Once while Ben and I were tooling around his parent's farm, we spied an old truck. It was a big two ton cab-over flatbed truck that was hiding in the tall weeds behind a farrowing barn. "What's the story on that old truck?" I asked. "Dad used it a long time ago to haul stuff" he replied. It was sitting there all by itself, kind of peacefully aging in what seemed to be its death bed. As curious teenage farm boys so often do, we decided to venture through the weeds and investigate.
As we climbed over the front wheel and plopped down in the dusty vinyl seats we could smell that unique "big truck smell". I won't say that it is a particularly pleasant smell though. You might could imagine the old farm truck. It would have certainly spent long days sitting beside dusty fields, occasionally getting rained in. Also, the dust, corn feed, and grit from years of use had formed a thin crust on the floorboard that crumbled under our feet. All of these things plus old potato chip sacks and coke bottles combined to have that distinctly pungent "big truck smell". Neither bad, nor good, it is just distinct. As our nostrils filled with that smell we gazed at all of those gauges, levers, and buttons. How invigorating it would be to be able to drive such a monster! Bear in mind, that we were probably not even fourteen yeas old at this time.
We admired the wagon wheel sized steering wheel and crooked gearshift while noticing how high up we were. You could see everything from up there! It was then that one of us noticed the key in the ignition. "Do you think it would start?" I asked. "I know one way to find out!" chuckled Ben. With no further discussion of the matter, Ben reached over hastily and turned the key. The next thing we knew, the big ugly beast roared to life as if it was thanking us for one last shot at glory. There was no pumping the accelerator, spinning the starter, or anything...just VROOM! We were dumbfounded as we looked at one another with our eyes bigger than half dollars. The old rascal was saying "Point me somewhere and lets GO!".
Seeing as it was Ben's tail on the line, and not mine, if someone were to be displeased about us hi-jacking the old spook, I hoped he was gonna try to drive it. I gave him all the encouragement he needed simply by being in the passenger seat. Ben was not a person in need of ANY encouragement about things like this. He is the very definition of "shoot first, ask questions later". I could really envision him shooting a case of ammo into the woods and then walking in to see if he hit anything. From watching his dad drive, he knew how everything worked so it was no more than half a second before the surge of granny gear slammed my head backwards. We were off!
For a few minutes we circled the farrowing barn, drove through the weeds, and over big bumps in awe of how high up we were. This big old truck would go anywhere you pointed it with those big tires! Ben and I both were avid ATV'ers, so it wasn't long before we were bored with this spot. Nearby was a drive that would take us deeper into their farm. It promised to lead to bigger and better ways for us to be manly truck drivers. Up to this point, granny gear was about as fast as we had gone. We would power up the little embankments around the barn and let the engine slow us down on the return.
Once we got to the main road, in typical "Ben Fashion", he floor-boarded the old monster, and then found another gear. It probably wasn't second gear either, because I remember it being much much faster than granny gear. The truck was doing us proud while celebrating its new found freedom. It throttled up and was humming along at about ten miles per hour when all of a sudden a clump of wires dangling from underneath the dash began to move...a lot. He motioned for me to look at it since the engine noise was too loud to talk over. As we were looking more under the dash than at the road, we noticed that it was a BIG SNAKE shaking those wires! At that instant, it thrust itself downward into the floor board and went crazy! I don't remember seeing Ben even try to stop before he flung his door open and jumped out! Well, I wasn't about to sit in a truck being driven by a chicken snake, so I jumped out too! Once I got off the ground from my little tumble, the rear of the truck was passing by, leaving nothing but thin air between Ben and I.
We couldn't really say anything other than some colorful words we wouldn't want our mothers to hear. We trotted behind the runaway beast in panic. Thankfully, it was only seconds before it edged into the ditch and died. No one was coming down the road, and no one got hurt. Whew! As soon as the adrenalin began to subside, we began to laugh hysterically. Then we began to ponder what the consequences for Ben would be when his dad got home. "We could get back in and park it back where it was" I said. Ben replied "If we get back in YOU ARE DRIVING!". Needless to say, I had no plans in my near future of re-entering that cab, so we just left it there. It was crooked, in a ditch, on the side of the road.
