Fwd: episode 1,474; GEORGE RICHEY FAR…..”CLUNK” LOST IN AN OHIO CORN FIELD ON DARK NIGHT IN OCTOBER 1998

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: episode 1,474; GEORGE RICHEY FARM…..”CLUNK”— LOST   IN AN OHIO CORN FIELD ON DARK NIGHT IN OCTOBER 1978

Date: December 28, 2025 at 2:27:07 PM EST

“CLUNK…” The truck refused to go any farther.    It was  dead. 

the universal joint hung down among the corn stubble. We were

in serious trouble… inky blackness all around.

When the truck died we had been driving for 8 hours.  Heading to the Richey Farm in central Ohio

near the Norwich village (population 85).  Daylight failed by time we reached Buffalo, then west to Cleveland

hugging Lake Erie shore, then south to Pittsburg on super highway, then cutting westward through Amish

countryside where no lights showed.  Inky blackness except for headlights. 

We shared the highway with dozens of 18 heelers en route to the golden valleys of California.        Empty trucks

driven by cowboys who resented my pathetic two way radio attempt at conversation— an exaggeration bred by fear.

‘How is traffic south to Pittssburg, 10-4?”

“Fuck off.”

Boxed us in on one occasion.  18 wheelers front back and side…uncomfortable for us.  Was boxing deliberate

or imagination?

  Two kids, two dogs,

two adults…one decrepit brown van limping southward.

“Boxed in.  Is this deliberate?”

“Cut the small talk on the two way radio, Alan,’’

The hours slid by…took us 8 hours to reach the corn field…we arrived well after midnight.  Our van

was no longer purring.  Sort of grunting now and then but once in gear it kept up with traffic.  Very little

traffic west from Pittsburg thankfully.   Kids asleep with dogs.   Marjorie watching the road seemingly

unaware of our trucks plaintive wheezing.

South from Norwich the road twisted and had sharp turns. Black night…black as hubs

 of hell.

Gravel road….steep hills. Deep valleys. Darkness. 

Ancient settlement road seemed to end in the corn field.

“Where are we??”

“I don’t rightly know>”

“Could you not stay on the road?’”

“What road?”

“What was that ‘Clunk?”

“Truck will not move…we are stranded.”

“Shouldn’t we ask for help…farmhouse over there?”

“Late…black night…danger to knock on door…guns.”

Then the night darkness was gone.  Headlights popped on,’

We were surrounded by camper vans and and half ton trucks

here for the annual Steam Up (ran for 40 years)

George Richey snuffled a greeting and noticed the gut

of our truck hanging…

How did you get here with that … no way to transfer 

 from motor to wheels.”

“Just kept moving…noisy.”

“We’ll get it fixed,”

Two trucks moved over to our truck with headlights…men crawled under…

marvelled the we survived the journey…said they could

fix things up in morning.

MORNING AT STARVED ROOSTER FARM, OCTOBER, 1978

…George and Helen Richey, Norwich, Ohio— 8 hour drive from Toronto

Before we awakened a bunch of mechanics crawled under our truck

and used ‘bailing wire and binder twine’ fixed her up for the trip home

on Sunday — therefore we had one day to enjoy and interview,

to eat and tell stories about the fertile drainage basin of the

great Missisippi River.

Lionel Hofmeister:  “I remember standing on the banks of Missisippi around 1910 and seeing steam spouting from

a dozen or more threshing rigs.  The soil was that thick and rich.  Today that rich black soil is washing away each

season and no one seems to care.”

ONE GRAND DAY WITH GEORGE AND HELEN RICHEY

Our boys spent Saturday feeding the sorghum into the crusher that squeezed a thin stream of sorghum into a pail to be refined

into molasses like product that was edible.  Maple syrup is better in my opinion.

Ancient farm machines arrived, were admired — some worked — then were taken back to their home farms.  Most of the

time we talked of times past.  About 50 people were invited.  Not a huge crowd. Really a special crowd.

“Wild pigs down in the sharp valleys.  Keep dogs close to home, Alan.” 

‘ Then we had a harvest feast among George Richey’s collection of tractors all of which were working.

I spent the day worrying about the trip home.  Would the driveshaft fall out on an American highway  on a Sunday afternoon miles

and miles from home?  Our truck was fixed but would it last for an 8 hour drive?

“Can you spare a bit of time, Alan — We would like to show you the BIG MUSKY — just a mile or so south of here.?”

“Sure, but we have no fishing rods.”

“Not necessary, anyway.  This is Sunday.  Big Musky sleeps on Sundays.”

“Let’s take  a look.”

What was George talking about?  

Next Episode — THE BIG MUSKY OF EASTERN OHIO