|Pigtails lassoing fire|
We made the weekend count, road trip to Mom and Dad's house to celebrate Independence Day/Dad's birthday. He was born on July 4, 172 years after our country axed Britain's pompous shackles. They can keep their scones, those things suck.
I must've accidentally nudged the Nikon D40's setting dial a notch too far, from fireworks to paparazzi, as it shot a 100 pics and wouldn't quit. So I'll let it do the heavy lifting and tell the story through photos. Much to cover, keep up. I pity the fool pulling this post up on a tiny 3" smartphone with a tiered data plan; this one will redline your MB limit.
Tractor pull with Dad, just like when I was a boy. Twin turbo diesels snorting 100 feet of soot, nitromethane stinging our nostrils. So I'm 1/4 redneck, half removed on my Dad's side, deal with it:
Crack the convertible, digging deep into Illinois countryside:
Sun dropped, launch 'em:
Something went terribly wrong with a shell. Excellent fireball, I could feel the heat and shock nuke my torso. Nobody was hurt (other than some fried eyebrows), big whoopsie was better than the fireworks: