Hartford Fair 2005

Joe's Hartford Fair Diary 2005

Another Fair has come and gone. This year, 2005, proved to be a bit of a letdown for one reason or another. Personally, I was looking forward to this year's Fair with a bit more zeal than in years past. There was a lot of upheaval in my life during the summer. I had lost my job of 27 years due to shrinking markets in the industrial sector of the area where the mechanical contractor I had worked for thrived for many years. This change was truly culture shock. Fortunately I landed a good job with another local contractor that did similar work, but based its livelihood on the residential and commercial work that is, and has been, booming in our area. Starting at the bottom so to speak surrounded by a new environment at my new place of work, well, I guess I really yearned more so than ever for the constants that were in my life. One of those was the Fair.

The usual cleaning and prepping for the Fair took place mainly in the week before that titanic event. Our tractor club was featuring IH this year, and we all agreed to take nine tractors this year to augment the anticipated good number of IH iron that would be on display. New for us this year was Jill's F-12, and as in the case with most restorations that are facing a deadline, there is plenty of hectic work involved finishing such a project. Mike was working double time on getting the F-12 in working order which he did. Bill had applied a remarkably good paint job on it which garnered a number of favorable comments. Thus this year's line up was the 460, 400, Super M, F-20, F-30, Fred's H, Cub Lo-Boy, W-9, and the F-12. We elected to leave the Regular at home. Mike was not confident in its mechanical shape as it had belched and died in a cloud of blue smoke during the Fair parade two years ago. He hadn't time to fully investigate what was going on with it. Also, Bill abandoned the wide front axle that he installed on the 400 last year, and put the original narrow front back on. I suspected he would not like the performance of that axle. If it had been a factory or Schwartz axle with their tighter steering radii, he likely would have been OK with it. In any event, the 400 is back to its original profile. The 400 is a mighty handsome machine when its sporting the narrow front end!

Two days before the Big Haul, the 460 developed a disturbing problem. Over ten years ago, Dad hit an unseen concrete light pole base near a shopping center parking lot totally removing the front wheel assembly from the 460. The bolster casting where the power steering resided was cracked as a result and leaked hydraulic oil quite severely. Dad successfully had the casting welded up. However, this summer, while raking hay for Brad Fraley, I managed to drop the front end of the 460 into a field tile wash-out hole. I hit this hole mighty hard bouncing the 460's front wheels off the ground a few feet. No immediate problem was observed at that time though. While cleaning the 460 for the Fair, I turned its wheel hard to port and noticed something weird at the front. I turned the wheel again and the late evening summer sun highlighted a magnificent 10 foot horizontal stream of oil shooting from out of that bolster casting. Why this had not manifested itself before this point in time I do not know, but apparently that hard shock while raking opened up the decade-old weld. Bummer City. I would be severely disappointed in not having the nimble 460 for use during the OSTPA pull and hearing it thrum using it for shuttle work throughout the Fair week. What to do? Mike had a comparable material to JB Weld that I applied to the opened crack. Maybe this would be enough patch to allow the 460 to add another Fair to its other notches on its belt.

Friday--In years past I was usually tied up with the annual coinciding of helping to set up my high school's alumni festival. There had always been plenty of help in the past with set up, so I decided to blow it off this year and get the most out of all the days associated with the Fair. Since we had many tractors to move, we solicited hauling help from Brad Fraley, and Bill was able to borrow a real nice tandem axle gooseneck trailer from an associate where he works. Fred would pull this trailer with his Dodge Diesel Dually. The semi-tractor and trailer that had served us for the past few years was--needless to say--no longer available from my former employer. (They can just bite me!) Brad was not available on Friday for hauling. Fred and Bill went to pick up the borrowed trailer on Friday evening, thus the bulk of the hauling would take place on Saturday. Mike is able to haul moderate loads with our trailer behind his half-ton pickup, so he and I elected to load the lightweight F-12 on him, and I would pull our little IH/Farmall/McCormick trailer behind my mighty Ford Ranger. This is what we took to the Fair on Friday evening.

Mike and Brad Fraley off-load the F-30 and Bill's Super M during Saturday's hauling. The F-30 is on Brad's trailer while the Super is on the nice trailer we borrowed.

When we got to the fairgrounds, Club member and annual, self-appointed tractor display uberkommandant reichsmarschall, Chuck Wilson was there to spot the tractors. Chuck decides where things get lined up, and there is usually little deviation on what he deems to be the plan. Mom went along for the ride; she wanted to see what goes on behind the scenes during a Fair 'off day'. We got our stuff in the assigned spots. Chuck had decided that since this in an IH year, and Old Oak Farmalls would have the most IH stuff, he assigned us a front row, along-the-road area for us. Perfect and thank you, Chuck.

For some reason, I got back to Mike's shop before he did. Brad was there. As I got out of the truck, he handed me a Budweiser (butt-squeezer or squeezer for short). Mike soon pulled in, and he was handed an adult beverage, too. We three shot the bull for a while long enough for Fred and Bill to return with the borrowed trailer and get it spotted for the following day's hauling. Soon, all of us were 'partaking' and having a good time just telling stories, explaining our plans for the Fair, and making jest of all the dilberts and goofballs we knew. These moments are very special to me. There is nothing quite like a late evening in the country with family and buddies surrounded by a tractor shop atmosphere. I just love it. Although quite simple and basic, this was probably the best time I had during this year's Fair time. I can't explain it, but I'll bet a lot of you just know what I'm getting at.

Mike shows up with the Regular in tow. We hadn't planned on the Regular making the trip this year, but Brad convinced us to do it.

During the highly intellectual and enlightened conversation taking place within Mike's shop that evening, Brad inquired why in the hell the Regular wasn't going up this year. Mike reminded him of its apparent death on the track two years ago, and any thoughts of getting it fired up and loaded would be quite futile. Brad was not convinced. He shoved some stuff out of the way so he could get to the Regular's starting crank. Mike sighed in resignation giving in to the fact that Brad was fully set on getting the Regular to go. Mike got a can of ether and whiffed a bit of it down the Regular's throat. Lo and behold, on the second pull the Regular huffed to life! Mike nursed its running with ever-so-small doses of ether to the point where the really, really Old Gal was running on its own reserve of stale fuel. Brad grinned like a retriever pup while Mike rolled his eyes and announced to all that the Regular was going to the Fair after all. The Ancient One made our total tote to the Fair at 10 tractors.

Mike, Bill and Fred preparing to unload the F-20 and Fred's H. Doesn't look like they're in that big of a hurry. That is the borrowed trailer, and it was a dandy!

Saturday--As was the case last year, Andi had the Harford Fair Dog Show on Saturday to deal with. Two weeks prior to the Fair's show, the Ohio State Fair qualifier was held at the Hartford Fairgrounds. Andi was a perennial State Fair qualifier, but she was handicapped this year. Our beloved Golden Retriever, Aja, died last September from cancer. Aja was used in Grooming and Handling, and Andi and she normally kicked butt. Maggie, our other dog that Andi used for obedience, had to stand in. Neither performed well, so the State Fair gig was not on our schedule this year. Although disappointed with the mediocre dog show performance, I frankly was not heart-broken about not going to the State Fair. The dog show would have been during the Hartford Fair, and the State Fair has degraded over the years to where it has taken on the look of too much show-biz and carnival. I just don't like it there anymore in contrast to my childhood days when the State Fair was just the 'schizz' as Andi would say.

There was a lot of hauling to do. Not only were there ten of our tractors going, Brad Fraley wanted to bring his thresher and bale press, plus friend, George Pound, wanted his Super M and JD B at the Fair, too. So...the haulers were busy for a good portion of the day toting all the this iron.

This is International Harvester Road, Croton, Ohio. We had the front and center spot for this year's Fair as IH was the featured tractor, and we are IH! Just behind the sign is Fred Graham's M that used to belong to Dad, so we proudly include it in our brood. Fred is happy about that, too. Our stuff stretches clear to the tent in the background. Next year we'll probably get shoved to the display's rear because Ford will be featured then.

