Stuck again
Lessee, 4:15. I got time to mow the paths and the front-yard.
The paths seem dry enough. I’ll just avoid the wet.
I arrowed my giant zero-turn mower around the back of my house, fixin’ to mow the paths on the north side.
Down a path I went. It looked muddy ahead. I turned around.
I attacked another path.
Easy as pie!
Uh-oh, wetness ahead. I turned around again.
I attacked a third path. It didn’t need it, but I kept going. No puddles ahead, but a muddy spot.
The mower got stuck again.
I got off and tried to re-angle it.
It stayed stuck.
I called Brenda Tripp, who pushed me out last time.
“Are you stuck again?” she cried. “I’m home, but I’ll call my brother and see if he can help.”
She called back right away. “My brother is in Honeoye Falls, and is coming home. He’ll stop at your house in about 15 minutes.”
My sneakers were slathered with mud. I figured I’d collect trash for the next day in those 15 minutes, but I dared not go in the house with those sneakers.
I was putting the sneakers back on as Brenda’s brother pulled in.
I don’t even know his name.
“The only way out of here is to back up the path,” I said. “There’s no place to turn around. It’s all wet.”
I got on, started, and her brother pushed the front. In fact, big strapping dude that he is, he lifted the front. That thing weighs at least 700 pounds.
On to the relatively dry.
I backed up the narrow path, which is hard to do. I slammed adjacent trees, and almost got stuck again.
“I’m puttin’ this thing away,” I shouted, as I backed into the clear.
“Any time,” her brother said, as he got in his truck.
“Thanks,” I said. I should have asked his name.
I put the mower away, but realized I could still mow the front yard.
No wetness there. Perhaps 15-20 minutes.
The rest of the paths went undone. I ain’t riskin’ gettin’ that thing stuck.
That’s twice this year, but I’ve realized it’s not such a disaster.
That mower is heavy, but people push cars out of snowbanks.
I remember guys pushing a bus out of a snowbank when I was at Transit.
It’s just that I’m alone, and need another person.
• My “zero-turn” is my 48-inch riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time in half compared to a lawn-tractor, which has to be set up for each mowing-pass. I mow about 3.1 acres, which I couldn’t do without that zero-turn.
• “Brenda Tripp” does my indoor painting.
• “Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;' rhymes with 'boy') Falls” is the nearest village to the west to where I live in western New York, a rural village about five miles away.
• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• RE: “alone.....” —My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.
The paths seem dry enough. I’ll just avoid the wet.
I arrowed my giant zero-turn mower around the back of my house, fixin’ to mow the paths on the north side.
Down a path I went. It looked muddy ahead. I turned around.
I attacked another path.
Easy as pie!
Uh-oh, wetness ahead. I turned around again.
I attacked a third path. It didn’t need it, but I kept going. No puddles ahead, but a muddy spot.
The mower got stuck again.
I got off and tried to re-angle it.
It stayed stuck.
I called Brenda Tripp, who pushed me out last time.
“Are you stuck again?” she cried. “I’m home, but I’ll call my brother and see if he can help.”
She called back right away. “My brother is in Honeoye Falls, and is coming home. He’ll stop at your house in about 15 minutes.”
My sneakers were slathered with mud. I figured I’d collect trash for the next day in those 15 minutes, but I dared not go in the house with those sneakers.
I was putting the sneakers back on as Brenda’s brother pulled in.
I don’t even know his name.
“The only way out of here is to back up the path,” I said. “There’s no place to turn around. It’s all wet.”
I got on, started, and her brother pushed the front. In fact, big strapping dude that he is, he lifted the front. That thing weighs at least 700 pounds.
On to the relatively dry.
I backed up the narrow path, which is hard to do. I slammed adjacent trees, and almost got stuck again.
“I’m puttin’ this thing away,” I shouted, as I backed into the clear.
“Any time,” her brother said, as he got in his truck.
“Thanks,” I said. I should have asked his name.
I put the mower away, but realized I could still mow the front yard.
No wetness there. Perhaps 15-20 minutes.
The rest of the paths went undone. I ain’t riskin’ gettin’ that thing stuck.
That’s twice this year, but I’ve realized it’s not such a disaster.
That mower is heavy, but people push cars out of snowbanks.
I remember guys pushing a bus out of a snowbank when I was at Transit.
It’s just that I’m alone, and need another person.
• My “zero-turn” is my 48-inch riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time in half compared to a lawn-tractor, which has to be set up for each mowing-pass. I mow about 3.1 acres, which I couldn’t do without that zero-turn.
• “Brenda Tripp” does my indoor painting.
• “Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;' rhymes with 'boy') Falls” is the nearest village to the west to where I live in western New York, a rural village about five miles away.
• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• RE: “alone.....” —My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.
posted by BobbaLew at 6:28 PM
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