After barn chores, NASCAR at Talladega beckoned and I settled in for another day of racing. Then my conscience got the upper hand. The weeds in the west field had been growing at an alarming rate, the weather was perfect - not too hot, cold, or windy - and I could always tape the race. Feeling quite virtuous, I got on the mower and started making laps. The little tractor had been acting funky the last time out, but it started right up and all seemed well. Tootling along in the sunshine, cutting swath after swath, was quite pleasant. Then the mower developed a slight cough. I fiddled with the choke and throttle, convinced myself it wasn't a serious illness, and kept going. Big mistake. Making the corner at Turn Three (NASCAR fans can relate) on the uphill straightaway, the cough became a dying gasp and the condition was terminal. Far from the shed, there was no way I could push the tractor up the slope and I couldn't leave it in the field. Like an EMT with cardiac paddles, I'd get the engine to start and go three feet before it would quit again. Traveling all the way in fits and starts, I got the tractor under cover at last and walked off and left it to die in peace. Of course it happened on a Sunday and the repair shop was closed. Virtue would have to get its own reward because with less than half the field mowed, I couldn't finish the job.
Unlike horses, cars won't race in the rain, and the downpour in Kentucky moved over to Alabama yesterday. During the long delay as the drivers waited to see if the storm cell would pass, I got the house spiffed up for company. Luckily for the drivers and unfortunately for me, the sun came out at Talladega with 63 laps to go. Of course I had to watch the end of the race and that put me way behind in dinner prep and I scorched the Spanish rice just as Camille, Olga and Honey drove up (and my driver came in sixth). Rice notwithstanding, we had a pleasant evening. So much for Cinco de Mayo.
Awoke to rain this morning and a grey, cold day. Sure wish I'd gotten the field mowed.