Mike would Nextel me when arriving at the grounds with tractors so I could come over from Wright Arena where the dog show was being held to help unload. One of these periods at the tractor display was long enough for me to install my newly fabricated flag masts and mounting brackets on the W-0 and the F-30. Before long, I was 'hoisting the colors' of two 3' x 5' block IH flags over the tractor display. They sure did look sharp all week long!

After the dog show, Andi, Cara, and I went home and unloaded Maggie, our new Golden pup, Hannah, and all of the dog gear. I spent the rest of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening loading up supplies and needs for a week of tractoring at the Fair: gas, tools, tow rope, WD-40, various oils, rags, funnels, etc. I was also looking forward to the first official day of the Fair--Antique Tractor Pull day.

Typical dog show activity in Wright Arena. There is a good deal of downtime between shows.

Sunday--This was the day of the Antique Pull, and I had been looking forward to it for many months. I won the 7500# Classic Division last year with the W-9 in my first-ever tractor pull. It had performed so well that I was quite confident it would again do very good this year. This confidence was enhanced by the addition of a pair of wheel weights which the 9 badly needed as it was giving up nearly 500# of weight to its competitors. I knew additional weight would of great benefit. The 9 has never lacked for steam in first gear--all it needed for improvement was more weight.

This year's pull had a new venue at the Fairgrounds. Instead of it being held at the 'backwater' mud bog area, it was going to be on the big-time main track used for the annual Fair Tuesday OSTPA pull. The Hartford Fair Secretary recognized that the pull would draw more people if it were held in front of the grandstand, but he also knew that it couldn't drag on interminably like these pulls usually do. The Fair is blessed with two tracks side-by-side, thus the OSTPA pull gets done in relatively short order using the two tracks and two sleds. The organizer of the Pull, Bob Waller, solicited the help of a buddy who had a pulling sled and would supplement Bob's Sled, "Bob's Tractor Habit". The Fair Secretary stipulated the pull be finished by 3PM further necessitating two sleds. For additional help for the accelerated pulling schedule, Bob solicited all kinds of tractor club help including Bill and me. I jumped at the chance thinking it would be fun and help pass some of the rather blasé hours waiting to run the W-9. Bob had me figured to run the scales as he thought my diplomatic demeanor and air of authority would be needed at that site. (Hardy-har-har!) Another benefit at having the pull on the main tracks was usage of the Fair's PA system which pretty much covers the entire Fairgrounds.

I couldn't wait for this day to begin. On Saturday evening I announced to Andi that the "Fair Bus" was departing at 6 AM, and she'd better be ready or tough noogies. Andi finagled a ride with Mom who was coming later in the morning so that got her out of having to get ready so early. And...following George Pound's advice, I left my watch at the house where it was to remain all week. (Try it some time; live a little!)

This is Bob Waller's home-built creation named "Bob's Tractor Habit". Bob is in the pilot's seat ready for another hook. We've wondered if he sometimes rides the brakes on the sled to make a puller come up short. (Just kidding!) Bob is a die-hard Oliver guy hence the sled's color scheme. Mr. Waller thinks Joe's W-9 is the 'schizz'.

Actually, I left for the Fair at 5:50 AM and got there at 6:25 AM, so early that there weren't even any ticket/money taker pukes manning the gates. I parked next to the tractor display just as the eastern sky began brightening. That was a singularly peaceful moment starting out a week of Fair noise and bedlam. The Fairgrounds at that moment seemed to be just sitting up in bed yawning and stretching ready to start its week-long 'day'.

There was NO ONE around, but after 30 minutes or so, Bob Waller and his wife, Sherri, rolled in with their pulling sled and the office trailer. Bob hollered at me inquiring if I would be helping today (he knew the answer to that!) and told me to see him in the infield in a little while. Meeting up with Bob, he indeed assigned me to the scales and gave me a quickie run-down of what to do. Fortunately Don Smith, a long-time puller, would be helping, too, and he had command of the rules and regs. He was not going to stay long. Bob instructed me to give a little lee-way on weight and hitch height for the Classics (there's not much jiggling you can do with those), but give no quarter to the other divisions. "If anyone gives you $hit," he said, "whack 'em with the hitch-height checker! You can chose which end to use."

Pulling action. Gary Shannon gives his Case SC a shot on the other sled used for the pulls that day. Gary is the 'patriarch' of the North Enders and is a task master when it comes to the fine details of a restoration project. The SC did pretty good for all 17 of its horsepower!

Weigh-in pretty much went along with no difficulties. I just acted like I knew what I was doing, and most of the pullers bought the act. (Must've been my air of authority at work). I gave the Classics some fudge factor on the weight but not much, usually no more than 20 pounds, and I did give in a little to the other divisions, but the highest I let slide was 8 pounds. It was funny how some guys would pull on the scales and be 80 pounds over, and they would look at me like "well, bud, how about lettin' that slide?" I would furrow my brow, shake my head and quickly make downward jabbing gestures with my left hand indicating "lose it , or don't use it!" (my air of authority don't you know). It was interesting to see some tractors you think would be heavy not turn out to be and vice-versa. I was totally shocked at a brutish M-M GBD. I thought for sure it was an 8500 pounder, but it only went 6180#. Amazing. Another observation that sticks in my mind and reinforces my opinion of older JDs, was how the 2-bangers went up on the scales--BLAAP, BLAAP, BLAAP, (bounce, jump, bounce). The green, scale-mounting roughness contrasted greatly with ALL the other tractor stripes that smoothly negotiated the scale ramp. The best example that I remember was the IH and JD counterparts from the 1940s--a Farmall M and a JD G. I'll just leave this comparison alone for now. It'll stand on its own merits.

Bill helped me out after a while. We both got a bit exasperated with this family team that pulled A-Cs. They had something like five tractors each running in multiple weight classes. Those boys just about wore us out as they probably ran each tractor across the scales five times per weight class trying to get the tractors adjusted to max weight with their myriad collection of weights.

There was one mishap at the scales that I felt somewhat bad about. A guy with a tricked Massey-Harris that had a fairly long front weight bracket came up to the scales, and without slowing down very much, began to run up on the scales. His front weights hit the scale ramp and completed tore off the really neat aluminum weight bracket. This and all the weights instantly clanked to the ground in one heavy heap. The driver immediately got his undies bunched and shot accusations at us claiming we were not watching closely enough. Part of that was true--I observed him approach the scales but thought he would at least slow down to first check the geometry of the scale ramp. It all happened so fast. I shot back that he should know his tractor better. That guy was really hot, and I learned a lesson in watching more closely, and in cases like this make the driver back his tractor on the scales.

The Pull got started late. The Fair had not prepped the track--it had to be graded and rolled. The pull soon commenced and went through its rounds in fairly quick action. I didn't really get to see much of it as the turnout was very good which kept Bill and me busy at the scales for some time. (Bob Waller later reported there were 227 hooks).

By the time the 7500# Classics were ready to run (the W-9 and the 400's class), all of the weighing had long been done. I had talked Bill into running the 400 in the pull; we would be going head-to-head, the 9 up against the 400. Bill was running very light, I think 6700# or so, and should've installed the two extra pairs of weights we had laying in Mike's shop. We both got our horses saddled up and headed for the staging area.

Bill and his 400 waiting in line for the 7500# Classics to pull. Bill put the original narrow front back on the 400 abandoning the wide front it had last year. Speaking of Classics...a more classic tractor profile you will not find than a Farmall 400.

My early arrival and authority over the scales allowed me to get all of the red tape for the W-9 out of the way so I would be going first. I was quite confident in how I would do, not necessarily winning it all, but I knew I would at least place. The added weight put the W-9 and me at 7246#; the extra pounds could only make the W-9 better. (I added extra pounds, too, since last year!) Hey! It was a dinky, little tractor pull, but I sure did want to defend my title from last year--the pressure was on!

