When you think kilometers are miles

by Katie on May 3, 2011

I was out running borders with the little John Deere test tractor we’re still privileged to be using right now, then had to “road” the tractor (drive it five or so miles on paved road) back to the shop for someone else to use later.

This was the first time I had driven this tractor down the road for any considerable distance. And, consequently, the first time I had really let loose on the throttle and geared all the way up to see what this puppy could do on the open road.

So, I put the gears in “D” and “4”, and moved every lever I saw with tortoise and hare options all the way to the hare.

And I felt like I was flying.

I looked down, and the digital speedometer was at 38.7 and climbing. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, suddenly wondering if I really needed to be going that fast.

Then it hit 39.8…

And I looked down at my now white-knuckled death grip, started frantically checking all the gauges, just certain no one had ever driven a tractor this fast before. Was this even possible? Was I getting out of control?

Before I knew it, the speedometer had reached 40.2…

And was still going up.

In my amazed state, I sent Brandon a text (I know, texting while operating heavy equipment is probably way worse than while driving a regular vehicle) reading:  “I’m going 40mph!”

Still riding high on my cloud of astonishment at what this new-fangled piece of equipment could do, I only semi-noticed there were still cars and trucks, including one semi, zooming past me. I guess I just figured they were really in a hurry.

A couple minutes later, when the speedometer had settled on 42.5, Brandon called. I fully expected him to greet me with a statement like, “How do you like flying down the road with everyone else? Pretty cool, huh?”

But, instead, his first words were, “Oohhh, Katie, you make me laugh.”

I thought this was rather odd.

Then he followed up with, “Those would be kilometers you’re reading, not miles, Dear.”

…Consider my bubble busted.

Later, he asked me, “Did it really feel like you were going 40 miles an hour?”

“Well, kinda. It felt fast, that’s for sure. But I did kind of wonder why all these cars were still flying past me.”

“So, what,” he started with a chuckle, “Were you all white-knuckled on the steering wheel, then looked down to see a beater fly past you?”

Me:  “That may have been the case.”

…And this is where someone from Texas would say, “Oh, bless your little heart!”

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