Mach1 and the Phone Call


 This year Pam invited me to Indiana for the World’s Largest Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Show.

Yeah. Because nothing screams “bucket list” like antique carburetors and old men in overalls. Forget Paris, forget Rome. Portland, Indiana—baby, that’s the dream.

I went up a few days early to hang out with Pam. She loves shopping… unless it’s Wal-Mart. Every time John and I said, “Let’s go to Wal-Mart,” she groaned like we’d suggested a colonoscopy. “NOT WAL-MART.”

So, instead of shopping, Pam decided: “Let’s get Calvin to take you for a spin in his ultra-fast race car.”

Now this car is a Mach 1. 480 horsepower. Six-speed. Rev-matching transmission. Posi-traction rear end. Basically, if a midlife crisis and a death wish had a baby—this is it.

I climb in and ask the reasonable question: “Do I need a helmet?”
 “No.”

Oh, okay—so you’re just planning to scrape me out of a cornfield.

We take off. Boom. We’re flying down these Indiana backroads. The G-forces push me back so hard I think my organs are now legally registered in Ohio.

And then… he lets me DRIVE it. This car doesn’t want to be driven. This car wants to murder you. Every shift is like the Grim Reaper whispering, “Do it. End it now.”

We make it back alive, and I’m feeling proud. I survived Fast & Furious: Cornfield Drift

We sit down to play cards with Pam, her sister, John, and Calvin.  Suddenly my phone dings. Then dings again. I ignore it. Family group chat, probably a picture of somebody’s cat.

Then my ringtone goes off. It’s my son.

I pick up and he yells:
“MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

I go, “Uh… playing a card game?”

He goes, “MOM! WHY WERE YOU GOING OVER 100 MILES AN HOUR?!”

Montana put a tracker on my phone.

Like—sir. I gave birth to you. I should be tracking you.

But no. He calls me everywhere. “Mom, what are you doing at the hospital?” “Mom, why are you sneaking into town?”

I don’t need Life Alert. I am Life Alert.

The roles have reversed. I’m grounded by my own child.

So now, I’m heading to this World’s Largest Tractor Show with Pam’s family. And all I can think is: if my son tracks me again, that poor boy is gonna see me on his app… sitting in a field surrounded by 12,000 rusty John Deeres.

He’ll call me in a panic:
“MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
And I’ll say:
“Relax, honey. Just living life in the FAST lane… one tractor at a time.”

“0 to 3 miles per hour in 12 minutes. Eat your heart out, Mach 1.”





    







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