WHAT'S THIS?! Right before I was ready to be motioned to the sled, I turned around and saw a JD 720 Standard waiting in line to pull in my class. WHERE DID HE COME FROM?! This was the same 720 that I ran against last year and beat because it had shed an air cleaner and got disqualified. What's up with this? I had been keeping an eye out for the brute to see if it would show up as I feared its massiveness and the lugging ability of the big 2-cylinder. I looked at Bill behind me, pointed to the 720, and gave him a facial expression which indicated "where did this come from?" Bill shrugged his shoulders and shook his head denying any knowledge of it. All I will say is that Bill and I manned the scales 98% of the time that day, and neither of us recall it running across the scales. Heck, we hadn't even seen it parked anywhere. That 720 is a horse and examining it closely later in the Fair week led me to conclude there's no effing way that thing could weigh light enough for the 7500# class. Hmmm...something really smells about this. Oh well...I guess we'll see how much the 9 has in its pants. There's always the option of making him weight out after the pull if there's doubt.

Jill snapped this pic just before we went onto the track. The 9 is warming up while I'm doing my best to put a game face on. I'm afraid the camera hanging from around my neck makes me look like I have a terminal case of 'dork'. (This was strategy--the other pullers simply refused to take me seriously looking this way!)

I was motioned forward to get hooked up. I yelled my now obligatory "HEY BOB, STAY OFF THE BRAKES!" as I went by Waller seated in the sled's cab. Backing up, stopping and hearing the hook drop into place let me know the show's on the road. At a 2.5 MPH speed limit, more weight and a hard-packed track there was not much strategy in a pull like this. It was first gear only and just chug it out. So away we went with the W-9 again announcing its presence to all with her 3" open stack. (Good friend, John Shannon, was way over by the antique tractor display and knew I was running because he heard the 9 bellowing.)

The track was very hard, and the sled's skid plate had buffed and shined the very hard spots to a black-and-blue hue. I took advantage of that and tried to keep the W-9 tracking on those spots. When there was black shiny stuff, the W-9 would hunch down in the rear and really pull. The lighter. looser stuff allowed the RPMs to pick up indicating some wheel spin. There was enough hard stuff to really let the 9 stretch the pull. All the way I was whispering "C,mon baby, keep diggin'. Well... it kept going and going finally spinning out from the heavy draft load at 146 feet.

I made a smart-ass, in- jest comment to the flagger at the end of the run.

"Hey! I asked Waller to stay off the brakes!"

The flagger smiled and replied, "Aw, he never listens."

Well, 146 feet. I thought it was a good pull. What was clearly evident was the improvement the extra weight made. I know the 9 would've spun out much sooner without it. I ran the Old Gal down to the end of the track and parked it, then scurried back up the track to where I thought the 9 had quit and stood there. "Well, we'll just see what happens," I thought to myself. My stomach started knotting up. I wanted sooo bad to win, uphold the honor of IH, and make my family, especially my brothers, proud. (I know... IT'S JUST A TRACTOR PULL!)

Don Smith with his Case 400 was next. That thing has a 1 MPH first gear, and it just kept grinding and grinding but quit very short of where the 9 and me had. It had gone 123 feet before coming to a spin-out halt. Up to this point, I had not seen Mike. He had been working the golf-cart shuttles and perhaps didn't get relieved by anyone at the Club tent to watch Bill and me pull. While the Case was pulling I heard my Nextel go off. It was Mike. I looked into the stands and saw him.

The W-9 gettin' on down the track with its bad self. The additional pair of wheel weights really made The Tub hook up and best all challengers this day. On deck next to the sled is Don Smith and his Case 400. Having the Antique Pull at the grandstand on the official pulling tracks made this event much better. This pic illustrates an idea we have as to why the W-9 is a good puller. It's close-coupled,that is, its wheelbase is relatively short which puts the engine mass closer to the rear axle. This makes for good weight transfer to the drive tires when it's hunkered down as in this photo. Just a theory.

"Dammit!" he said on the two-way, "we've gotta find you more weights!" Apparently he had come over to the stands in time. (Mike later said a benefit of the Antique Pull being allowed to use the Fairgrounds PA was that he heard I was on deck, quit the shuttle and made it over to the stands.)

"Well, if I put another pair on, I'll be over for 7500#," I answered. Mike just threw his hands up in the air imitating good friend Brad Fraley.

This is a shot of the new weights Joe got for the W-9. While not the correct type, they had the same OD and bolt circle and fit up rather nicely. What these things fit...well...opinions are all over the place, but they are definitely made for International 660s, and we've seen pics of them on 560 Wheatlands. The large center opening allows them to slip over the big planetary final drives found on the 660. "This is probably the closest I'll ever get to owning a 660--just parts of one," says Joe. These weigh 136# each. The inner, correct weights are 149# each.

Next up was Joe Krempel on a JD 70D. (This thing scaled at exactly 7500# when I ran him over the scales. I thought he would be too heavy for our class, so when I saw 7500 on the readout, I grimaced and let out a "dammit!" Joe just grinned and pulled off the scales.) These JD luggers can be awesome in their ability in not quitting, but this was not to be a JD 70 day. Joe came up short, too, spinning out.

Bill was next with his sharp, but relatively lightweight 400. It sounded very good pulling, but Bill allowed the 400 to go wide left crossing the foul line. He had a good pull though at 115 feet. If that 400 were weighted-up, it would be something to deal with.

I think the next tractor was Duane Howman on a JD 620 LP. Nothing doing. It lost bite at around 100 feet. After that was Don Smith's brother running the same Case 400 slowly churning its way down the track. He did pretty good although I can't quote a distance. (He ended up 4th). Things were looking mighty good up to this point. The W-9 utterly dominated everyone. I saw daughter, Andi, in the stands with her buddy, Clinton Bates. They both made a motion indicating "what place was I in?". I held up an index finger. They clapped.

The last tractor to run was the brutish 720 Standard. I looked over at Mike in the stands; he shook his head and looked downward. That pretty much told me he thought W-9 would not withstand a head-to-head match with that thing. We'll see. I started to get worked up mostly to prepare myself to instantly ask for a weigh-out if it went farther than IH's version of a Sherman tank (the W-9).

I had placed a rock on the track where the second place tractor had quit. I was now standing at this mark. If that 720 goes beyond this, then it's time to get nervous. Down the track the big JD went with its huge pair of 23" rears digging in. The thing didn't miss a beat, and it appeared nothing was going to fall off this year. It kept coming and coming. What's that? At about the 80 foot mark the 720 began to spin slightly but kept finding bite with its big two-cylinder banging away merrily. "C'mon, c'mon! Start spinning out more!" I said to myself. At around 100 feet a marked increase in wheel spin was noticed, and forward motion slowed down. Man, this might work out! It kept finding some traction somewhere and was slowly ticking off the distance and getting near the second place mark where I was standing. This is lookin' good...lookin' good! All of a sudden, the 720 lost all traction and finally came to a halt. It finished in 3rd.

HOT DAMN! The old W-9 just completely and utterly whupped all comers. No one came close-23 feet better than the next guy. Best of all, mano-a-mano, that IH red beastie cleaned that 720's plow fair and square--no disqualification of the JD this year to leave questions unanswered. The green boys should've just mailed it in this year. I looked over at Andi in the stands. Her friend, Clinton, was throwing up his arms like "what happened?" I gave him a number one sign and a real quick mock Heisman trophy pose. (I just couldn't help it). Both Andi and Clinton pumped their fists into the air. I watched them file out of the stands and go about their teenage, Hartford Fair happenings for the rest of the day.

I picked up my trophy and got a congratulations with a big smile from Sherri Waller. Don Smith, who ended up in second place on the Case 300, was asking why I had whipped him so badly. We joked around and found great satisfaction at putting the JDs in their place that afternoon. Don kept asking me about how to set up a tractor for pulling. For God's sake, I'm the one that should be asking him as he has been a long, long time puller especially with garden tractors. All of a sudden, I'm an expert. I am NOT. It's that the W-9 is quite simply a frickin' animal, and you don't have to know anything to do well--just hitch it up.

