The continuation of Short Haul: Susan and Tango’s First Trailering Adventure. I’ll be honest here. I have lost interest in blogging about our first outing because it was soooo three weeks ago. Since that time Mr. T. has sashayed into his new trailer at least four times and been happy to do it. So to blog about his pig-like stubbornness the first time seems a little unfair.
But to continue our adventure…
Once we finally got Mr. T. into the trailer (after a pitched battle best left to the imagination) I drove to our destination, located approximately fifteen minutes away. After approximately an hour and a half, we arrived. We pulled in and let the traffic, which was backed up almost to Parksville, go by. I’m sure everyone understood why I felt I needed to drive 4 km per hour. Precious cargo in the back! Those fingers raised at me (not index fingers, incidentally) were just drivers who had to scratch a spot between their eyes.
We had a lovely ride at Michael Lake barn, after which we wrestled Tango back into the trailer. We got home (a trip that only took an hour and fifteen minutes this time, due to my desperate desire to get away from the trailer), unloaded the horses. Then it was time to back up.
For those of you who haven’t backed up a trailer, imagine trying to use a school bus to corral a herd of mink. While driving backwards. It feels totally unworkable. The truck goes one way, the #%$* trailer goes the other. People shout out directions, none of which make any sense at all: “Turn!” “Go straight!” “Left!” “Right!” “Sharper!” Slower!” If you’re lucky. If you aren’t lucky, you have to use your mirrors. To get a sense of how this feels, put on someone else’s prescription glasses, drink a bottle of Scotch, and tie one hand behind your back and then attempt to knit a sweater.
After about twenty minutes, my politeness safety guage was beginning to fail. I had three people trying to help me but I was beyond help. The trailer was going whatever way it wanted. I was spinning the steering wheel around like it was Linda Blair’s head in the Exorcist. My particular specialty seemed to be jacknifing a trailer to the left no matter which way I turned.
At the slightest suggestion I began shouting: “STOP! DON’T TELL ME WHAT WAY TO TURN! I CAN’T DO THIS! YOU AREN’T HELPING!” But faced with my total ineptitude and the increasing likelihood that I was going to have a serious accident while proceeding at relentlessly erratic 2 km per hour, my helpers couldn’t stop offering advice.
“If you just…”
“NOOOOOOO! DON’T HELP! MY HEAD IS EXPLODING! I’M GOING TO DO A THELMA AND LOUISE IF THIS FRACKING TRAILER DOESN’T TURN THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO RIGHT NOW!”
After an hour of this, me shrieking in frustration the whole time, I’d made it about half way to our destination, which was about thirty feet away. Slumped over the steering wheel, I admitted defeat. I handed the keys to Robyn and asked her to please park the trailer.
She did. It took about ten seconds. She didn’t shout at anyone.
I left the barn as frustrated as I’ve ever been. The remorse arrived about half an hour later, so I spent the next morning assembling gifts for everyone I insulted and yelled at when they tried to help me back up the trailer.
Since then, we have “practice loaded” the horses several times and they’ve been stars. We’ve taken turns backing up the trailer and I haven’t yelled at anyone. That’s the great thing about the first trip being such a washout. There’s vast room for improvement.