A pro's simple formula for safe driving

Bruce McAllister has driven his United Parcel Service truck up the long gravel driveway and left the package at the door. Now he's in a fix.

Ahead is a steep grade leading to a flat area where he can turn around. But the worn tread on his front tires is no match for the ice and snow, and the dual rear wheels are slipping as well. Each time he tries to move forward, the truck makes minimal progress, then slides backward.

Backing up is no easy option, either. No more than a yard behind his rear bumper is a gleaming SUV.

"This makes things interesting," McAllister understates.

Alternately scrutinizing his side-view mirrors and the picture from the rear-vision camera in the monitor over the dash, he gingerly backs up, then pulls the wheel hard to the left, then inches forward as far as he can into the snow bank. He repeats the maneuver several times until he creates enough room to ease the truck backward past the SUV.

"Wish I could say this doesn't happen often," McAllister says, "but I deal with this kind of thing every day."

For 25 years, McAllister, 60, who lives in Downingtown and works out of the UPS distribution facility in West Chester, has negotiated such challenges without a single accident. He was among 38 other drivers from Pennsylvania whom UPS recognized last year for their safety record.

McAllister, who has driven a UPS "package car" (a delivery truck to you and me) for 35 years, is modest about his success. "There have been plenty of near-misses," he confesses. His surefire formula: (1) Don't hit anything; (2) Repeat for 25 years.

As customers on his route can attest, McAllister has a sense of humor and a ready laugh. His visits are relished by humans because of his consistently jolly disposition, and by canines because he liberally dispenses treats.

But his bluff and blithe demeanor is misleading; McAllister is serious about safety.

During his first 10 years driving for UPS, McAllister, who majored in English at Gettysburg College, had his share of accidents, including several "backing incidents."

"Many young drivers think their reflexes will save them, but a lot depends on seat time," he says. "It took a while to get my act together."

Good luck has been a factor, he concedes. Accidents sometimes happen through no fault of your own. Nevertheless, McAllister thinks drivers can enhance their odds.

The other day, McAllister guided the Freightliner diesel onto Route 202 and headed to his territory, a rural swath of southwestern Chester County. On average, McAllister covers about 150 miles a day, making about 90 deliveries and a dozen pickups.

"The goal is to keep a space cushion around the car at all times," McAllister says as he slows to a stop at a traffic light.

When moving, he tries to maintain a stopping distance of four to six seconds when he is traveling at a speed of less than 30 m.p.h., and six to eight seconds when he is moving faster.

As McAllister pilots his vehicle on Route 1, heading for Oxford, in the heart of his territory, his eyes are fixed on a point about eight to 12 seconds ahead. Still, he can't control the maniacs and idiots. A speeding driver in a compact car swerves in front of him, leaving no room for braking, before picking off more cars in a game of highway slalom.

At intersections, McAllister surveys his surroundings continually, looking in every direction.

"If I can see it, I shouldn't hit it," McAllister says. UPS drivers are encouraged to move their eyes 45 times a minute. "We are methodical. Trust me."

McAllister also employs hearing, tapping his horn often to attract attention and make eye contact. He beeps it whenever he backs up (UPS discourages backing, the most frequent cause of accidents). He beeps it to warn a man shoveling snow in the road. He beeps it to alert Amish schoolchildren toting sleds. At an elementary school, he scans the steering wheels of parked cars, looking for drivers, and he beeps his horn as he swings by mounds of snow that block sight lines.

"When there's doubt, there is no doubt," he says, expressing a favorite maxim.

His territory includes several one-lane bridges and many narrow country roads, with blind rises and curves. Approaching one such curve, on a road constricted even further by high snow banks, he slows to a near stop, pulls as far to the right as possible, and sounds his horn. Wise precaution. In the next instant, a hefty grain truck barrels around the corner, missing McAllister's truck by inches.

McAllister shoots a "see what I mean?" look.

From his elevated perch, McAllister, who is married and the father of two grown children, is appalled by what he sees - people driving while chatting on cell phones, texting, eating, applying makeup, fiddling with radios or CD players, typing on laptops propped against the steering wheel.

"Distractions are the big culprit," McAllister says, "and it's definitely gotten worse."

He is constantly amazed by "the blatant violations of traffic laws as well as the laws of physics and common sense."

"Most people drive exactly the opposite of the way they should," he says, "because people think driving is boring. If you're doing it right - actually driving instead of just steering - you're involved, you're busy all the time."

He pats the emblem on his brown jacket signifying 25 years of accident-free driving.

"This is no badge of immunity. Every day brings new risks and challenges, so every day I have to keep doing what I've been doing for the last 25 years."