I had left my undefeated companion way down at the north end of the pulling track. I walked down to get it all the while thinking about how great the feeling was to win again. I got on the Happy Hippo (we have a ton of names for the W-9!) and meandered toward the scales at the other end of the track. My groupies had dispersed and were no where to be found. I had forgotten to return the magnetic clip Sherri had let me use for the Class card. I parked and returned it to her, then hung around to watch the last bit of pulling left. Dixie Cayton, a good friend and Clubber was way up in the stands and hollered. He gave me big thumbs up for the win. Thanks, Dixie!

As was the case last year on Sunday, I was full of myself with the win, and the second part of getting to show off the W-9's muscles was taking place back at the Mud Bog. The Club had the drag sled back there, and earlier in the day Fred Graham said a bunch of guys were going back there to mess around after the Antique Pull. Off we both went to play.

Mike had the F-30 back there, and cousin, Fred, had his H. Homer White had his modern Oliver 1655 back there, too, along with several other Clubbers and their tractors. Bill had to tend to tent duty at the Soil and Water Conservation display so he was not there.

I had not spoken with Mike after the pull, but when I found him, he was all grins about the W-9 and said he was damned proud of its performance. He also said that he was incredulous as to how the W-9 whipped the 720.

"Man, there's no way the 9 should keep up with that JD. That 720 is two generations newer than the 9--there's no comparison. We really oughta find more weight for that and get you in the 8500# Class--it would've won that, too. What in the HELL is under the hood of that thing?" (the W-9).

" I don't know! I've done my best to find out, but I've had no luck finding the former owner, but it's stronger than whale's breath that's for sure!"

I ran the W-9 onto the sled for some resistance. Homer hooked his 1655 to the sled and ran away with that load showing off how he could go up and down at his whim with the Oliver's 77 HP and the Hydraul-Shift. I then had Homer put the Oliver (9300#) on, and I hooked the W-9 to the sled. Mike scoffed at this and shook his head indicating the W-9 was biting off way more than it could chew. I put her in first gear, she dug in and away it went. Along the way, several bodies stepped on the sled. Further showing off, I kept backing the throttle off with this load to a point just above idle. The 9 kept moving, and you could almost count the pistons as they fired. Mike just rolled his eyes at this display, and we went looking for more weight. The Oliver was tossed aside but on went a JD 50 and 60 plus six Club members totaling, I reckon, around 14,000# if you include the sled weight. Fred was running the W-9 now, and even though it pawed at the track momentarily, the Big Tub moved that load, too. It's a freakin' animal I tells ya!

Fred and the sled. Joe goaded Fred into hooking up to this load for show-off and picture purposes. That's a JD50 and 60 on the sled.

All this frivolity broke up after a while and the others took their toys and went back to the tractor display. I stayed behind. I got a phone call from Andi; she was somewhere in the campgrounds and wanted to confirm that I had won the pull. She told all her buddies and buddies' parents about the victory; when I saw any of them later that evening congratulations were free-flowing. I was a semi-celeb that day maintaining a winning Evans tradition at the Fair in one form or another since 1967, and I had the fattest head in Licking County that evening. Left alone back at the mud bog, it dawned on me that this year's Sunday was just like last year's Sunday weather-wise. The late afternoon sun was brilliant, so I took advantage of the best lighting that can be had and shot a pic of the victorious W-9.

I just wish Dad were around to see all of this.

The W-9 at rest after a hard but glorious day showing off its second consecutive first place trophy. The background wooded area looks primitive. The clear area in front is for additional Fairground campsites which, no doubt, will be full as soon as they are made available. Camp sites are at a premium at the Fair and are like gold.

We elected not to operate the parking lot shuttles on Sunday. The day's crowd seemed rather light, and the entertainment that night at the grandstand was apparently not a big draw--no need for shuttles.

A new wrinkle this year was Andi having a cell phone, so we kept in good contact throughout the day. The phone link eliminated the perennial get-together-to-leave-the-fairgrounds problem. We went home at 9 PM. Andi had to get to the Fairgrounds early, and I had had enough. It was going to be difficult to top this glorious day with any other Fair activity during the week. Turns out I was right.

Monday--Andi wanted to arrive by 8 AM on Monday for she had work to do. Her high school's National Honor Society requires that all candidates not only have good grades, but they must have 50 hours of community service and not more than 10 hours in any one thing. We got the grand idea that there was probably something she should could do while at the Fair and get credit for it. I contacted the Fair Secretary, John McDavid, and he accommodated our request and put Andi to work sweeping out three buildings each day. Andi made me proud that Monday morning. We both got breakfast together, then she struck out on her own to find Mr. McDavid and get her assignments--no assistance needed from Dad. It was kinda neat seeing Andi tooling around the Fairgrounds with the Head Honcho in his golf cart. Thank you, John McDavid.

Monday starts the routine for me. Sunday is MY day, and I avoid all Club duties. There are others there to do shuttle work, and I more than do my time with the obligations during the remainder of the Fair. Thus Monday began a week of doing the golf cart shuttle duty. This can be fun and frustrating at the same time. As mentioned in last year's write up, it's a great way to see the Fair and see folks you know, but the darned shuttle more or less degrades into an amusement ride for the kids. The Club gets frustrated with this. We are tickled to death when someone who needs it gets a ride, but the kids are a different story, and sometimes they make driving the shuttle a risky proposition. For the most part, the kids are pretty courteous; there a few who are not, and then there are ones who jump off the shuttle while its moving sometimes in front of passing traffic.

Andy Haldeman and I were together in the golf cart on Monday morning hauling around some kids. As we were going down the road east of the 4-H horse complex, a 4x4 Ford passed us going in the opposite direction when suddenly it squealed its skins on the road. What the...?! I quickly looked back to see a boy picking himself up off the road right in front of that truck's driver side tire. That kid looked scared as well he should. I was scared, too! I began hollering whatever I could think of, and that kid made fast tracks toward the campgrounds. Andy began to laugh.

"Ha, ha! He's probably heading to his trailer to change his shorts!" That made me laugh, but damn...that was a close call! I don't like being subjected to that stuff, and incidents like that really make the Clubbers grumble about doing shuttle duty.

I got my typical three daily hours of golf-cart shuttle duty in. Something was just not right with the Fair atmosphere this year. For one thing, the crowds seemed sparser, and the usual Gang of Suspects--tractor club members--who always showed up at the Fair to pitch in with the duties were just not around. This was evident as early as Monday. This lack of participation killed the regular Club tent atmosphere, and made the ones who did show up spend extra time with the duties. It was unbearably hot with high humidity which literally dampened activity and probably made the crowds thinner.

Another bummer was while we had a camping spot, we had not been able to procure a camper, thus our late evening socializing was turned upside down. Also, Fred caught a tough break with his job. He had to work out of town in West Virginia and would not be able to make the Fair until Friday evening. Little things like these kind of stifled the merriment normally experienced.

In the late afternoon the Club was able to acquire the traditional Fair fuel key. Fuel was provided at no charge to any Club member who was going to use their tractor to do pull-back, shuttle work, or Rough Truck duty. (Emphasis used to get this message across). I was looking forward to running the 460. As stated on other pages on this site, getting used to the W-9s Arnold Schwarzenegger handling and then jumping to the 460's light controls is a delightful experience. I fired the 460 up and followed Andy Haldeman to the gas pump on the north end of the Fairgrounds. When I got there and got off the tractor, I happened to look at that leaky casting. My heart just sank as it was really peeing oil big time. The patch I had applied wasn't gettin' it done. " Damn! I can't use it leaking oil that bad. That'll be an embarrassing mess not to mention the risk of running low on oil." I was thoroughly disgusted. The thought of not being able to use the 460 for the rest of the week really hacked me off. So I took it back to the display and got Bill's 400 instead.

