What started out as a stormy day (5″ of rain in 90 minutes!) has turned quite beautiful, if a little warmer than I’d prefer. I took the back way home, so that I could look at all the baby cowlets. Oh. My. Gawd. but the wee babies are some serious kind of cute. I nearly went off the road while driving past the cute little farm on Woodyard. They have bitty newborns that are so cute it hurts.
And, it must have been the day for moving hay. I passed two farmers hauling flatbeds piled high with round bales. I assume they’re rotating stock, as it’ll soon be time for the first cutting. Out with the old, in with the new.
The point, though, is that I had an ancient gold pick-up truck behind me. It reminded me of the truck we had when I was a kid. Oh my. For a long time, it was the only “running” vehicle we had. And, I use that term euphemistically. The steering column was literally (and I use that term literally) held together with baling wire. The gear shift was a flat-head screw driver. The best part, though, was that it would not stay in low gear without help. Whenever we needed to go uphill, my step-dad would have to get out of the truck, climb underneath it, and use a set of vice grips to clamp it in low gear. Now that is what I’d call manual transmission. At the top of the hill, the little ritual was repeated in reverse. Très amusant, non? I haven’t gotten to the good part, though. Those of you who are familiar with southern Indiana will see why this is especially problematic. For those who are not, have you seen Breaking Away? We have a few hills down here. Actually, our hills have a few hills. And those hills are on top of yet more hills. Basically, this is not the place for a vehicle with a b0rkened transmission. The mind wobbles.
However, the icing on the cake was that my step-dad was an auto mechanic. No, really. Can you believe that? I won’t bore you with tales of the VW Beetle that had no reverse gear. Or the VW Squareback that had a broken driver’s seat and no alternator. And then there was the VW Microbus that, like all VWs, had no heat. Instead, it had a kerosene space heater. Talk about a death wagon on wheels!
It is for to weep.
Anyway, this might explain why I have such deep and abiding love for my little Tracker. Unless you’ve grown up with junkyard rejects, you have no idea how nice it is to be able to decide, at 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon, to just drop everything and go on a road trip.
red paper boat 