My great uncle Len was negligent in maintaining his vehicles. He had a 1958 Plymouth with the biggest engine available and the push button transmission. The performance had suffered to the point he would floorboard the gas then hit drive. My father was the opposite. Appearance didn’t matter to him. I don’t remember him ever washing any vehicle. Under the hood a NASCAR team would have a hard time improving the performance.
One day Uncle Len left the Plymouth in our yard while one of his nephews took him on a three day trip. My father, who couldn’t resist a strange vehicle, drove it to town. Appalled by the car’s condition, he stopped at the auto parts store for new points, plugs, plug wires, oil and filters, etc. After a long afternoon, the Plymouth was freshly tuned and serviced. By good fortune he left it parked facing out our lane.
The lane was a straight half mile of a narrow two rut gravel road. It crossed a railroad track, an irrigation ditch, and a large canal before joining the paved state highway.
Uncle Len returned to pick up his car. After starting it, he floored it and punched drive. We watched as he fishtailed up the lane, sawing the steering wheel back and forth, until he got it slowed down. Pulling onto the paved highway he spun the tires and got the Plymouth sideways.
About two hours later he returned. My father was trying hard to keep a straight face. Finally Uncle Len said, “Damn it Bob, when you shoe a man’s horse, you might at least warn him.”
My father was a great horse farrier. That picture is circa 1956. Not me holding the horse; I never had that nice a hat.
1 comment:
Hehehe... that HAD to be hilarious, and the comeback was funny too!
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