Yes, things were just different this year. This was illustrated on Monday night when Andy Haldeman and I elected to fire up the big shuttle carts and head to the north lot for work. The past couple of years, the Fair employed a volunteer group to direct parking. This year they still had the volunteers, but there were only two--not enough to make the incoming cars pay attention to them. As a result, the cars kinda went wherever so there was no clear-cut nest of activity to indicate where a fresh cluster of riders would be gathering. Andy and I just meandered around picking up a few fairgoers here and a few there. This under-utilized the shuttles and bunched my shorts. I was ticked anyway because I didn't get the use the 460-- I was on Bill's 400. While it is very nice, it doesn't sound like the 460 which I just love to listen to. Oh, well. Andy and I returned to the tractor display after about an hour. I was in a funky mood. Monday was a droll day, but tomorrow promised to be better as it was OSTPA pull day.

Tuesday--I had discovered a new breakfast sensation offered by the McKean PTO folks on the Fairgrounds. It was called a "Hogburger": two sausage patties, two eggs and two cheeses. Sort of like a Big Mac. Guaranteed to last you all day they said. It was great, and I talked Mike into getting one that morning. He gave it a thumbs up and soon others from the Tractor Club were scarfing this gastronomical (or is it gastrointestinal?) phenom. Oh yes...it wouldn't be a Fair without eating at McKean. I used to go there as a kid in the 1960s when all they had were donuts up by the grandstand. They now have a permanent building closer to the livestock/4-H activity.

My nephew, Peter, had come to the Fair with us that day. He's eleven and can take care of himself so he was no trouble throughout the long day. The leaky 460 had me all fired up, so it was at least worth a try--I brought some genuine JB Weld with me and set about patching that crack again. I chipped off the patching material I had applied a few days prior, sanded it off, cleaned the casting with naphtha, then used a corner of a file to deeply gouge the cleaned area of the casting where I wanted the JB Weld to adhere. One more cleaning with naphtha, and I declared the surface ready for patching. I mixed up the JB and applied it liberally over the crack. This sure wasn't gonna make things worse! What the heck.

Ho-hum... more shuttle duty. The livestock area of the Fair is always busy at any time of the day. This is where you can see who you want to see. And it really is no surprise that the Dairy Producers booth where they serve Velvet Ice Cream is a busy place to drop off and pick up passengers. Too bad it's located rather close to the main restroom. The Fair has to have the restroom's holding tank pumped out many times per day, and I wanna tell you, toward the middle of the week and with the heat adding its touch to aromas of that nature, that pumping operation cops an attitude. PEE-YU! This doesn't appear to offend the ice cream patrons in the least.

The shuttle route takes you right past the tractor display and every other pass I would make, I would check out how the JB Weld was setting up. For a long time, it remained pretty liquid, but along about 2 PM, that stuff was really setting up. Just maybe this would work. If not, I had a plan. I talked Homer White into letting me use his really cool 1655 for pull-back work if the 460 wasn't ready to go. That wouldn't be all that bad.

Mike and I had decided to do north lot shuttle work prior to the tractor pull, so around 5 PM, I decided to test the 460's patch. Mike said it was a 24-hour cure time on that stuff, but I was insistent on using the 460. I fired her up and turned the wheel. Hot dang! No leaks! That stuff held! Mike was amazed and suggested I send a testimonial to Paul Harvey. I guess he promotes JB Weld on his radio show.

We did the north lot, and it was busy as expected--the OSTPA pull is a big draw. The parking was more coordinated thus providing for more efficient shuttle loading. At 7:05 (OK! I peeked at my Nextel's clock, so bugger off!) I blew the whistle, and Mike and I scurried to drop the shuttles and get into the track infield.

Bill had gone in very early because the Fair's Pull coordinator, Dick Fisher, requested one to two tractors out there at 5PM in case any pullers needed a spot. When I met up with Bill, he wanted me to guess where the scales were located. I shrugged my shoulders, but Bill declared they were spotted a long distance from the staging area and on a flat surface.

"Well I'll be dipped." I had been lobbying for this for years just knowing how much it would alleviate the annual weigh-in and staging cluster-folk. By gum, it worked just dandy this year. Amazing!

I had taken the time to install my new block IH flag on the 460 prior to entering the infield. I really think it was the flag that did it because a puller with a jim-dandy IH 1066 Super Stocker looked beyond two other pull-back tractors and pointed directly at me beckoning for a tow. I hurried over there with the 460 and said I would be proud to tow him.

This cool IH 1066 Super Stocker is "Plowboy's Toy", owned by Mark Metzger of Shelby, Ohio. Joe got the honors of escorting Mark across the scales and getting him staged for his pull. Mark's farming family is 100% IH, and this likely factored into Joe and the 460 getting singled out by Mark for escort duties. Mark was very gracious in answering tech questions flung at him by Joe. This honey turns 1200HP and was at the OSTPA pull this night to keep up with point earnings. This is a very typical annual infield scene on Fair Tuesday nights, and this activity is one of the highlights of the Fair for the Tractor Club. The lighting in this picture is a perfect example of what an early Hartford Fair evening should look like.

"I kinda figured you would," he said. He attached the tow strap and in contrast to most pullers was not in a hurry to get into the weigh line. He seemed like a nice feller. Most of the pullers tend to keep to themselves, but this guy gladly answered some of my questions about his 1066 and pulling in general. This fellow is Mark Metzger from Shelby, Ohio and is a big-time farmer using 100% IH tractors. He told me he just finished restoring his grandfather's F-20 which had been sitting for 25 years. Now that's what I call cool. Since he took the time to talk, I told him I would be rooting for him, then proceeded to get him across the scales and staged. All during this process he was relaxed and laid back especially when jacking-around with the scale crew.

The pull was uneventful (initially) but markedly different because there was now plenty of room for staging with no scales cluttering up things. Still...for some reason some skid steer loaders and a couple of semi-tractors were allowed to park at the edge of the staging area ruining a potentially perfect set up. WHY?

Mike, Bill and I took up the usual posts at the staging end of the pull. Often some pullers will want moved up 20 feet or so. Sometimes pullers that have made their runs will want their rigs pushed up and into semi-trailers using ramps and tow/push bars. We three IH mafioso each had our own story to tell of pushing pulling tractors into trailers this year.

First up is Bill. He elected to use the front hitch plate on his 400 for this task. This is a logical decision. Those pulling tractors can be heavy beasts, and a tractor has more tractive effort going forward. Plus, in theory, the job should be more controllable since you're looking forward and fine adjustments can be had with steering wheel corrections. What Bill had not considered was how much lighter the front of his tractor was than the rear. The puller that wanted pushed into the trailer was leery of this arrangement--he had not done a front push before and feared the pushing tractor would raise up. Well sure enough, the 400 did rear up with the front end first going left then swapping over to the right and coming off the ramps. Bill then turned his 400 around and did it the traditional way with no incident.

I was next. I had installed a new front push plate on the 460 for just such an occasion, but heeding Bill's warning about what had just happened to him, I did it the conventional way. It had just gotten dark, and I was eating a steak sandwich trying to do this rather tricky task one-handed. (Piece of cake!) Once the push bar was attached and the green light was given to start shoving, I began to poosh the puller toward the ramps with authority. Again, those things are heavy (Super Stocks), and once you get the load moving you KEEP it moving. Well...something wasn't lined up right and all action was called to a halt exactly where the front tires of the pulling tractor met the bottom edge of the ramp. "Oh, this oughta be good. This 460 ain't the heaviest thing around. Starting this load with its front wheels more of less chocked will be a joke!" Well...when signaled the go-ahead, the 460 hopped a couple of times and motored that big lug right up those ramps. Waddya know? All while eating a steak sandwich to boot!

Mike was using Bill's Super M that evening, and his push job ended with damaged goods. (What it was we do not know). Again, once you get those 10,000# hunks moving, you don't stop. Mike skillfully shoved his assignment right up into the trailer and kept shoving--the signal guy was not in sight. With no one giving him direction and, after all, he was dealing with responsible adults here, Mike kept the load going until a loud crunch was heard up in the front of the trailer as many shouts of 'WHOA' rang out. The signal guy then hove into view and began giving Mike a raft of $hit. The puller on the tractor jumped the signal guy's butt and gave HIM a raft of $hit for being out of sight and not watching what was going on. Woulda paid a quarter to see Mike and that dill-hole tangle!

