting for me.
One year, we hauled some hay to a hay cuber at Clarkston, Washington. It was just across the Snake River from Lewiston, Idaho. One trip after unloading, the Idaho weigh station gave me the red light to park and bring in my registration papers.
I parked. I parked out of the way of other traffic – about 75 yards past the weigh station building. The paved portion of the place was narrowing as it approached the area for merging back onto the highway. So, being considerate of other drivers, I parked on the coarse-graveled area.
I walked back with my paperwork. A fellow in coveralls with a clipboard met me and asked where I had parked.
“Just up there out of everyone’s way.”
He said that they had intended to give my rig a full inspection, but he wasn’t about to deal with the drain-rock-sized gravel where I was parked. He said I wouldn’t be able to turn around there and that he wouldn’t expect me to back up “those doubles” far enough to turn around. They’d just catch me another time.
I didn’t argue, neither did I correct him. My rig was not doubles but a full truck and full trailer, which I could have backed up in figure eights given the right motivation!
