The Wild Ride

I believe I was about twelve years old or so when I took the wildest ride of my life. Of course it is no surprise that my best friend for life, Jimbo Dillashaw, was involved. 

If I remember correctly it was a spring morning, a clear warm Saturday morning, and I was in the peanut patch out by the road.  Daddy had told me that I would be spending my day hoeing the patch, that meant cultivating manually the young peanut plants. To spend a Saturday in this fashion was not my idea of fun, but Daddy had a sayin' that a stick on the behind sent a message to the mind of dogs and boys. And I knew all too well what he meant! 

When I heard the sound of tha automobile approaching I knew exactly what kind it was. It was a Model A Ford.  Their four cylinder motor made a familiar "clackity-clackity" sound. I was on the row of peanuts near the road when the strip-down Model A pulled to a stop. A strip-down is an old car that almost all of the car body has been removed. All the fenders had been removed and the only thing left was the body from the windshield forward. Sitting on an empty five gallon molasses bucket and holding on to the steering wheel with a grin stretching from ear to ear was Jimbo Dillashaw. 

"How you like it," he said.

"Not much left," I said.

"It's lighter, so it's faster!" said Jimbo, his buzz cut red hair almost glowing in the bright sunlight.

Jimbo was one of those people that had magic in their fingers when they touched something mechanical. This old car was given to him by Miss Faye Hollingsworth.  She had given it to Jimbo if he could get it to run. She had needed her car shed for a new Chevrolet coupe she had bought. Jimbo had worked his magic and now had himself an automobile. In two more years he would be old enough to get a driver's license. 

"Want to go for a ride?" he asked.

"I gotta hoe this peanut patch," I answered.

"This thing is so fast, I'll have you back before your daddy knows you're gone!" Jimbo had a way with words.

"Let's go!" I said as I dropped my hoe and jumped onto the strip-down Ford. 

"Turn your hat around," Jimbo said as he raced the engine, slammed it into low gear and popped the clutch.

I was sitting on an old wooden box of some sort and was desperately trying to find something to hold on to. Jimbo had shifted into top gear now and there was a cloud of red dust behind us as the light weight vehicle sought traction on the red dirt road.  As we rounded the curve next to the creek we met old man Talbot in that old International pickup truck. He cleaned out the ditch to avoid being hit by us.

"Jimbo, shouldn't you slow down?" I was concerned.

"She don't run real good slow," Jimbo said, eyes still glued to the road and hands on the wheel showing white knuckles.  But no sooner than he had gotten the words out of his mouth, than the engine began to sputter. 

Jimbo said a word that he did not learn in Sunday School and said, "We're running out of gas. Grab one of those jugs behind you and pour it in the gas tank."

I turned loose with one hand and felt the jug behind me and grabbed it. It was a one gallon jug like Momma bought vinegar in when she was making pickles.

"Hurry! Pour it into the gas tank before the motor stops.  If it runs dry, we may never get it cranked up again. Hurry!" he said.

In my hurry I lost the lid off the jug.  I had to stand up in the moving car amd reach over the windshield to pour the liquid into the tank. Much to my surprise I spilled very little. Suddenly the engine got a new life. It spit out a blue flame from the exhaust pipe and seemed to jump out from under us.

I sat down quickly and held on as though my life depended on it.  And it did! Jimbo was fighting to control the car as we were going faster than ever before. At first we ran into the ditch on the right hand side of the road.  The wheels on Jimbo's side of the car were in the ditch and my side was high on the ditch bank. I was about to push Jimbo out of the car as he steered the car back into the road. We did the same on the other side of the road. The accelerator seemed to be stuck, but maybe Jimbo was just doing his thing. As we approached the Johnson farm we left the road again.  I don't know whether we broke through the barbed wire fence or simply sailed over it, but we were in the pasture. The cattle scattered out as we approached. That is, all but one. He was red with a white face and horns. He weighed more than the car with me and Jimbo in it and was not moving. We swerved to the left as he charged. I felt the car start to spin out of control. Jimbo got control and we were aimed toward the road with nearly a ton of beef chasing us. The Model A Ford seemed to jump the fence back into the road.  We had not gone one hundred yards before the motor coughed, sputtered and died.

Jimbo released his grip on the steering wheel and said with a sigh, "What a ride! What did you put in the gas tank?"

"I just grabbed a jug," I said.

Jimbo looked behind us on the floorboard of the strip-down. "The gallon of gas is still here.  Oh no! You put the other jug in!"

"I didn't have a chance to look.  I just grabbed a jug," I said defensively.

"That wasn't gasoline, Buddy.  That was from Grandpa's jug! That was what he calls, corn squeezin's, white lightning. Well, at least I know my hot rod will run off alcohol," Jimbo said. 

After Jimbo tinkered with the engine a bit, he got it started and we had an uneventful ride back to the peanut patch. It had been a very exciting wild morning ride, one I would always remember.  

Daddy was waiting for me at the peanut patch and he wasn't happy.