The Rural Voice, 1982-04, Page 31GISELE IRELAND
"Brian just laughs
when they ask if
drive farm machinery"
Winter driving is the pits. My reputation as a leadfoot has
the added bonus of ditch bomber this year. Three ditch
jobbies in less than two weeks is hard to justify.
Upon leaving a Toronto parking lot I was the passenger of
Doug Fortune in his brand new car. It was
the first day out for the white and burgandy
car and a fur -smothered, diamond -encrusted
Torontonian crinkled the driver's side. I
asked Doug why he yelled and fumbled all
over the steering wheel instead of giving her
a good blast. He confided that he didn't
know where the horn was. It was the first
day he had driven the car. The offending
driver suggested Doug couldn't read; we
were going the wrong way in the lot. 1
suggested she tell the steaming two hundred
pound and some male herself while he was
surveying the damage. I noticed she didn't
offer to lip service him much either. He clamped the stem of
his pipe ferociously all the way home. We were behind
schedule and when we parked his crinkled number I had
thirty minutes to go thirty miles to another appointment and
pick up my spouse. I was in an understandable rush and
steered the gas guzzler into the ditch shortly after starting
out. I ended up taking my brother-in-law to his hockey game
and flying home in his diesel truck. He would resurrect my car
the next day. Brian's expression never faltered when I
motored in and he could tell by my expression that this was
not the time for explanations.
Three days later the gas pedal froze on the car and I was
doing sixty and accelerating around Dead Man's Curve trying
to unstick it. At that point you don't worry much about how
the problem arose, just how to correct if before you spill too
much of your own or someone else's blood. I managed to sink
it into a huge bank and cut the keys. It banked right to the
windshield, the hood flew up and everything steamed in
relief. Amid much snickering some kind men helped me out of
my predicament and surprisingly I could drive the old wreck
home.
The third attempt on my life was in our lane when I turned
around on an ice patch and tried to do a number on a tree. The
GOOD DRIVER came out and did his good deed of the day. I
just bailed out in utter disgust. I am sure by now that the mud
green excuse of a car is programmed for the ditch as soon as I
get behind the wheel. People wonder why Brian just laughs
when they ask if 1 drive the farm machinery. His standard
answer is, over his dead body, which is a real possibility given
the record I have managed to collect this winter.
Gisele Ireland, a Bruce County pork producer has the ability
to laugh at situations that would make us cry.
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THE RURAL VOICE/APRIL 1982 PG. 29