The Slow-Cooked Sentence

Sunscreen slapped, hats attached.
Shovel dirt? We we’re willin’ to try.
But with wagon tires flat,
there the mountain sat.
And so best laid plans go awry.

What did we do,
me and my crew?
Why, we slurped time away
with technicolor soda-y,
Knowing the tire would be fixed soon.