All I need is a fancy helmet, a snazzy jumpsuit, and a sponsor. I could be a race car driver! Reaching speeds approaching an astonishing 0.5 mph in fourth gear (yeah, in my dreams), I roared around two yards late yesterday afternoon. The lawn tractor cum mower has a right-hand throw, so it is best to make left turns only in order to avoid blowing clippings into as yet unmowed territory. Just like Tony Stewart and Clint Bowyer, I'm getting my start on a dirt track. (I'll admit I'm not ready for the Nationwide or Sprint Cup races yet.) In summer, the DCG (decomposed granite) soil here turns to fine dust on the surface and concrete two inches down. Without amendments, it's really good for growing grapes and star thistle. I've got a bumper crop of star thistle. The plan was to mow just one yard, but with the dust and chaff blown up by the mower already in my eyes, hair, and coating my skin it seemed prudent to go on and finish both of the remaining areas at the same time. It doesn't help that the ground squirrels have burrows everywhere and the mower creates thick clouds of dust as we pass over their dirt mounds. Lap after lap, left turn, left turn. The finish line in sight. The checkered flag dropped and I won! The victory celebration took place with a cold drink on the porch.
Look in your rear-vision mirror, Bowyer. I'm coming for you!