For a while, we thought the demons that were exorcised from the 400 had come back. There was a Super Stock John Deere that couldn't get off the line when it was time to pull. For some reason, it woud rev up slowly and fitfully then sputter and die. After two or three of these embarrassing attempts to make good on his pull, it was determined that particular Super Stock had to be pulled off. I instantly recognized a huge PR event and a Kodak moment was at hand--a Farmall pulling off a dead John Deere!

Bill was seated on his 400. "Damn, Bill! Go get him! This is just too good!"

Bill quickly started the 400 and scurried out there to capture a snippet of glory, but he was too late. Someone else beat him there as Bill was pulling up beside the pulling sled. He quickly threw the 400 into reverse and turned backing behind the sled. Uh, oh. Something was wrong! We saw Bill wrestling with the shift lever trying to get the 400 into a forward gear. It wouldn't go try as he did. "Oh no! Bill is going to completely come undone with his 400 stranding him in front of so many people as it had done years ago," I thought. No--he nonchalantly backed the 400 up to where we were parked and was pretty cool about the whole thing. He tried to get the 400 out of reverse, but it was jammed between gears. He could get the shift lever to a position where it indicated it was in a forward gear, but letting out the clutch stalled the motor. Bill was trying to come up with a graceful way to back the 400 all the way to the Club display, but neighbor and IH fan, Kyle Anderson, was with us, and he suggested we rock the devil out of the 400 to see if the gears would pop loose. This did no good, so with the aid of a crescent wrench I had stuffed in the 460's under-seat tool box, Kyle ably assisted Bill in pulling the shift lever and getting things free. Thanks, Kyle! Embarrassment averted.

Disaster! At around 9:30 the entire Fairgrounds lost power right dab in the middle of the Tractor Pull. There was no flicker or sound coming from in the distance indicating a transformer blowing or a cut-out doing its job--just instant NO LIGHTS. The power going off suddenly was accompanied by a Fairground-wide "AAAAHHH" from the fairgoers. That really sounded strange. At first, I thought that only part of the grounds was dead as I saw lights to the east, but looking northeast into the livestock area I saw total darkness. Then it dawned on me that the lights were from portable light towers. I also saw many folks turning around on the midway and heading out the gate. With total power off, there was no way that the problem was on the Fairgrounds; it had to lie with AEP. I felt bad for John McDavid and the Fairboard. Man, 9:30 is PRIME TIME. I saw a lot of dollar bills heading out the gate with every disgruntled exiting attendee, not to mention the potential problems with vendors' deep fryers, refrigerators and freezers.

John McDavid was able to get an extension cord run over to the Fairboard Office from the adjacent amusement ride area. It had lights because of all the gen-sets there. With the now powered-up PA system, he announced that AEP was on top of it, power would be restored shortly and the Pull would still go on. Gosh, the Fairgrounds were eerie looking. The Club pull-back boys situated on the opposite end of the pulling track from where we were lined up about ten tractors on the track so the tractors' lights shined up into the grandstand affording some lighting for the pull fans wanting to exit. That was a neat scene, and I wish I had a picture of it.

Well...we waited and waited. With A LOT of previous experience with power outages, I felt there was no way power would be on all that quickly. An executive, high-level decision was then made: we left our tractors where they were and proceeded to one of our trucks near the tractor display. With no camper this year, we went to Plan B. With a couple of no-camper evenings under our belts, we had refined the art of 'socializing' from the bed of a pickup. Whose pickup we used depended on who was assigned to get the socializing supplies for the day. We all spent the majority of the power outage milling around the tractor display area.

My phone rang. Andi and Clinton had remained at our parked tractors that were amongst a dozen or so modified pullers waiting out the darkness. She called to inform us that some of the pullers wanted to pack their bags and thus needed us to pack their bags. We all went back over. Turned out that only one dude wanted to pack it in. Mike took care of him, and just about when he was done with that, the lights came back on amongst a throng of cheers. The pull commenced after two hours of no power. That made for a dreadfully late quitting time that day resulting in an arrival at home of 1:15AM.

Wednesday-is the midpoint of the Fair, and in a lot of cases mid-term boredom set in. It always seems that if I'm going to blow a day off, it'll be Wednesday. Andi was taking her test to obtain a driver's license that day plus she had cheerleading practice. She was not going to the Fair during the day, but the plan was to have Cara take her up in the evening and drop her off, and I would bring her home. It also happened that I noticed our hot water tank was leaking during the week before the Fair, so I had my new employer schedule one of our service guys to install a new one. After that was done, I hung around, mowed the grass around the house then headed for the Fair at noon.

Same old, same old...faces running the golf cart shuttle and doing the Club's duty. We need more participation with that for sure!

Wednesday schedules the Demolition Derby. It normally is a strong crowd draw. Brad Fraley used Bill's Super M, and I used the 460 to do north lot shuttle duty. The parking was again spotty and unorganized taking the fun out of it. I guess I think back too much to two yeas ago when we had a blue ton of rain during the week, and Mike and I were heroes hauling folks through the Sea of Glop known as the north lot that year. Some Fair Board members nearly tripped over themselves thanking us for our dedication in helping the fairgoers. Things will likely not be that good again.

When Brad and I returned to the tractor tent after shuttle duty, Brad noticed Mike's truck was gone--he had left early. That left just Brad and me to uphold the socializing duties. I know it's a tough job, but someone's got to do it, and we did it summa cum laude. We both went above and beyond the call of duty and tarped-off the wagon containing the wheat bundles. Andi had called notifying me that her mom had dropped her off at the grounds. I met up with her and spent the rest of the evening hanging around the livestock barns until she was ready to go.

Thursday-Again, Andi had to pull sweeping duty, so we got to the Fair early, ate breakfast there and off she went. (Getting fairly responsible I would say). The infield track area was a hum of earthmoving activity as Dick Fisher and compadres from Hi-Tech Excavating were preparing the area for the night's motocross event.

Shuttle duty again with the kids riding all the time driving us nuts was the schedule. I pulled my hours, then bailed off. Someone else can do it! I wanted to mess around some, and Mike had scheduled threshing for the afternoon. I really like doing that, but we got off to a bad start as the same flat belt that gave us fits last year failed. Gary and John Shannon and Mike reaved up Brad's Red River Special the previous day when the belt's splice gave way. John brought a professional splicing tool with lacing and did it up right on this hot, Thursday afternoon.

We got to threshing around 3PM, but not many spectators gathered. Dang, it was hot that day! We ran half of the wagon's wheat shock load through the thresher saving the remainder for Friday. We have concluded that activity like this--if we want more spectators--should be done when the Fair is in high gear, and that is in the evening.

Mike and John Shannon, wearing a John Deere "do rag", (what levels has this world sunken to?) affect repairs on the blower belt that gave us fits last year, too. This is Brad's Oliver Red River Special thresher. A number of 'old-timers' are fascinated with threshing, but we think they are more fascinated with these young bucks that are so knowledgeable about this farm chore of days-gone-by.

Did I say it was hot? It seemed like the heat and humidity kept building day by day. Thursday was miserable. We decided to get some air moving, and there is nothing better than the Baker Test Fan for that except maybe an F4U Corsair. Mike told me to get the W-9 fired up and hooked to the Fan. He was interested in seeing how well his new hand-held tach would work on the Fan shaft. (Brad's tach died fitfully last year at my clumsy hands and beneath Homer White's Oliver 88 rear tire!) I asked Mike to get me on the larger of the two pulleys--this would allow the W-9 to get higher up in its RPM power zone. By now you know the W-9 is pretty strong, and it clocked exactly 500 RPM besting its (I think) record of 475 from last year. Smiling, I let the W-9 idle on the fan while we hung around in its slipstream enjoying the moving air.