Soon, Ben's father returned home from work. After being informed of the day's events, his dad laughed in his usual subdued manner. Charles Wayne's little chuckle, Ben and I learned throughout our young years, had the unspoken words, "did you learn anything?" concealed inside. It turns out there were no consequences for our adventure, and his dad returned the beast to it's hiding place. Although there were many other joy rides, none had a chicken snake doing the driving. Memories like this remind me of how blessed I was, even before I realized, to grow up in the country with loving families and friends all around.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Staying on Task!
Did you ever hear of "Murphy's Law"? It is the old saying; "anything that can go wrong will go wrong". I generally scoff at such blankets of negativism spoken over an activity but I can't deny that I give Mr. Murphy a margin of respect. I usually try to minimize his presence by planning for the worst and hoping for the best. Recently, I discovered a clause that should be added to "Murphy's Law". It has to do with staying on task.
My in-laws were building a new home so I volunteered to mow their construction site with our newly acquired tractor. This grand old tractor was acquired to replace two smaller tractors and was to be the saving grace of our property. It turned out to not be so grand after all. I won't go into mechanical details, but suffice to say that this blue tractor was more "tired" than we originally thought. To be efficient, I planned for the mowing to take more time than I deemed necessary and fired up old Blue. Then I headed eight miles down the highway to be a good son-in-law.
Things went smoother than fresh butter running off of hot corn bread. I clipped along in high gear and arrived at their home-to-be in thirty minutes. It took a couple hours to mow the grassy lot, visit with "Papi", and head back for home. This was demonstrating to my wife that I was "the man with the plan". I was staying on task to boot! She had expressed doubts about me finishing early enough to work on our renovation project. She never actually "said" anything to express those doubts. It was more of a "look" on her face when I announced my plans for the day. A woman truly does have a special type of intuition.
My brother owns a nice deer hunting spot along the way and had recently mentioned mowing it. As I clattered toward home on the blue beast, I could see his deer property across the way. The road leading in was very grown up! I wouldn't want to drive my truck through all those weeds! So I made a sharp turn into the easement intending to mow one swipe going in and one swipe coming out. This would create a ten foot wide "driving" path. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, if even that! From this point forward, it would be safe to say that I was officially OFF TASK and might as well have invited Murphy to come ride the tractor with me.
Eagerly, I shut off the engine on Blue so I could engage the PTO and start it up again. If you are not familiar with tractors, you should NOT have to kill the engine to engage the PTO...Blue will sound off a gear grinding symphony if you don't take this extra step. Despite this inconvenience, Blue roared right back to life with the bush hog singing. I started mowing in "granny gear" just to be safe. Slowly I mowed along the easement leaving a clean path behind the tractor. About fifty feet into my off task endeavor, Murphy arrived. There was a deep wash-out hiding in the weeds! Before I saw it, my front wheels fell into the wash-out, hitting so hard it rattled my teeth! My feet flailed off the foot boards as the tractor's front end hit bottom and bounced up and down. Before I could stop the madness, the rear tires caught traction mashing the front wheels into the soft dirt on the other side. This caused the steering wheel to spin like a tazmanian devil in my hands. In just a couple of seconds, I saw Jesus, got beat half to death, and had my achy back re-adjusted! I eventually pressed the clutch and got the fiasco under control. Then I eased backwards out of the mess and it seemed that the only thing damaged was my nerves...
I could hear my inner voice pleading that it would be best to quit now and drive home while I was ahead. After all, my brother planned to mow it himself but who really listens to that silly inner voice anyway? In true manly-man fashion dodged the wash-out, and mowed all the way down and back again. Voila! It seemed I had just given Mr. Murphy a bloody nose...then I tried to make the right hand turn to get back on the highway. Blue "veered" in that direction, but he sure wasn't "turning"! Well Dang! Dumbfounded, I dismounted and walked around to assess the problem, The "steering arm" is a long (straight) steel rod connecting the steering gear box to the front axles enabling you to turn right and left. I had bent it into a "C" shape like a archers bow! I now had a friggin' tractor that would turn left, but only "merge" right!
