I got a science lesson a couple of days ago. We use a 300 gallon tank to haul water in the back of our truck. We buy it from a bulk fill station because our house is so far out of town and up the hill that a well might have cost a fourth as much as building the house itself. So I bought this used truck and have been dumping money into gas and repairs instead of well payments.

The lesson:
It was twenty below zero, and I was headed home with a load of water. I began to pull forward from a stop sign, but then I stomped on the brake because a car coming from my right was moving a little faster than I thought. The driver then signaled to turn, so I gunned my engine to make the turn and move out of the way. I heard a loud bang - the sound of the tailgate dropping. “Oh, crap!” (or words to that effect) I thought. I looked over my shoulder to see the full 300 gallon tank dropping off the back end of the truck bed. I was in the middle of the intersection, so I made the turn and pulled off on the right side of the road. This was one of those moments when you instantly realize that you are in the soup and your options for getting out gracefully are limited at best.

I knew that there was no moving the tank until it was empty, so I figured I’d have to stand there draining it in the middle of the road until it was light enough to move. That turned out to be not so much of a problem because the side of the tank was shattered and water was pouring out of it. The drain valve had also been ripped off. So it was draining from two places. I picked up the valve and tossed it into the pickup. Then I went over to babysit the tank and direct traffic.

The road was a skating rink all around the tank. People were slowing down. But nobody seemed interested in stopping. I waved a few people by before a cab driver rolled down his window to ask if I needed a hand moving the tank off the road. I told him that it would be no problem in a minute because it was getting lighter in a hurry. The cabbie and his passenger came over to join me. I grabbed the tank to begin sliding it, and realized it had frozen to the road! Good thing I had help now. We managed to break it loose with a couple of shoves and slid it over to where I was parked. One, two, three, and up it went back into the truck. I threw the busted up gate into the truck with the tank and the valve and cobbled together what was left of the broken strap that was supposed to have held it in the first place.

The theory:
On the way home I figured out what happened. When I stopped for the car the tank slid forward a bit. When I gunned the engine to move out of the way of the approaching car there was enough slack in the strap to allow the tank to slide back against it hard enough to break the nylon webbing. The tailgate is a piece of shit that is not designed to withstand the force of two thousand pounds accellerating from zero to twenty mph in 3 seconds. (I fixed the tailgate by taking it into my basement and jumping on it. It straightened right out, and works almost as good as before.) Newton was absolutely right. An object at rest tends to stay at rest. Because of the ice that collects in the bed of the truck from water spilling there all winter, I simply drove right out from under the tank.

Thank God there was nobody right behind me. Total cost of this lesson: about 570 bucks for the new tank and another strap. And now I wonder what would happen if I got into an accident that sent the whole thing sliding into the cab. I hope I never have to find out.