The Go Cart

One go cart for sale.  One go cart for sale!  One snarly, one gnarly, mean ol’ go cart for sale.  Five horse power, with a 126 cc engine, it’s called the Dominator- written in slashy black ink on its orange fender.  I call it the Devil.

You see, I had bought it for my grandsons to be able to use on our little three acre homestead.  They loved it. It was a nice sturdy, safe-looking one with big roll bars going across the top, seatbelts, and a big protective rolled front fender, and they wore helmets. But every time they drove it, they crashed it into something.  They never got hurt, but it started wearing on my nerves that one day they would run over something of value or that they would get hurt, so I decided it had to go.

Jim and I pushed it out to the driveway of our home so I could wash off the oak tree dust, blow out the leaves, and get it all prettied up for pictures to post on some yard sale pages on FB.

Well, having finished the picture taking, I decided I would just move it out of the way. I pushed on it, but it was just too heavy, and I didn’t want to bother Jim as he was over in his garden.

I was going to have to start it up. So, while not being a mechanically minded person, or possessing an adequate knowledge of how motors and gears and drive shafts and thing like that work, I thought, “Hey, I can do this.  After all I’ve started many a pull start lawn mower in my day.” So I flipped the switch to on, pushed both the choke and the throttle levers all the way open, and gave it a pull.

It chugged, and sputted, and suddenly it took off. IT TOOK OFF!!

Instinctively, yes, I grabbed hold of the roll bar to hold it back.  I held nothing back.  That demon machine just laughed at me and said, “Hold on baby, we’re going for a spin.”  Well hard as I tried, I couldn’t hold on.  I lost my grip, and the force of the machine threw me down into the pavement.

As I was going down, I caught a glimpse of it bouncing away full speed like a baby bull that just gotten out of his pen, bounding across the grass heading straight for Ruby.  Oh no, that Devil was so strong, I knew he could really hurt her.  Oh, wait, Ruby isn’t a person, she is my Toyota Rav 4 – Barcelona red – hence the name.

Anyway, I was getting up from the spill, and I could see that the Devil left a clear mark of his encounter with Ruby – a long digging scrape that ran from one tire all the way down to the other.  That didn’t slow the Devil down, for he kept on running like a machine gone wild.

About that time it suddenly hit a big divot in the grass that redirected the front wheels, and it plowed straight ahead, taking out a small apple tree on the way.  I mean snapped it off like a giant clipper.  To make matters worse, our pet laying hen, Helen, was roosting in that tree.  She flew up with a start and a squawk and fluttered and sputtered and came down in the front seat of the Devil.  Her wings were spread out in full chicken flight and got caught up in the steering wheel.

Then, as if they could taste freedom of the open road, the two of them made a beeline for the driveway, and they had just about escaped their captivity for a new freewheeling life on CR 254 when a back wheel got caught on one of the swinging gates, the gate did a quick pirouette that spun the go cart back around 180 degrees. Now I could tell you that our Helen steered it to safety, but that would be a poultry lie. But I must say, as that cart came toward me, I swear she had a look of purpose and determination in her beady little chicken eyes unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Instinctively, I dove for a second time that day, this time voluntarily, behind a huge, ancient azalea bush.  God bless that plant.  Unlike the apple tree, it was much older and stronger and it had the depth of root and girth of branch to stop the cart in its tracks.

Nosed way up under the embracing arms of the bush, the cart kept its motor running, I think it was hoping it would somehow escape the clutches of the old bush.  But that was not to be.  I hurried around and hit the kill switch, and when I did, Helen freed her wings and flapped out of the seat and sauntered away with a strangely calm strut that seemed to say, “My work here is done.”

Now you know, this whole thing was a little embarrassing.  I mean, I wasn’t hurt too badly, other than the apple tree’s untimely death, and Ruby’s new orange and black racing stripe down the driver’s side, little property damage was done.  But it was still embarrassing.  So if you would, please don’t tell anyone about this, especially don’t tell my two grandsons. Oh, but if you do, I will call you a liar.

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