Two Feet
The announcer called Ethan's name.
Old Harold rolled toward the starting line.
The crowd watched.
Some knew the story.
Others had simply come to see the strange homemade tractor.
The sled was connected.
Ethan checked the gauges.
Oil pressure.
Temperature.
Fuel.
Everything was normal.
The flag dropped.
Ethan eased out the clutch.
Old Harold moved.
Fifty feet.
One hundred.
One hundred fifty.
The sled's weight box moved forward.
Resistance increased.
The engine roared.
Black smoke rose into the sky.
The tractor slowed.
But it kept moving.
Two hundred feet.
Two hundred seven.
Two hundred ten.
The previous leader had stopped at 212 feet.
Old Harold reached 212.
Then kept going.
Two hundred thirteen.
Two hundred fourteen.
Two hundred fifteen.
The tires spun.
The sled stopped the tractor.
The official raised the red flag.
For one second, the fairgrounds were silent.
Then the announcer shouted:
“Two hundred fifteen feet!”
The crowd erupted.
Old Harold had taken the lead.
Ryan was yelling from behind the fence.
Elaine was laughing.
Ethan simply sat in the cab, breathing slowly.
Then the John Deere 8100 entered the track.
Douglas stood beside the fence.
The salesman climbed into the cab.
The green tractor looked magnificent.
Clean.
Powerful.
Expensive.
The flag dropped.
The 8100 surged forward.
One hundred feet.
One hundred fifty.
Two hundred.
Two hundred ten.
The crowd leaned forward.
Then the rear tires spun.
The tractor stopped at 213 feet.
Two feet short.
Ethan's homemade machine had beaten the $42,000 tractor.
By two feet.
Ryan ran toward Ethan.
“You beat the 8100!”
Ethan laughed.
“By two feet.”
“Two feet is two feet.”
The Tractor That Stayed Home
The competition ended with Old Harold in first place.
Farmers surrounded the tractor.
They studied the adapter plate.
The engine mounts.
The cooling system.
The hydraulic modifications.
They asked Ethan questions.
He answered every one.
Douglas Pierce stood at the edge of the crowd.
Eventually, he approached.
“I'll admit,” Douglas said, “it pulls well.”
“Thank you.”
Douglas glanced toward the tractor.
“Our dealership might be interested in displaying it for a few days.”
Ethan remained silent.
“It would make a great local story,” Douglas continued.
“We could put up a sign explaining how you built it.”
The salesman nodded.
“It would be good publicity for everyone.”
Ethan looked at the dealership's green truck.
Months earlier, those men had laughed at his old pickup.
They had assumed he couldn't afford their tractor.
Now they wanted his machine inside their showroom.
Ethan placed one hand on Old Harold's faded hood.
“No.”
Douglas looked surprised.
“We'd pay for transportation.”
“It drives.”
“We could discuss compensation.”
“I'm not interested.”
Douglas frowned.
“It's only a display.”
Ethan smiled.
“I built it to work.”
There was nothing else to say.
He climbed into the cab.
Before starting the engine, he looked at Douglas.