Tractor

I hate our tractor. It’s a 20-year-old pile of doggy doo with more problems than my brother Marcus. For instance, a typical day trying to use the tractor would go something like this:

We go out to try and use the tractor, whom I’ll refer too as Bertha, at a bright, sunny 8:00am. Three hours later we’re done looking for the key, which my little sister Leya (aka Coney) mysteriously got a hold of, out of the locked safe which we had the dog bury the combination and the key to in the back yard.

After the key is safely in our possession (they had to call in the Big Brother SWAT team), we go to Bertha to try and get her started. I sit down in the chair, put the throttle in the middle, pull the choke out, push in the clutch, put the key in the ignition and turn it to the right to start it. Then follows 15 seconds of chugging and wheezing, a brief start and my Dad cussing from somewhere under a cloud of smoke about how we (I) forgot to make sure there was gas in it.

We then have to lug the 5-gallon gas can over to Bertha, attempt to gas in the tank, spilling a crap load everywhere because there’s never a funnel around when you need one and my brother deciding it would be a good idea to check how much gas is in the tank with his lighter*, almost turning us into The Hindenburg: Part Two. Also, is it bad when the oil in a riding lawnmower looks like tar? Yeah, I thought so too, namely when Dad looked like he was gonna seize up and have a stroke right there. I tried to explain to him that changing the oil every 5 months on a regular use lawnmower isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, as apposed to, say, every 6 months, though I don’t think he was buying it, partially because the oil had the look and texture of already chewed bubblegum, but mostly because of the steam issuing from around the band of his size eight cowboy hat.

Any time we want or need to use the tractor we have to try and get her started a good week in advanced, so we have time to get gas, change the oil, find the key, tighten the bolts, make minor repairs, replace the main belt and do the tractor dance(anything to get it started).

Then there’s the gas problem. She gobbles up gas faster than my friend Ron horks down potato chips while watching football. The tank itself is about 2 ½ gallons, and if you fill it up to the tippy-top, you might be able to go for, ohh, six minutes or so without having to gas up again. If they gave tractors an MPG rating, they would measure Bertha in the 1/32’s of a mile.

Which leads us to speed. If you drive downhill (with a tailwind), throw Bertha in 4th gear, put the throttle and the speed lever all the way up and bend down to make yourself more aerodynamic, you’ll be able to go slightly faster than walking speed. I tell ya, for being a smaller tractor, she must way about 5 tons. Maybe she needs to go on a diet. Or she’s pregnant. (Just what we need! A little ½ -HP push mower running around!)

One last piece of advice: If you’re gonna get a riding lawnmower, try and avoid the ones from the 18th century.



*Lighters are standard issue for us working rednecks, along with a spit cup and a Colt .45