The animals gathered by the barn and asked Barney to tell them about his biggest adventure. Barney cleared his throat, revved his engine for a moment 🎵, and began his story.

One warm summer day, machines from all over the world came to our village. There were shiny combine harvesters, fast tractors, fancy lawnmowers, and mighty wagons. There was even a mysterious machine that said it was made for picking cucumbers, even though it looked suspiciously like a cement mixer.

The race was organized by Steve, an old combine harvester with a lot of experience and a very bad memory. He made welcome signs for the visiting racers. On the first one, he wrote “Machines from germany 🎵.” On the second, “Racers from spain 🎵,” and on the third, “Guests from japan 🎵.” When Allie the owl reminded him that country names need capital letters, Steve just said that small letters use less paint.

All the machines were getting ready for the Great Race. The track went through fields, muddy roads, the woods, and steep hills. The prize was the famous Diamond Steering Wheel.

I was parked quietly by the barn with a trailer full of hay, watching everyone get ready. I had just come back from the field and only wanted to watch. But when I drove a little closer, Steve put my name on the list of racers.

“Me? But I only carry hay!” I protested.

Steve decided that this was excellent preparation for a race. He painted the number seventeen on my doors and sent me to the starting line. He didn’t even let me unhitch my trailer. He claimed that extra weight was great for building character.

Just then, Turbo-Ted drove up to me. He was a modern red tractor 🎵 with a shiny chrome exhaust pipe and tires so clean they looked like they had never seen a muddy field. He bragged that his engine had the power of three hundred horses.

“And where do you keep them all?” I asked, looking under his hood.

The chickens standing nearby 🎵 burst into loud clucking. Offended, Turbo-Ted honked his horn and drove away 🎵, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

Mikey, who was rolling around nearby, just had to chime in.

“My blades have checked the track!” he announced, spinning with pride 🎵.

Only later did we discover that his “checking the track” meant mowing half the field and chopping down Steve’s starting flag.

The racers lined up. Steve got on a wooden box and unrolled the rulebook. The roll of paper tumbled across the yard, went around the barn, scared a goat 🎵, and stuck to the snout of a sleeping pig 🎵.

Luckily, Steve found a spare flag in the barn, even though he had no idea when he had hidden it there. Finally, he raised it high in the air and brought it down with a swoosh.

The race started with a bang 🎵. Engines roared, wheels kicked up clouds of dust, and the animals in the audience cheered 🎵. The machines zoomed forward so fast that the scarecrow jumped off its pole and hid in the barn.

I started last. My engine coughed, sputtered, and let out a little puff of smoke that looked like a duck.

“That’s not smoke. That’s racing mist,” I explained.

Then I heard Dante’s voice coming from the trailer: