A large portion of my good stories start with "hold my beer and i will show you how we do that back home" and end with me waking up in the hospital.
I was roading the backhoe down a mountain road in some pretty steep country. My swamper was riding on the running board and hanging on to the ROPS. My dog was laying down under the seat post.
We were setting culverts and had a coffee can with shackles, drift pins and a ratchet laying basically under my seat.
We got to travelling pretty fast down this grade when the rig started to bounce and the swamper bumped the gear shift into neutral.
Now we're freewheeling and i stomp on the brakes but they won't work because the coffee can full of crap has rolled under the break pedals.
I'm grinding gears trying to get slowed down, got the bucket down but can't roll it because it has a bunch of band couplers and shovels in it.
Things were happening pretty quick and i hollard at Mike, the swamper, to "hang on and wake up Doobie, cause she aint ever seen a wreck like we're gonna have!" Mike hollars back "I can't, she bailed just after that first big bounce".
I wound up spilling all the crap in the loader bucket and got stopped before we got killed. We picked up all of our stuff, threw the coffee can in the loader and went to find Doobie.
Doobie was laying in the middle of the road, panting with her big old Doobie grin on her face.
Doobie lived another 10 years but never would get on the backhoe again.
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