The Last Fishing

Vasya – my comrade operator-extremist bought somewhere in the Yaroslavl village a house near the water, to come there in the summer with vodka, and back with fish, if lucky. I picked up the car with my brother. Terrible, not especially painted and even without wings, but the trailer turned out to be quite spacious and clearly strong. We loaded up to the refusal with all the rugged good and spandored to "Niva". I was also summoned to three, in a purely male company, to go missing for a week, to remember youth, to cook ears.

But the day before the departure, Vasyn's grandfather, a godfather and a Moscow intellectual in some generation, met, so, he also asked us for fishing.

Vasya and his brother, of course, began to answer him:

- Grandfather, well, you yourself think, four hundred kilometers in the heat to shake, and also your wheelchair (grandfather, then failed to fall, broke the hip neck and temporarily moved to the wheelchair). Well, okay, let the wheelchair go to the trailer, but no matter, grandfather, why are you so nervous? You’re ninety-two and you’re under pressure.
- Nothing that pressure, twenty grams of watermelon I will take as a hand... That is the fact that I have ninety-two, and I have never been fishing, but just gathered. Thro his life he has been breathing lead in his printing. And then, who takes me to the first and last fishing, like my grandchildren?

The roof was nothing, took my grandfather.

And here, in the evening, on the terribly liquid road after the rain, we naturally stuck. And also in the hill. All we needed was fifteen meters to the top of the hill, and here it is, our village. "Niva" roars, dirt is thrown, and we rise in the trailer, the veins are torn. One behind the wheel, two push, then we change, only the grandfather in the front seat sits, cries, worries. We have already removed the bags from the trailer and the inflatable boat and the wheelchair. There was only a diesel generator left, but it only weighed like a tank.

Here we stood back again, and we cannot move a millimeter, suddenly "Niva" smelt and grandfather called us with Vasey. We have arrived.

I just turned around and saw that you were pushing the truck wrong.
In other words, are we wrong? We push it all, and what else?
You were like little kids and still wanted to go without me. The instruction is simple: one lies with the chest on the left wheel, the other on the right, resting your feet on the ground and the business will go. The trick is that the top of the wheel moves much easier than the whole wheel, and the hands here are not especially needed, the main legs.

Nothing to do, I lay down with a white shirt on the dirty wheel, and the matter really moved from a dead spot. Twenty minutes later we were on the mountain. They rested.

Vasya asked:

Grandpa, how do you know how to push the trailer? You have never had a car, you have no right.
There were no cars. and what? But I had a rifle and I drove it two thousand kilometers behind the wheel with my chest.

P.S

Two years later, Grandpa went to his squadron. They ride there, probably, their rifle, smoke and tell each other wretched anecdotes.

The Day of Victory.
Remember those guys.