I was gone in a cloud of dust and gravel...

I just returned from a ride across the pasture, riding three abreast in the Ranger, with two of the passengers yelling,

"Faster, Grandpa, go faster!"

I guess when you're ages three and five, a fast ride across the pasture is akin to riding the bumper cars at the park. I, on the other hand, know of the hidden dangers of a fast trip across unknown ground......armadillo holes, rocks, and wash-outs are not pleasant experiences when they're unexpected.

So rather than going faster I let Lilah take over the controls. Standing on the floorboard in front of my seat, she navigated from left to right with no apparent rhyme nor reason, but at a pace that allowed all of us to enjoy the scenery......much safer too.

It took me back to a time when I learned to drive my dad's old GMC truck. It was green, and I suppose I was a little green as well. Powered by a trusty old six cylinder engine and a three speed on the column, it was the perfect teaching machine.

We lived on a dusty old road with trash trucks rumbling by every day as they made their way to the city dump. The dump was about two miles away, and when I was eleven or twelve years old, Dad would let me accompany him on the short ride to dump our two barrels of trash. On occasion, he let me drive until we arrived at the entrance to the dump, where he would take over the duties of backing the truck to the appropriate dumping spot. There was an old black gentleman who would walk slowly to our truck, take a slow walk around to check the contents, then point his bony finger to the area where he wanted us to unload......To me it all looked the same, but he had very definite instructions as to where our load would go.

I hadn't completely mastered the use of the clutch, and had never used reverse gear, when I decided one day that there was no need to have Dad come along on that little old trip to the dump. After all, he was busy, the trash barrels were half full, the truck was parked in the alley, and I knew the way. Good to go!

I was a strong kid, so loading the barrels was no problem. Neither was starting the truck. Finding first gear, and setting the whole thing in motion was a different matter, but finally I was pulling out of the alley and on my way to the dump......alone. I suppose I might have wandered from left to right a little aimlessly, but I never went all the way into either ditch. Those old trucks tended to have pretty loose steering, and power steering was unheard of for an old work truck. Soon the entry to the dump rolled into sight, and I saw the old gentleman rise from his stool and get ready to meet me at the gate.

I sat up straight in the seat and waited for him to point the way. He raised an eyebrow, and for the first time ever I heard him speak, "Old Jack lettin' you come by yourself today?" Uh oh, two things immediately hit me. He knows my dad, and next time he sees him I'm in deep doodoo.

Oh well, too late to worry about that now, as he pointed to the assigned area for my load of trash, and I realized it would require a new skill.......backing-up, or should I say backing-down, a slight incline to the trash heap. I concentrated mightily, used all of my abilities, and did it. I really did it! I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I dumped the barrels and climbed back into the cab and engaged the clutch......

Suddenly the truck is rolling backwards down the incline......Oh #$%$#%!

I slammed on the brakes, calmed my nerves, and thought it through....I can do this.  So, with my heel on the brake, toe on the gas, left foot on the clutch, I started that little six cylinder motor......It was all good until I tried to take off....buck, buck, die.....and again, and again. Then, I looked up to see the black gentleman shuffling his way to where I was sitting. In a panic, I repeated the process, gave it a "little" more gas, and let it fly.......literally!

Gravel was flying, barrels were flying, tires were spinning, and that little old black gentleman.....he was flying too as he scrambled to get out of the way of the wild-eyed kid in the out-of-control GMC truck.

No harm, no foul.....I was gone in a cloud of dust and gravel.

I'm not sure if my dad ever found out about my escapade.....if so, he never mentioned it. Soon after that, the trips to the dump became a part of my regular chores, and with experience, I became a better driver. As for that old black gentleman........after that first experience he would just shake his head when he saw me coming. Then, while still sitting on his stool, he would point his bony old finger to a nearby pile of trash.

Funny thing though, he never again came out to look at my load, and he always directed me to the flat ground......I suppose it was out of respect for my driving expertise.....but really, What Do I Know.