This story ought to end here with me phoning in some help and repairing the tractor on the spot. It doesn't. There is an unspoken "code" among "good ole country boys" like me that connects pride to ego like an umbilical cord. This "code" is the idea that getting something that you broke home without help is the true mark of an intelligent man. As long as I was driving down the road, veering is all I really needed to do anyway! I joyously wobbled toward home in high gear and ALMOST made it there before Blue's engine began to sputter. Noticing that I was going to be stranded, I veered into the ditch to avoid blocking traffic. A few minutes and a phone call ascertained that the jarring impact from my little episode had dislodged some trash in the fuel tank. This trash had sucked into the the fuel line, clogging it! In a few aggravated minutes, I jerked the rubber fuel line off and blew into it with my mouth to unclog the line. There's nothing quite like the taste of good old diesel fuel in the mouth....Yummy.
It worked! In a moment I was hitting the starter button! In case you haven't run a diesel engine out of fuel.....don't. The entire fuel system usually needs to be bled out in order for it to start up again. A passing neighbor saw me grinding on the starter and took pity on me. He was carrying a can of ether! Ether is a highly flammable gas that many people consider unsafe for use around engines. It has been known to cause air cleaners to explode! Angry enough to be totally care-free by this time, I told John to spray it into the breather until Blue started or we both fainted from the fumes. Eureka! Now I would finally get home. Thank you Jesus! This tale really ought to end here, but sadly, it doesn't. Murphy wanted to help me repair the tractor!
Early the the next morning I took my three year old son "Case" outside with me to witness the repair. To a redneck the word "repair" is a relative term. Repairing the steering arm for us was going to involve a sledge hammer and a tree stump. After removing it I laid the steering arm on the stump and knelt beside it. Then I began to pound it. Picture the game at the circus where you try to ring the bell by using the big hammer to hit a pad. This beating with the hammer made me feel all hairy chested like I was getting back at someone. Suddenly, I felt a fire ant bite me on the arm but when I looked down to brush it off....I saw four million MORE ants on me from by boots to my shirt collar! The stump I was using for an anvil was their home! Case, ironically named after high quality, American tractors, really enjoyed my skat dance. He giggled as he watched me running, swatting, wiggling, and shedding clothes while singing a medley of garbled words!
Eventually Blue got repaired and this is where the story ends. My son, who is named after a good tractor, witnessed cheap entertainment while watching me fix a Romanian hunk of steel. Murphy's Law is like a snowball rolling down a hill. It has a way of starting small and getting larger as it continues. Getting off task must be one of Murphy's favorite triggers....as I have discovered on numerous occasions. Stay on task! Plan for a few hiccups and Murphy will watch you from the shadows. Get off task or ignore a woman's intuition and prepare to get snowballed!
My in-laws were building a new home so I volunteered to mow their construction site with our newly acquired tractor. This grand old tractor was acquired to replace two smaller tractors and was to be the saving grace of our property. It turned out to not be so grand after all. I won't go into mechanical details, but suffice to say that this blue tractor was more "tired" than we originally thought. To be efficient, I planned for the mowing to take more time than I deemed necessary and fired up old Blue. Then I headed eight miles down the highway to be a good son-in-law.
Things went smoother than fresh butter running off of hot corn bread. I clipped along in high gear and arrived at their home-to-be in thirty minutes. It took a couple hours to mow the grassy lot, visit with "Papi", and head back for home. This was demonstrating to my wife that I was "the man with the plan". I was staying on task to boot! She had expressed doubts about me finishing early enough to work on our renovation project. She never actually "said" anything to express those doubts. It was more of a "look" on her face when I announced my plans for the day. A woman truly does have a special type of intuition.
My brother owns a nice deer hunting spot along the way and had recently mentioned mowing it. As I clattered toward home on the blue beast, I could see his deer property across the way. The road leading in was very grown up! I wouldn't want to drive my truck through all those weeds! So I made a sharp turn into the easement intending to mow one swipe going in and one swipe coming out. This would create a ten foot wide "driving" path. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, if even that! From this point forward, it would be safe to say that I was officially OFF TASK and might as well have invited Murphy to come ride the tractor with me.
