New Driver Initiation aka Trial by Fire

Let me start by saying that owning and operating a hotshot hauling business is not easy. As far as I can tell, learning the hard way accounts for about 100 percent of the training program. And just when you think you’ve graduated, the truck signs you up for another class.

I decided it was time to bring in some help.

Choosing someone to take over some of the driving and hauling was something I took seriously. Whoever sat behind that wheel would be carrying a customer’s property and representing a business I’ve put a hell of a lot into building.

Of all the names and personalities I considered, my nephew Cameron kept coming out on top. He had the qualities I was looking for, and I was grateful that the person I wanted to bring into this business was also family.

That doesn’t mean he got to skip the glamorous training experience.

For about a week, Cameron rode with me, slept in the truck, and learned how to hook up, handle, and maneuver the trailers we haul. Nothing brings an uncle and nephew closer quite like living in a truck and discovering that personal space is apparently an optional feature.

It was time to turn him loose.

His first solo job was a decent run to Virginia: pick up a client’s box trailer and bring it back to Massachusetts.

Simple enough, right?

Music was blaring. The calls coming in were confident. He was out there doing it, and I was proud of him. After a week together, hearing him finding his own rhythm behind the wheel felt pretty damn good.

Then came the call.

“Uncle, I don’t know what’s happening, but something is wrong with the truck.”

I took a breath.

Of course. Of course there’s something wrong with the truck.

Apparently, it wanted to participate in Cameron’s training.

I went straight into troubleshooting mode. We talked through what the truck was doing and whether he needed to pull over immediately or could safely reach the next exit.

Then the truck made that decision for us.

Cameron called right back. The truck had died. He was stuck.

And almost immediately, he asked where the safety flares and warning triangles were.

That right there deserves some credit.

First solo trip, truck quits on him, traffic going by—and he’s thinking about making sure people can see him and the equipment. He got the warnings out quickly and safely and kept me informed.

I was grateful for how he handled it. You can spend a week showing someone how things are supposed to go, but you learn a whole lot about them when everything goes to shit.

Cameron was giving me good reasons to feel confident in my choice.

The truck, on the other hand, was making a strong argument for being left out of the employee appreciation post.

I asked Cameron to send me his location.

Wouldn’t you know it?

The New Jersey Turnpike.

Now, if you know anything about New Jersey, you can probably understand why my wallet started making distress signals before I even called for a tow.

Of all the places to break down, we had apparently selected the premium package.

I called the Turnpike Authority, explained that my truck was disabled while towing a trailer, and asked about getting it off the road.

About $1,500 to tow the truck to the next exit.

The exit Cameron could see.

Right there. In front of him.

Apparently, being able to see your destination is not a qualifying discount.

And that was just the truck. There would be an additional charge to come back and get the trailer.

For a moment, I wondered whether they were towing it to the exit or buying it dinner and taking it on vacation.

I was not happy. Cameron was stranded on his first solo run, my equipment was down, and I was looking at a tow bill that hadn’t even finished introducing itself yet.

So I started thinking through anything that might help us figure out what had happened.

Then I remembered something Cameron had said during that first call.

Before the truck shut down, the traction control and ABS lights had been flickering.

In the middle of everything else, he had noticed that—and told me.

Now, I’m no mechanic. Owning this truck has certainly encouraged me to explore the profession, but I’m not putting it on my business card just yet.

Still, I’ve learned a few things along the way, and those flickering lights had me wondering about a possible low-voltage problem.

Suddenly, I had something to focus on besides the tow bill.

And it came from a detail Cameron had paid attention to.

I told Cameron to hook up both of our fully charged jump boxes, one to each of those massive batteries, and try starting the truck.

BAM.

She fired up.

Well, hello again. Nice of you to rejoin the company.

I had him shut it back off while he collected the flares and triangles and packed everything away.

The alternator had apparently decided it was finished participating in this business venture.