Yes, we're cheating using George Pound's engine-driven New Holland baler to bale straw. That baler is a classic and is in superb condition. Typical with New Holland balers it didn't skip a tie. That's George Pound's $8,000 restored John Deere B. George says the parts and paint came to $2,000--the remaining $6,000 is in beer and pizza.

Andy Haldeman wanted to give his Super WD-6 TA a shot on the Fan, so we belted him up. I call that tractor "Mini-Me" ( a reference to Mike Myers/Doctor Evil's diminutive alter ego), as it's an exact, shrunken version of the W-9 and steers just as hard! We really had the black diesel smoke pouring out its stack. It turned a very respectable number on the Fan RPM, too.

Homer White had a go on the Fan with his Oliver 88 Diesel. The old gal is tired and didn't do all that well. Oh, it ran OK, but it's in need of a head gasket for starters--we counted over eight places where weepage could be seen between the head and block.

Andy Haldeman's Super WD-6 (Mini-Me) imitates a coal-fired steamer in this pic with all the black smoke belching from its stack while it winds the Baker Test Fan. That's probably the warmest that engine has been in years. As stated elsewhere on this site, the Baker Fan will give ANY tractor a good whipping! Andy (on left) let Mini-Me moan for quite while. Mike and Brad look on to see if any engine problems develop during this exercise. The tractor puked some coolant after a while, but no other problems developed. That diesel sounds terrific! Oh...and one more thing. Andy Haldeman has no peer when it comes to bashing green tractors. That's one reason we like him; he SAYS what WE think.

Mike got the F-20 on the Fan and just let it run off idle for several hours (?). I was away doing something for part of this time. I think I ran into a good number of acquaintances walking down International Harvester Road and talked to all of them for a long time. I could see over to the Fan, and noticed a lot of pre-socializing socializing time going on. Hmmm... I joined up with them and did some socializing, too.

After a while, Brad, Mike and I struck out to get dinner somewhere and stroll the grounds. We walked down the Midway checking things out. We were all hot, dusty and dirty, but we wore that like a badge of honor. It's a mark denoting a "doer" at the Fair each in their own small way contributing to making it work. I had not had my traditional Fair stromboli yet, so we made it a point to get some.

Just like last year's Thursday, I was concerned about the north lot shuttles, and again Mike reminded me that I pulled three straight nights on it--there are others there to do it. And...just like last year...there the shuttles sat! Dang it anyway!

Andy is checking the coolant temperate with the industry's most accurate thermometer--YOUR HAND! Yep, she's gettin' a bit warm! From left to right is pictured Bill Brown, Homer White, Brad, Mike and Andy Haldeman. How something so simple (a tractor turning a fan) can fascinate grown men is a mysterious thing. Don't try the following at home (as if you have a lot, if any, belt driven equipment). While we were socializing one evening enjoying the breeze from the fan, we tried to see if we could get a penny to ride on the inside of the belt and up and over the belt pulley. Yep! We got-r-done. Aluminum cans (ahem!) are great fun, too! We all should be horse-whipped for screwing around like that.

Thursday is the huge Junior Fair hog sale. It starts at 1PM and goes until well in the evening. While the Fair was winding down, Andi caught up with us near the Baker Fan. She was upset. Andi's boyfriend, Joe Parrish, died in a grain bin accident just one month prior. Joe was a "do-everything" 4-H kid, and had a ton of friends. Andi reported that Joe's pig project (taken over by his brother) sold for $5,500. The buyer's bid of $3,500 was supplemented with another $2,000 by the auctioneer to honor Joe, his family, and to contribute to the Joe Parrish scholarship fund. The entire Junior Fair Board was present during the sale of the pig, and Andi was asked by Joe's parents to sit with them during this time. All of this really got to Andi, and she was beside herself that night. We finally left the Fairgrounds reminiscing about Joe. Andi misses him a lot. I told her that's life, and we all have to deal with it. I miss Dad a lot, too, and wish like crazy he could see the W-9 kick some dandelion-colored tractor butt.

Friday-Bill showed up for all day, and did some shuttle work as well as the rest of the regulars. Fred finally caught a break from his job and got most of the day off. He came up later in the afternoon with his son, Daniel so they both missed our traditional HE-MAN breakfast at the Pioneer Restaraunt in Utica.

Homer White on his Oliver 88 diesel gives it a workout on the Fan. This tractor with its 2" straight stack has one of the sweetest sounds ever heard. Homer lives right across the road from the Fairgrounds. This makes it very handy for Homer's collie, Jake, to make unauthorized visits to the Fair. (Baaaaad dog!)

We finished the rest of the threshing. Of note here is that we started a bit later and had more folks watching. Two old-timers in particular thanked us all no less than three times for "really making their day". We all felt pretty good about that--that's what it's all about in our opinions. We offered to let them do some wire-tie baling of the straw, but they declined stating "we had our belly full of that when we were kids!" Actually, Brad's fine bale press was not put into use at the Fair. We elected to use George Pound's engine-driven New Holland baler that we had hauled to the Fair for him. All that was required here was forking the straw into the baler's pick up.

Rough Truck is the featured event for the evening and is the largest crowd draw at the Fair. This type of event is becoming more and more popular at local fairs. The Hartford Fair uses the previous evening's motocross track layout for the Rough Truck course, and it is brutal!

We like to have eight tractors available to pull off the dead ones--four at each end. The north end is traditionally 100% IH; the south end is usually a mix, but mostly it is comprised of John Deeres.

Andi wanted a way to honor her boyfriend who died in a tragic grain bin accident just one month before the Fair. I had these placards made and they were displayed on both the 460 and W-9.

I swapped the IH flag and mast from the 460 over to the W-9 for show, then Bill and I headed for our traditional posts. We went in fairly early as we normally do. The W-9 works OK for this event: precision is not the issue thus the 460's nimble-ness is not required.

Once we got to our area I immediately spotted a big-time conflict that needed settled immediately. I'm not sure if it's my old age, very successfully surviving a middle-age job layoff, or a combination of the two, but my reticence and willingness to accept things as they are have taken a back seat. This attitude came in handy that night.

At issue was the presence of two track-type skid steers loaders with operators stationed at our end of the track. It was instantly apparent to me that these guys were there to do our work--work the Club gets paid for (we use the money to support the Junior Fair Livestock sales) and work we wait all year to do. Hmmm...no one from the Fair Board indicated to us that our services were not needed that evening!

Mike, Fred and Andy Haldeman were working the north lot shuttles at that point in time. Just to be sure before blowing my mouth off, I confirmed with Mike about the Club getting money for Rough Truck pull pack, and the reply was a big-time YES.

So...straightening myself up to my full 6'-2" of height, furrowing my brow and clenching my jaws (refer back to my 'air of authority' character Bob Waller tagged me with), I approached the skid steer operators to squelch this pair of upstarts and rogues.

"Hey, what are you guys doing in here?" (yeah...like I owned the place!)

"Dick Fisher said he needed us in here to get the dead trucks off the track. You guys are too slow. We need to keep the action going."

"OH? Too slow? Well, we LIVE to do this work, our Club gets paid for this work, and as far as being 'too slow', we'll have eight tractors in here for pull off. If we were allowed to spot ourselves closer to the action so there is less turn-around time, the word 'slow' would never be mentioned! We'll handle this and QUITE WELL I might add!"

I looked over at the other skid steer operator to see if he was taking this all in. I believe he was as he had a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look. (He was also probably thinking 'that old fart is an a-hole').

The 'deer-in-the-headlights' guy started to respond. For those of you old enough to have watched the Jackie Gleason Show and the Honeymooners, do you remember when he got caught by Alice doing something wrong and would fumble around with an answer by starting out saying 'homina, homina, homina' ? That's exactly how that one operator sounded.

"Homina, homina, homina...well...uh...we don't want to take your work. Uh...we were just told to be...uh... in here, and...uh...ummm...we'll talk to Dick Fisher and tell him you're gonna do this."

"Well, you DO that! No, I'LL do it!"

I marched off to find Dick with Bill following, and found him I did. Asking what the deal was, Dick said that he wanted the skid steers to take the "really broken ones" off; we could have the rest.

