Doppler Radar Killed Our Classic Car - 1st Half As Text Plus Full Audio

Here's the scoop, friends... This is, as indicated, the 1st HALF of this fairly lengthy poem. The 2nd half had to be posted separately due to Poetry Soup's file-size limitations. No other way I could manage to make it happen... Thanks for reading, or listening, or both...whatever the case may be - Cheers, Mark The weatherman had guaranteed the week that lay ahead would be comprised of seven ‘top-down’ days, So - even though we knew that placing money on a weatherman‘s a foolish bet that almost never pays - We washed and waxed our 1955 Bel Air convertible, expecting several days of cloudless skies. But ‘round about a hundred miles out we’d be reminded of just how often “Doppler Radar” lies! We, and several other couples - most of us in ragtops - collectively were heading toward our goal, When slowly, all around us, we would see the sky turn gray, and hear the distant thunder softly roll. But having planned on doing it for more than seven months, we couldn’t bring ourselves to turn around. Me and Con, at least, would keep an optimistic outlook, and tried to mask the far off rumbling sound By cranking up our music ‘bout near high as it would go. Which calmed us down a bit until the lightning Started striking everywhere, which, understandably…had us -- as our fear was quickly heightening -- Contemplating pulling over, which we fin’ly did, so - those who felt they should - could raise their tops. This is how it’s done, you see…whenever someone needs to…the call goes out and - everybody stops. Always traveling back-roads when we could, the only option we had for pulling off was not the best, But we were in the lead so it was my responsibility to find the wisest place to take the rest. A field gate sitting open seemed the perfect invitation, and I told Connie, “I’ll just pull in here.” Luckily the others were a tiny bit behind us, and got to see our tailpipes disappear As down into a giant pool of mud our axle sank. The fender skirts were promptly filled with sludge! In less than sixty seconds we were buried to the doorsills, and…hard as I would try - we couldn’t budge! Eldon Sidwell ran to where the field was high and dry, and crossed the fence to ask what he could do. “Gettin’ awful dark,” he quipped, “an’ yer stuck pretty good…so I’d put up my top if I was you!” Very good advice, I thought, so that’s just what I did. I rolled the windows up and raised the top, As someone in the crowd roared out, “You should have kept on going…what a truly stupid place to stop!” The friends that we were traveling with - aligned along the roadside - had gathered near to watch us as we tried To slip and slide our Chevy back and forth in hopes of freeing her, when - adding to our grief - the motor died! I couldn’t get it started - and the doors were now pinned closed - so down the windows went so we could bail. And couldn’t ‘ve been but sixty seconds later and - you guessed it - the whole damn group was bombed by - that’s right…hail! We held our hands atop our heads to fend off falling ice-balls, but nothing we could do could stop the pain. Con and I were crying as we watched our car get butchered, and - windows down…the inside fill with rain! “Eldon,” I exploded, as I pointed toward a farmhouse, “almost every farmer has a truck. What we need’s a four-wheel drive - or tractor - and a chain, to gently pull our baby from this ‘muck’!” “Got ya’ covered,” Eldon promised, “I’ll go find the farmer. But what we’re actually needing is a rope. A chain ‘ll scratch your bumper up,” then added like a jerk…..“I can’t believe you did this. What a dope!” I waded through the pond of slop then crawled inside the car to roll the window up on Connie’s side, Then slithered out and rolled up mine - ‘til the handle couldn’t be reached - then waded back on out to watch our ‘ride’ Forcing giant bubbles from the slime that it was drowning in, as down it further sank into the mire. Slowly, yes…but surely, ‘til the grill was nearly under, and you could barely see the car’s front tire! Just before the headlights disappeared was where it halted - as did - at last - the hail…thank God for that. Close to thirty minutes later…crawling down the road…came Eldon - and a farmer....on a “CAT!” “This’ll git yer Chevy out,” he hollered, as the farmer entered at a gate just up the hill, Then turned around and started backing up toward where we stood. I hollered back, “You’re right, I’m sure it will!” The farmer stood and shook his head, then - handing me a rope - said, “Looks like you’ll have to dive to tie ‘er on.” Meanwhile, all our fellow cruisers stood there snapping pictures, amazed by just how far the car had gone Down into the gurgling mud, and some were actually filming, as I continued wading toward the car. Waist-high when I got there, I could see there was no way I’d ever reach the stabilizer bar. So, nervously I wrapped the rope around the car’s front bumper, by dropping to my knees into the goop, Then, weaving it behind the center, one inch at a time, I fin’ly pulled it through and made a loop. Reaching down to find the rope I quickly was reminded of just how deep the car and I were in. The only part of my physique that wasn’t caked with mud was…as the photos prove…above my chin! The farmer backed the dozer up then took the other end and wove it through a three inch iron bar Welded to its axle, then said, “Mister, if we do this, regardless of what happens to your car... Now, don't miss the bizarre ending of this nightmare -- see the 2nd half on Soup -