Day one
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Not the best of starts, I grant you.
keep instructor Graham Gregory and co-learner Keith "Cowboy" Turner waiting as I turn my house upside down looking for my driving licence. Unable to find it among the growing pile of newspapers, I call Shaun, son of Eddie, who tells me not to worry. Get yourself to Esher and look for the licence later on, he advises.
Esher? I thought I was popping down the road to Bookhaml Should have read that letter properly. I'm on my motorcycle, so I can get around the worst of the traffic jams, but I still arrive flustered and late. The whole confusing episode is apl: preparation is the key to driving an HGV well, Graham will tell um
Keith has experience at 7.5 tonnes: his employers Budd 84, Bird are paying his way with EP (Z749 for a five-day course, including test fee). I've driven a 7.5-tonner across Europe and back, but otherwise work with vans on CM.
So six-shootin' rootin' tootin' Keith is put in the hot seat first, and takes the W-reg MercedesBenz Atego 10n7 out on the road.
Graham reckons my inexperience could actually stand me in good stead, giving me little opportunity pick up bad habits, but to my mind Keith doesn't seem to have any. Following a relaxing ride in the passenger seat Graham tells me my time has come.
I settle down behind the wheel with a mixture of excitement and fear. How will [get used to the sheer size of the vehicle? Will I end up dragging a line of parked cars down the road? Will I send both passengers through the windscreen the first time I brush the brakes?
Nothing so dramatic. A few missed gears and kerbs scuffed, but on the whole the world is left relatively intact.
look and plan further ahead, Graham advises: this allows you to react in good lime. How true.
Day two
Licence now found—in the most obvious place, of course—so make my way off to EP with a spring in my step.
I was a little surprised by how quickly I got used to the size of the vehicle. A few glimpses in the mirror and I was sure I could have reversed the Atego down a narrow, winding, high-walled alley. Perhaps my new-found confidence came a little too eas ily I'm moving too far over to the left, maybe in an instinctive bid to avoid oncoming vehicles.
The wing mirror costs about £80 on the nearside. Graham tells me, and I'm doing my best to add it to CM's bill, diving towards trees or road signs—anything that could knock it off, basically.
He points out that maybe I think I'm still on the bike, judging by the gaps I'm going for. The power delivery from the unladen Atego is good, but not that good.
With more power on the Atego there's also more weight, which has to be treated with respect, particularly when you've got your licence and load up to 32 tonnes.
This is the single most important thing I will learn: anticipation is the key. Look well ahead on the road and give yourself as much time as possible to prepare. Once you've decided on a course of action, make sure other road users know what you're doing by giving signals in good time and positioning the truck properly on the road.
Hauling up to lights, braking at the last minute, changing gear and indicating as you check over your blind spot is not the best way to make friends and influence other road users. Leave everything to the last moment and you'll find yourself in a spot of bother—potentially disastrous bother.
Day Throe
Graham has a great de patience, and by day thret message about looking ahead does seem to be sinkir When things are left toc and go wrong, they go w with a vengeance. One leads to two, three or even more. Another key to passin test, then, is to recover from takes and get on with the job With a tittle more confidi it's also time to try out manoeuvres you have to plete on the test: moving aw a straight line, at an angle, dc hill and up a hill. It's imporu remember the order in whi do things. Prepare the vel check around for other users, indicate and then mm You also have to accel through the gears on the test
D mally up to fourth and then back down again, using each in turn. Simple on the face of it, but it's easy to forget something obvious like looking over your shoulder before you move away.
You also have to show the examiner you can reverse a truck around a cone and into a fictional parking bay/loading area. This doesn't seem to present any problem for Keith or me, but Graham tells us a lot of drivers come unstuck by stopping short of the required area. A bit of tape on the side of the flatbed helps the driver judge distances, but over-caution tends to take over on the day,
Day four
Not a good day. On my way to Esher I crash my bike, wrecking my helmet and making my leathers work for a living. The bike sustains about 1300-worth of damage and is unrideable. It's taken back home, from where I ring a worried Graham to explain why I'm an hour and a half late.
The guys drop by to pick me up
and, despite the accident, 'm beginning to look a good way ahead now. It makes the whole business of driving the truck a lot easier and a lot more relaxing. I'm optimistic about my showdown with the man from the DVLA (although I still dive towards the side of the road when pulling in).
Day five
Test day. After my motorcycle crash my hip and shoulder hurt, my right thumb is swollen and useless and it's difficult to bend my left knee. Otherwise I'm OK. I still don't feel shaken by the crash, just annoyed—I've fallen off pushbikes at higher speeds.
I slept well last night, and can perform all the functions necessary for controlling the truck safely. Driving went really well yesterday, so I fully expect to pass. But I fail.
Why did I fail?
Maybe being kept waiting for 30 minutes beyond my appointed hour without an explanation had something to do with it, but that's a poor excuse.
I can't complain about the training. EP's pass rates are well above the national average of around 50%, so I let the average down a bit, although Keith kept EP's end up and passed first time—well done, mate. My nerves unravelled, and I failed because I wasn't concentrating, looking far enough ahead or reading the road properly. I forgot my training.
I almost fluffed the reversing manoeuvre by hitting a marker, and then clipped the wing mirrors pulling in for the throughthe-gears test (which itself went off without a hitch). Two minutes later, and not more than five minutes into the test, the examiner seals my fate. "I do not recall asking you to perform a left-handturn manoeuvre," he says.
I've already failed, with 55 minutes of the test left to go. I try to
gather my thoughts and carry on so as to get practice for the next time which, thanks to a cancellation at EP, comes just over a week later.
Second time around was a little more pressured. With the deadline for this feature already passed, subeditors and production editors at CM were waiting for the verdict on my second crack at it.
But going into the test I was determined to prove it wouldn't have to be a case of third time lucky—or worse. The nerves were still there, but I tried to calm down...and failed again. I was a lot calmer for my second test, and didn't make half as many errors as before. But I still failed, simply because I didn't use a bus lane which wasn't in operation until that evening.
I didn't do anything dangerous, but examiners are looking for a wholly different level of driving from someone behind the wheel of an HGV—and rightly so. Unfortunately I just didn't quite reach the professional standard he was after, and will have to brush up on the details to make sure I don't fail again.
People who have already been through the mill should remind themselves that they are professionals out on the road, and deserve to take pride in that.