Eagerly, I shut off the engine on Blue so I could engage the PTO and start it up again. If you are not familiar with tractors, you should NOT have to kill the engine to engage the PTO...Blue will sound off a gear grinding symphony if you don't take this extra step. Despite this inconvenience, Blue roared right back to life with the bush hog singing. I started mowing in "granny gear" just to be safe. Slowly I mowed along the easement leaving a clean path behind the tractor. About fifty feet into my off task endeavor, Murphy arrived. There was a deep wash-out hiding in the weeds! Before I saw it, my front wheels fell into the wash-out, hitting so hard it rattled my teeth! My feet flailed off the foot boards as the tractor's front end hit bottom and bounced up and down. Before I could stop the madness, the rear tires caught traction mashing the front wheels into the soft dirt on the other side. This caused the steering wheel to spin like a tazmanian devil in my hands. In just a couple of seconds, I saw Jesus, got beat half to death, and had my achy back re-adjusted! I eventually pressed the clutch and got the fiasco under control. Then I eased backwards out of the mess and it seemed that the only thing damaged was my nerves...
I could hear my inner voice pleading that it would be best to quit now and drive home while I was ahead. After all, my brother planned to mow it himself but who really listens to that silly inner voice anyway? In true manly-man fashion dodged the wash-out, and mowed all the way down and back again. Voila! It seemed I had just given Mr. Murphy a bloody nose...then I tried to make the right hand turn to get back on the highway. Blue "veered" in that direction, but he sure wasn't "turning"! Well Dang! Dumbfounded, I dismounted and walked around to assess the problem, The "steering arm" is a long (straight) steel rod connecting the steering gear box to the front axles enabling you to turn right and left. I had bent it into a "C" shape like a archers bow! I now had a friggin' tractor that would turn left, but only "merge" right!
This story ought to end here with me phoning in some help and repairing the tractor on the spot. It doesn't. There is an unspoken "code" among "good ole country boys" like me that connects pride to ego like an umbilical cord. This "code" is the idea that getting something that you broke home without help is the true mark of an intelligent man. As long as I was driving down the road, veering is all I really needed to do anyway! I joyously wobbled toward home in high gear and ALMOST made it there before Blue's engine began to sputter. Noticing that I was going to be stranded, I veered into the ditch to avoid blocking traffic. A few minutes and a phone call ascertained that the jarring impact from my little episode had dislodged some trash in the fuel tank. This trash had sucked into the the fuel line, clogging it! In a few aggravated minutes, I jerked the rubber fuel line off and blew into it with my mouth to unclog the line. There's nothing quite like the taste of good old diesel fuel in the mouth....Yummy.
It worked! In a moment I was hitting the starter button! In case you haven't run a diesel engine out of fuel.....don't. The entire fuel system usually needs to be bled out in order for it to start up again. A passing neighbor saw me grinding on the starter and took pity on me. He was carrying a can of ether! Ether is a highly flammable gas that many people consider unsafe for use around engines. It has been known to cause air cleaners to explode! Angry enough to be totally care-free by this time, I told John to spray it into the breather until Blue started or we both fainted from the fumes. Eureka! Now I would finally get home. Thank you Jesus! This tale really ought to end here, but sadly, it doesn't. Murphy wanted to help me repair the tractor!
Early the the next morning I took my three year old son "Case" outside with me to witness the repair. To a redneck the word "repair" is a relative term. Repairing the steering arm for us was going to involve a sledge hammer and a tree stump. After removing it I laid the steering arm on the stump and knelt beside it. Then I began to pound it. Picture the game at the circus where you try to ring the bell by using the big hammer to hit a pad. This beating with the hammer made me feel all hairy chested like I was getting back at someone. Suddenly, I felt a fire ant bite me on the arm but when I looked down to brush it off....I saw four million MORE ants on me from by boots to my shirt collar! The stump I was using for an anvil was their home! Case, ironically named after high quality, American tractors, really enjoyed my skat dance. He giggled as he watched me running, swatting, wiggling, and shedding clothes while singing a medley of garbled words!
Eventually Blue got repaired and this is where the story ends. My son, who is named after a good tractor, witnessed cheap entertainment while watching me fix a Romanian hunk of steel. Murphy's Law is like a snowball rolling down a hill. It has a way of starting small and getting larger as it continues. Getting off task must be one of Murphy's favorite triggers....as I have discovered on numerous occasions. Stay on task! Plan for a few hiccups and Murphy will watch you from the shadows. Get off task or ignore a woman's intuition and prepare to get snowballed!
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