Well, here is the updated picture I promised of the 8 N Ford tractor, fondly named Mustang Sally. The mustang horses have now accepted her as part of the family so she needs a name as well and how apropos?
I don’t know where I would be, or where this tractor would be, if it weren’t for our mechanic. That guy must have been born with a tool-kit strapped to his hip.
After replacing the electric coil, the battery, the radiator cap, the spark plug wire, the flex hose and soaking the air filter in k-1 kerosene overnight, we got Mustang Sally running as smooth as a baby’s butt, kinda. The right front tire has a leak (replacements cost $100 each the big back tires $400 each), luckily we have an electric air pump that we keep plugged in near the tractor, and the cutting attachment throws rocks, sticks, clumps of manure and chopped up rodents onto the back of the driver. Captain Jim said he would appreciate it if we could put something on to stop it from throwing debris before he ends up with another hole in his head.
He was takin’ her for a spin this past Sunday afternoon and she quit on him going up the hill in the south pasture behind the barn. Of course, Jim didn’t come to me for assistance; he went directly to our mechanic who was patiently waiting for a tow truck to arrive to pick up one of our volunteer’s car. Her fiancé was being a nice guy filling her car up at the gas station; only he used the wrong pump and put diesel in the tank. That poor car was probably wondering what it did wrong to have him try to poison it. They were barely able to drive it to the ranch to work. Luckily our mechanic could fix it. He can fix anything (see 8 N Ford Tractor above). The tow truck loaded the car and took it to his house for repair.
Anyway, we had to jump the tractor from the truck while we took a screwdriver and started fiddling with the carburetor and Old Sally kicked over, running smoothly again,sounding like we just drove her off the showroom floor. The grass is so long the truck couldn’t get traction, so a few of the boys had to put their collective fat arses on my tailgate so we could make it out of the pasture.
Now if it ever stops raining we just might finish bush hogging the 27 acres before the first frost.