The Poverty Wheel

A few weeks ago I stupidly volunteered to help my friend and coworker move. Understand that by “help” I mean I drove the truck and carefully tended to the box-o-joe purchased for the movers. At this stage of my life, that is about as much as I intend to do. Besides, I was not needed for the heavy lifting as she had enlisted the help of her burly son-in-law and several of his friends. I knew that these guys could provide fodder for a story. I was not disappointed.


I have been part of many different moving crews over the span of my life. Some of the moves were as organized as a shuttle launch; some were as chaotic as the running of the bulls in Pamploma. This move was closer to Spain than to NASA.

The young men enlisted as movers had obviously never done this before. Their objective: cram as much stuff into the truck as possible without regard as to what might fit in what space, and to do this as quickly as possible. To maximize the use of their time, they removed a 2nd floor window, brought furniture out of the window and on to the garage roof and then deftly heaved said furniture into the truck below. Of course, someone had to be in the truck to catch the furniture. Usually it was Nick, Bethanie’s son-in-law. Sometimes it was me, for I failed to get out of the way in time. So imagine the sight: truck backed to the garage, 3 men walking to the edge of the garage roof with furniture and handing it to the waiting morons below.

We made 3 trips from the old 2 story farmhouse to a smaller 1 story ranch. I was there as it all was unloaded, but I am still perplexed as to how it all got into the house. I can’t say for certain, but I think lubricants were used to get the stuff through the doors.

Before we left the farm house with the last load, I was treated to an exhibition such as I had never before witnessed. The movers, lead by Nick (a trouble-maker if there ever was one), took turns on what Bethanie called “the poverty wheel.” A poverty wheel is simply an empty wooden spool that once held cable for utility crews. I must admit, I have never heard them called poverty wheels, but Bethanie is from southern California, so that explains a lot.

This was great fun as the guys straddled the middle of the wheel, and holding on for dear life, tried to see how long they could stay on as the wheel was rolled down the hill. Imagine bull riding without the bull and with much less class. I still don’t know what the winner gained. If he avoided being run over by the guys who pushed, he could look forward to projectile vomiting when the ride was over.

I have one question: who has one of these as lawn ornaments, for crying out loud? When I was younger, they made avant-garde tables for coffee shops. But picnic tables? Just who is the redneck here?