Tell us more Lefty. What exactly did you wax on her? Lol
Oh, alright… Uncle Lefty will tell you a bedtime story – but just a short one. Uncle Lefty is very tired; he worked hard all day at the sawmill.
Somebody’s got to split the firewood.
This story concerns old Mr. Frothingslosh, heir to the dwindling family fortune amassed by his great, great, great grandfather’s post-Revolutionary brewery, and their somewhat questionable signature product
Olde Frothingslosh – “the pale stale ale with the foam on the bottom”.
One crisp, cold sunny morning, Mr. Frothingslosh turned the key and hit the starter button on his vintage ‘50s Power Wagon, and the 230 c.i. 6-cylinder engine came to life. He was driving to the power equipment repair shop to pick up his freshened TroyBilt rototiller. Once at the shop, he opened the tailgate, affixed his strong, arched ramps in place with safety cables, and – after taking care of business and taking possession of the machine – he started the tiller’s engine and slowly and carefully drove it up into the pickup bed in low range. He turned it off and secured it, and, acknowledging the proprietor’s friendly goodbye wave, he drove off.
He had one quick stop to make at the Amish grocery store, where he bought some whole milk, a dozen jumbo eggs and some long-out-of-date frozen scrapple. A few departing customers marveled at the large dark green vehicle with black fenders in the parking lot, and how small and inoffensive that little red machine looked in comparison, tucked up into the corner all my itself. The gentleman reining one buggy wondered how anything so small (and bright red!) could actually be called ‘a horse’.
Upon reaching his point of origin, Mr. Frothingslosh made preparations to de-truck the diminutive steed. It was un-tethered, the engine was fired, and he maneuvered it backwards to the tailgate, a little bit at a time, using the directional lever to actuate reverse, (which moves the entire engine down for the flywheel to make contact with the reversing disc). He planned on backing the creature down the ramps slowly, something he had done many times before, after first determining that it was nearly impossible to hang onto the handlebars and control it when going frontwards. The rear tines need to clear the ramps, and not catch on them.
Mr. F paused briefly with the two ag tread tires perched at the top of the tandem ramps. He looked behind him, took his bearings, and was ready to proceed with the unloading. Just as he reached up to lift the directional lever and begin a safe, slow, controlled retreat, in the blink of an eye, he found the machine, engine still idling, freewheeling downwards toward him like the water of the Johnstown flood. In that half an instant, he prayed for help, thought about baling out, saw that that would be definitely injurious to both man and machine, held onto the bars and, out of sheer desperation, did some extremely fast and fancy footwork down and backwards. Gravity having done its job, the tines dug into the earth and stopped the unit on a dime at the bottom of the ramps. This all took about 1.5 seconds. The 8HP horse from the Kohler stables continued to purr like a satisfied kitty, uncaring and apparently unaware of its adventure.
Good Mr. F gave 3 sighs of relief, and as many thanks to whatever guardian angel had helped him dance backwards like a bewitched Irishman forced to wear the green shoes – and come away a little sore but otherwise unscathed. He could still see those tines coming at him with ever increasing speed, and was glad that they ultimately impacted terra firma and not flesh and bone. He also hoped no one had been witness to the event, but of course good Mrs. F was viewing the entire scene from the east kitchen window.
Possibly due to the extracurricular activities of the day, it was decided to retire to bedchambers a bit early that evening, whereupon the couple took turns rubbing the family product on each other, now marketed as
Olde Frothy Horse Liniment, after which they fell into a blissful sleep and your proverbial long Winter’s nap.
THE MORAL of the story:
NEVER BE FOOLED! These TroyBilt tillers can and will, on occasion, pop out of gear into neutral. Always check that the lever is firmly seated in the DOWN position for low range/slow wheel speed, or the UP position for high range/fast wheel speed before attempting to load/unload, or when working on a significant grade. This horse can run you down and bite you.
THE MORON of this story was – or could have been – yours truly [Uncle] Lefty.
THE MORALS of this story were studied, and were initially in question before the Governmental Sub-Committee to Make Things Nicer agreed on a rating of PG.
And they lived happily ever after…
Now go to sleep, you little ba****ds!
