Fool Me Once...

I like old stuff.

I’ve always liked to work on old cars and fix things up. I’m not deterred by the prospect of doing some work on something if I know I will end up with something that lasts me years. My mother has said that she and I are just too dumb to know when we are in over our heads. I have set out on many a road trip in a vehicle that is much older than I and had no issues at all (except for that engine I blew in my VW bus). Giving up some of the creature comforts we take for granted makes things fun for me as long as the third degree burns I get from the vinyl seat doesn’t leave a scar. It’s all fun and games until someone has a thigh that permanently looks like a waffle.  Not pretty.

The majority of the cars around here (at least the four extras) are from the 60’s and 70’s, the tractors are from the 40’s and 50’s and the grain truck is from 1958. Those are years when they built stuff to last out of metal that was substantial. I love it. It also makes me sound like a grandpa. Or stingy.

When we got ready to move I knew just what tractor would be the first one (notice I said first). We needed something big to take care of the large jobs on the farm - a Farmall M. At the time that they were built they were the largest tractors made and worked millions of acres in this part of the country alone. Finding one around here is a bit of a challenge. Those that are still left and still running well are usually working on farms each day. It would be a challenge.

After lots of looking I found one about an hour southwest of the city we lived in. It looked good, had new tires, ran well, and had a front loader that went with it. It would be our “go-to” loader tractor. It seemed perfect except for the distance. By my closest estimate I figured that it was about an hour and 45 minutes (by car) due east of the new farm. The catch is that “road gear” on a tractor is about 16.473 MPH. Calling it road gears is really a misnomer. It should be called “slightly faster gear that will still make you want to slit your wrists”. I decided that the best thing to do would be to hook it to the pickup with a chain and pull it. We could go just a little bit faster, which just might add up in the long run. I was willing to do anything to reduce the sunburn I was going to get. Not to worry on that one.

I might just offer up at this point that Other did not grow up in the country doing things such as pulling tractors around. Other had never even been on a tractor. The only thing working in my favor at this point was ignorance of the task at hand. This was going to be fun.  I had a feeling I would get one shot at this.

Fast forward to the middle of May when we got the tractor. Other was NOT happy about pulling me with the pickup. I explained that we wouldn’t go fast and that I would do all of the braking for us, so there wasn’t any danger of the tractor hitting the pickup. The country roads that we were slated to travel were not too busy. It all seemed doable. It also seemed how the captain of the Hindenburg probably explained his landing plan to the copilot.

The whole trip to get it Other griped about this process - being nervous and all. The idea was to drive it through the town where it was and then hook it to the pickup once we were in the country again. It seemed like the best way to control it and I DID NOT want people thinking this fine piece of 60 year old iron didn’t run. So, that’s what we did. I don’t want to bore your with the details, but the trip took FIVE HOURS!!! It was freezing cold and misting. I had myself bundled in everything I could find in the pickup to keep warm - I had a towel wrapped around my head and two coats zipped around me.. By the end of the trip I was so delirious that I was talking to the animals in the pasture beside the road. It was that much fun. I am pretty sure that anyone who saw us immediately knew we were freaks. The only thing that saved us was that I did not write the address of the new house on a sign and wear it around my neck.

I had certainly not anticipated the earful I would get at the end of this five hours. You would have thought Other had to pull the tractor by hand. The click of the flashers had been mind numbing. The passing vehicles had been nerve wracking. The hills had been too much to handle emotionally. I knew that just the sight of this tractor in the shed might cause Vietnam-style flashbacks. Oh, the drama.

Here is the tractor at the end of the trip. She looks happy, no? Ivana has provided us with many hours of service and never sputtered once (did I mention all of the old machinery gets named?). She likes her new home. Other staunchly refuses to drive her. In fact, I think I have seen a shiver at the sight of her. Maybe it is just the rush of warm memories.

Long story short, I found the grain truck I wanted an hour north of here. It needed a head gasket and would have to be towed home. Other made it known that I would need to find someone else to help. Apparently the ignorance the first time we did this no longer existed. I tried everything. “We can pull it much faster - it’s a truck!” Didn’t work. “It isn’t that far this time - it won’t take but a couple of hours.” Didn’t work. “Don’t you want to show that you are capable of something like this?” Didn’t work. “All of the couples are doing it these days.” Nope.

Soooo, I had to call my brother. He was happy (I think) to drive on up and help out. He’s kind of like me - the lure of crawling all over some greasy old piece of machinery outweighs the torture. He and I also share this insanely nostalgic view of the past so if it resembles something dumb we would have done 25 years ago he’s ready to try it again. If given the chance to own all of the machinery we used growing up he would sell one or all of his children. Sadly, that stuff was old back when we used it, so I am going to need something more valuable than his children to swap.

Sure enough, it took two hours to get her home. After a week overhauling it she runs like a champ. I’m not saying there is much left of the muffler, but announcing one’s arrival is a good thing, right? She doesn’t look like much, but there isn’t a single dent in it, and I am only the third owner. She’s got such history. A coat of paint, and she’ll be the envy of the county. I’m sure it’s already the talk of the county anyway.