With the truck running again, Cameron started making his way toward Exit 7, which thankfully wasn’t far away.

Then the hood flew open.

Because apparently an electrical problem wasn’t enough. The truck wanted to include a visibility challenge.

At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether I owned a hauling business or was producing an episode of some low-budget survival show.

Cameron got out and secured the hood with a bungee cord. One more problem to deal with, and he dealt with it.

I stayed on the phone, talking him through it as he made his way off the Turnpike, through the tolls, and into a hotel parking lot conveniently located right there by the exit.

A hotel parking lot had never sounded so beautiful.

We finally had somewhere to stop and figure things out, and I could take a breath that wasn’t immediately followed by another expensive thought.

Now came the next question.

How the hell was I going to get this truck fixed while I was five hours away in Massachusetts?

I called my friend and business partner, Erik. He made plans to head out to the truck and handle the repair.

And let me say this: when you’re hours away from your nephew and your broken-down equipment, having somebody willing to show up means a whole lot. I was grateful to have Erik in our corner.

Oh—and did I mention the nor’easter?

Yes. While all of this was happening, a nor’easter was bearing down on Cameron and the truck.

I may have forgotten that little detail somewhere between the $1,500 tow quote and the hood trying to become an airplane.

First solo trip, and the kid was getting the entire owner-operator experience in one evening. I would have preferred to spread the curriculum out a little.

By then, it was late. We had a place to park and a plan for the repair. There wasn’t much more we could accomplish that night.

I told him to get a room, get some sleep, and we’d tackle the rest in the morning.

Now, I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and I wanted Cameron to see that he could work through this one with some help.

Was he reluctant to venture into unfamiliar territory? Sure he was.

A week earlier, he was learning the equipment with me sitting beside him. Now he was out there on his own, dealing with a breakdown, bad weather, and a truck that apparently had several unresolved personal issues.

That’s a lot to throw at somebody on their first run.

But with some explanation, reassurance, and encouragement, he took on the challenge.

He kept communicating. He paid attention. He handled one problem, then helped work through the next.

That gave me plenty to be proud of.

I’m grateful that Cameron trusted me enough to take this opportunity—and to keep listening when his first trip turned into a story neither one of us had planned on telling.

I had wanted to find out how he’d handle being out there on his own.

The truck apparently felt we needed an answer immediately.

By morning, after some phone calls and a little parts hunting, Cameron found the alternator we needed. Erik picked it up and delivered it to him.

And by then, Cameron’s confidence had apparently gotten a better night’s sleep than any of us.

He was ready to get into that truck and get the job done.

Now, when I brought him on, the position was for a driver. Apparently, the truck had added an introductory course in diesel repair to his orientation.

Cameron got to work ...

And it wasn’t easy. Finding the part and having it sitting beside you is a whole different experience from getting the old one out and the new one installed.

But he stuck with it. He worked through the job, finished it correctly, and got the truck running again.

That engine starting had to be the best music he’d heard on the entire trip.

Five hours away, I was one proud uncle.

In the space of his first solo run, Cameron had handled a breakdown, put out his safety equipment, kept me informed, helped us figure out the problem, and then taken on the repair himself.

That’s a hell of a first day out!

Cameron, thank you for sticking with it and trusting yourself enough to take on something unfamiliar. I hope you give yourself credit for what you accomplished, because I sure as hell do.

And Erik, thank you for making the trip and getting him what he needed. Having someone willing to show up when things go sideways means more than I can say.

There’s a lot that goes into building this business, and I’m grateful to have people beside me who are willing to help figure things out.

I chose Cameron because I believed he had the qualities this job needed.

He gave me a whole lot more confidence in that decision.

We’re still working on making the orientation a little less dramatic.

If your first job is going to teach you something, why not wrap a few extra lessons into the same breakdown? Cameron signed up for driving lessons, and the truck enrolled him in the whole damn course.

Welcome to Gator Grind, Nephew!