Bidding farewell to old friends

When is it time to say goodbye to a truck? JIM WARD says that old trucks cannot be retained for sentimental value. If they no longer perform reliably or add value to a transport operation, it may be time to let that beloved truck go.

Having spare trucks in the yard is an anathema to most CEOs; top executives tend to get annoyed when they find pockets of underutilised assets. Managers are expected to sweat their assets, and if someone admits to concealing a spare truck or two somewhere on the asset register – even at fully depreciated value – said trucks will be whisked off and sold before you even have time to buff out the fleet numbers.

However, in a world far removed from those hawkish financial accountants and corporate best practice, things are not quite so clearcut. Big, tough, work-hardened transport men who have to drive with their seats pushed right back will hang on to some old relic because, secretly, they are fond of it. They know the fleet number from memory and may still remember when it was the brand new pride of the fleet. So, these tired old trucks survive the chop year after year like an old racehorse, having just enough money reluctantly spent on them to keep them running and engaging gears. They slip down the prestige and comfort ladder into that underworld where the worst drivers lurk and window winders have been welded on. Eventually, when you ask what they are used for, someone will say: “We only use that one round the houses,”  as though that activity saves them from mechanical failure.

I dispute this treasured myth that if a truck only does light duties like deliveries around town, it doesn’t matter if it breaks down. The moment any vehicle returns from repairs and grumbles its way back into the yard, it is available and expected to go back to work. Sick leave is over – trucks don’t get nursed. I have never heard a dispatcher painstakingly briefing a driver: “Be careful of fourth and seventh gears; the synchro rings and bearings are stuffed but we told them to only fix the oil leak,” or: “Try to avoid using full power up that last hill. Its running hot and it’s got a bit of a knock.” Rather, technical details are all swept away by the client phoning to query his overdue delivery, or demanding to know why a truck hasn’t yet arrived for loading.

I maintain that a breakdown is a breakdown, no matter where it happens – whether it’s downtown or in another province. What’s the difference? The load is still delayed, a vehicle replacement must be found, the breakdown must be towed, and the product (at increased risk of theft) must still somehow reach its destination. There is often reputational damage incurred. When “Vinesh’s Pride”  from Steadfast Logistics – that bullnose 2628 with its red painted hubs and extra spotlights – is causing traffic chaos, blocking one lane on the N12 at 10:45, people will notice it. The only thing that changes is how much it costs to sort out and how long it will take. Dealing with a local breakdown is easier than a distant one, but it still has all the repercussions of any other breakdown.

I appreciate that shunting scrap or moving chassis rails around within a factory doesn’t need a new 560-hp truck, but when “round the houses” could include an urgent delivery to Rustenburg, then the truck must be reliable and work as normal.

The moment an old truck breaks down on a weighbridge or blocks an access route, it creates drama and attracts unwanted attention. It gets inspected closely by tyre kickers and people who don’t normally even notice trucks. It is preferable to avoid anyone inspecting these old bullets too closely. Before your ears have stopped ringing from the inventive anatomical expressions used by the weighbridge operator, some sharp-eyed, pointy-shoed marketing ponytail on his smoke break will have noticed the slave tyres, the oil leaks, the dented tank, and missing mudflaps and photographed the whole lot on his smartphone. The pictures get copied around the management team for entertainment, he gets a pat on the head, and a tornado of misery envelops you, with your antiquated “round the houses” truck stuck in the epicentre of the storm, its brakes locked on and its ancient two-cylinder compressor seized.

The idea that trucks somehow know in their bearings: “Oh, I only haul scrap pallets round to the dump on an old trailer, it’s not hard work,” and respond gratefully by never breaking down, is a delightful fairy tale.

The harsh reality is that there is no such thing as “round the houses”, and if it’s too old to go further than that it needs to be put out to pasture, to stand forever on bricks in that great truck park in the sky.

Come in Number One… your shift is over.