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Why, oh why? Oh…

Spells YOYO.

But seriously, I have this theory that Tractor drivers in North Yorkshire get up in the dark, stumble around and put on their trousers (“Oo-Arr”ing as they go, because they ARE farmers) steal out blinking sleepily in the predawn light, quietly pull their tractors (Possibly using roped cows to haul them in stealth mode) up the lanes out of the villages and then…

There they lie in wait behind the hedges, waiting for their watch-sheep to bleat warning that I’m coming up the lane on my motorbike. And then they leap out (well as close as you can get to a surprising leap enclosed in a nine ton cage of slowness and pig-pooery) and block the road for me.

This morning I barely managed to get past the ‘Welcome to Mooseville’ sign, when I came up behind one that was going so slow that in all truth I kept having to put my feet on the ground to stop the bike falling over! There is a minimum speed I can do while remaining upright… And that stretch of road is dubious at best for overtaking (especially with only a 125 engine.) Two of the villagers were very seriously hurt right there a couple of weeks ago when some retarded lip-stick-head decided to overtake a tractor because she was late for work.

So no… I plodded along behind him, wondering at times whether to get off and push the bike. Might as well save petrol – I’d be going the same speed anyway. We pass four or five of those spots where tractors are supposed to pull in and let the traffic past, but he seems to be single-mindedly riveted to the road ahead, probably sniggering into his evil kerchief!

Finally, after 2 miles and just as we come to the ’30’ sign of the next village, he turns off. I accelerate massively to reach 30mph and then have to screech to a halt after 100 yards as a tractor that looks as if it were last driven during the Boer War pulls right out in front of me. Well I’m in a village, so I can’t overtake. I put my feet back on the floor and plod along again, using every expletive I know in every language I know (Arschgeiger to the lot of you!). We exit the village after I receive a lot of funny looks from the school kids and their parents at the bus stop and lo-and-behold… a steady stream of traffic coming the other way, all laughing and pointing at the poor tosspot stuck behind the rusty-shitpot-tractor-of-doom.

After about a half mile, he finally turns off and I accelerate. I reach maybe 45, whizz round a nice wide corner… and then have to screech to a halt. Someone has PARKED a tractor IN THE ROAD. BLOCKING MY LANE!!! I start to accelerate to go round him and, blow me, the bastard flicks on his indicator and pulls out right in front of me. Cuts me up! The bastard!

It normally takes me about 12 mins to get to work. This morning it took me 34 mins. I timed it. Sad isn’t it.

Ah well. I’m about to go on eBay and see for how much I can buy a second hand tractor, a hundredweight of C4 high explosive, a 9ft vat of marmalade, three angry and starving polecats, a roll of duct tape and a bag of safety pins.

have a plan. Watch out, Yorkshire farmers!!!



Written by SJAT

January 11, 2011 at 4:50 pm

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