Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.
Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.
Sixty years ago, I learned to drive my father’s truck. And no one got ran over.
Have to say was more than luck.
I drove the truck down through the field. Seemed summer’s hottest days. And
soon found out you never pop the clutch when hauling hay.
At fourteen years I passed the test. Now legal behind the wheel. We’d speed
down highway 20 listening to the tires squeal.
We drove our cars and worn-out trucks, too fast those teenage years. We liked to
hear the deafening roar when shifting through the gears.
I guess as time would have it, we outgrew the crazy stage. Our driving turned
responsible. They say it comes with age.
But those younger years of driving truck while hauling loads of hay, taught me to
keep my eyes peeled for cars heading in my way.
Beware of my surroundings, more than me out on the road. And always keep
and eye out for the driver who’s stoned cold.
Well, now that I’m retired and have a bit of common sense. I’d have to say I’ve
slowed down and my driving’s in defense.
The other day while driving on the road of, “Risk your life.” A motorcycle loaded
with the driver and his wife,
Attempted to fly by us ‘cuz our lane was driving slow. We were stuck behind a
motorhome and driving with the flow.
A semi-truck was baring down about to smash the bike. I slammed the brake.
The biker’s wave sure wasn’t lady like.
I hope one day she’ll realize they almost caused their death. They barely missed
the trucker. Prob’ly even smelled his breath.
But one thing was for certain when I slammed down on the brake. My inner
trained reflexes did not kick in by mistake.