I grew up driving tractors and old pick up trucks on various farms (my grandparents’ farm, my uncle’s farm, my parents’ farm). My earliest memory of driving is in a hay meadow. I must have only been about five or six years old. I was a scrawny kid and could not have weighed more that thirty-five or forty pounds at the time. My grandfather had an old ’49 or ’50 model pick up. The hay had been baled into square bales that probably weighed about fifty pounds each.
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So off I went at about five miles an hour. “STOP”. I put my foot on the clutch and mashed down as hard as I could. The truck showed no sign of stopping so I put the other foot on the clutch as well, stomping with all my might. Surely that bale of hay in front of me would stop this thing. No, it ran over the bale of hay. By that time my father or grandfather caught up with the run away auto and jumped in to save the day, not to mention all the rest of those hay bales.
If I could add a sound track to this post, it would be something from from one of those great Austin bands Haybale or Stop the Truck.
Photo of bales from:
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