"Come on, Dick! We like to drag the wrecks off! Let us have some fun!"

I pushed this issue far enough and went back to the skid steers yammering to Bill about how much this pisses me off, and they were 'scabs'. We struck a compromise: they would get the dead ones out of the glop, waterholes and rougher-than-a-cob whoops, and we could take them the rest of the way. This worked pretty good as the track was very nasty this year, and wallowing around in the poop and dangerous humps with a tractor was not very prudent. (I got to be very friendly with the lead skid steer operator as the evening wore on).

The track was rougher than I've ever seen it especially at our end, thus I expected a lot work to do. That was not case as the evening passed. The drivers went high up on the berm at our end avoiding the hazards that would have likely killed them.

At the start, we were dangerously thin on pull back tractor numbers. The ones I expected to help were not there. Dixie Cayton and Bill Parker were at the south end, and just Bill and me were at the north post. Mike two-wayed me from the north lot asking about how much help we had and was surprised to hear that not much was present at that point. The immense incoming crowd that night really kept the shuttle pukes humpin' in the parking lot, and Mike couldn't see releasing Fred and Andy to help us out. But, after about a half-hour, Andy joined up with his Super M, and Fred and Mike stood with us sans tractors to pass the evening and watch the show. As far as I knew, there were only two tractors at the other end.

There was not that much unusual stuff to report--no glamorous dead hunks plowing deep furrows as we drag them off. As usual the south end got most of the action, and I noticed there were two other JDs that showed up to help down there. I did not know who they were nor did Mike. Now that really got my shorts in a wad! They were agonizingly slow towing their charges off apparently not realizing there were more than two gears in those JDs and sort of proving the point the skid steer loader operator had made at the beginning of the evening. And another thing: why do these guys show up for the glamour jobs, i.e. pullback for the Tractor Pull and Rough Truck but don't pay their dues with the shuttle work during the week? Hmmm? I know...I take the week off from work as does Mike so we can do the daily stuff. But it seems to me that if you can find yourself available for two evenings' worth of good work, you can find one more free evening to spell us regulars with the big lot shuttles. Need I say more about the last two years of no Thursday evening shuttles BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE TOOK UP THE SLACK?

I was getting peeved at all the action the south enders were getting. There were some dead ones sort of in the middle of the track, and that made them a toss up as to who was to get them. When I would attempt to get out there with the W-9 in fourth gear to head off the other guys, I wasn't fast enough.

Haldeman couldn't resist. "Hey, you're trashing those other guys down there for being slow. Look who's talkin'!" Andy emphasized his point by imitating the Old Man character that Tim Conway did on the Carol Burnett show taking 3" shuffling steps.

"Just bite me, Haldeman!" I replied, but Andy then softened the criticizing.

"Well, they've got a head start on you anyway. You know they're not shuttin' those green things off, (OK everybody in unison now) because THEY'RE TOO HARD TO START! HA, HA, HA!!" Yes, all of you meet Mr. Andy Haldeman the professional GREEN BASHER.

The next time there was a 'tweener' I was not going to be beaten to the target. When the next chance came, I snicked the 9 in fifth gear almost flying out to the victim feathering the clutch like mad as I went. The W-9 is amazingly smooth doing that as it has ample torque to plonk around in high gear with little throttle. This pull-off finished the evening for me and was about the last truck to go through the course before the modifieds got their shot. They rarely need any help because they are tricked-out and made for that bashing around.

After the event, we spent our final 2005 Fair evening socializing again at the rear of one of our trucks. The massive Friday night crowd took forever to drain out, but neither Andi nor I was in a hurry to get home. No sense in pushing it. Let everyone else file out first.

Saturday-Last Day and Load 'em Out-The Parade is always on Saturday morning. Nothing much to report here except for the fact that the kids got to drive in the Parade. Peter, my nephew, did the honors of leading the tractor procession on the Club's Farmall A raffle tractor towing the Club's sign. The highlight was Jill's first parade aboard her newly restored F-12. She was quite excited about this. I used the W-9 but did not complete the parade. The 2005 Hartford Fair King, Jarrod McGlaughlin, who I know slightly and is a friend of Andi's, tractor-jacked the W-9 from me. Way before the tractors began proceeding in front of the announcer's stand, Jarrod came up to me while I was in line with the 9 and asked if he could drive it. He quickly explained that his grandfather had a W-6, but never got chance to drive a W-9. He was quite lively about the opportunity, so heck, I let him have it. What surprised me a bit was that he asked how to shift the W-9. I told him if he drove a 6, then a 9 is no different.

After the parade, Andi took off to spend the last day with her buds at the sheep barn and Wright Arena. There was quite a bit of 4-H sale action taking place that day, and she wanted to be part of it. I was content to help with all the load-out going on. We had a lot to do with all of our tractors plus hauling Brad's baler and thresher, and George Pound's baler, JD B and Super M. Fred and Bill comprised one hauling crew; Mike and Brad the other.

Jill's inaugural venture on her F-12 during the Parade. She's a rookie but did just fine.

The last day of the Fair is always a bummer. This year's seemed the lowest as I think much of it had to do with how weary I was contending with the continual heat and dust this time. The heat had built up all week long into a 98 degree, humid crescendo on that Saturday putting an exclamation point on Bill's last-day ditty of "I've had my share of the Fair!"

By 2PM, Fred and Bill had made a couple of trips. Mike and Brad had taken stuff to Brad's place and had gone to Mom's with their first load with one more yet to do. I was going to leave the grounds with Andi and the Farmall trailer when Mike and Brad departed with their final load.

I had called Andi to tell her to be ready. The next time I call her it will be time to go and to get herself down to the tractor tent. I passed the time in the tent talking with Wilmer (Willie) Prushing, Homer White, Bob Galayde, and Jerry Martin.

The F-20 is flying the colors while Mike and Jake proceed in front of the grandstand during the Parade.

One hour passed waiting for Brad and Mike...then two...then three! I was wanting to go--just wanted to put all of this to bed and get out of Dodge. Willie saw that I was agitated slightly.

"What's the matter, Joe?"

"I want to go. I'm waitin' on Mike and Brad to get back to load out the last batch. I think I know what's up. Those two scalawags got that first load off at Mike's, and they're both tryin' to make more room in Mike's fridge if you know what I mean."

"Ah hell," Willie drawled. "You're not frettin' about them gettin' back. You're just worried there'll be nuthin left when you get there!"

I had to laugh at that. Willie probably had it right, too, as he does most other things. Willie owns Shady Knoll Farm Service. This used to be a pretty thriving Oliver outlet in its day, but Willie now makes his living selling parts and doing mechanic work. He KNOWS and has not forgotten much about his business. And he knows a ton about other tractor brands and their peculiar idiosyncrasies. Willie IS the go-to guy in the Club for mechanical questions. A fascinating thing about him, in my opinion, is that his words are measured, they are not wasted, and I hang on to every word he utters as he is full of knowledge. A lot of guys will just prattle on about a lot of nothing to the point where I nod my head and say "yes" to help get to the end of a boring tale. This is NOT the case with Willie Prushing. He is an interesting chap, and I consider myself fortunate to have made his acquaintance.

Mike and Brad finally came, and with that I called Andi to notify her to put a wrap on it. She came rather promptly to my surprise-- I think she had had enough, too.

The ride home when leaving the Fairgrounds is just a surreal feeling, and sad in many ways. I was looking forward to the post-unloading party Mike was NOT going to have that evening. You have to understand that last year an impromptu cook out just happened at Mike and Jill's. Mike decided to make it a tradition but with the stipulation that we were not going to plan on it and just let it happen. What it has boiled down to is a non-event that exists, and every reference to this get-together is in negative terms such as "Please don't come to the party I'm not having." The best line was from George Pound who said "I DON'T want two steaks, and I DON'T want them medium."

Well, we DIDN'T have it and twelve people were not there. We didn't hang out until 12 midnight not reminiscing about this year's Fair. I AM gonna end this long-winded tale, however. Until next year...Joe