We join them now as they're driving The Whale down the road, two weeks after the event. Strangely, there's no trailer hooked on the back of The Whale.
Emma sighed. "You know Carl, I'm sort of sad that we sold the Killer Whale monster truck."

Carl bit a hefty chunk of Red Man chewing tobacco and tucked it in the side of his mouth. "Well, we had a good run at it. It was fun and all that, but the way I figured, it was gonna cost us a fortune to compete on a regular basis. I mean, you ain't gonna win all the time, and when you get to the big events with the big money, then you gotta go up against Big Foot and all them sort of trucks. Naw, we had our fun and it's time for us to get back to wanderin' around. That's the longest we ever been in one town for the last three years."

Emma sipped at her Yoo-Hoo chocolate soda delicately. "Well, at least we were able to recoup our money we spent building the monster truck."

Carl bit off another plug. "Wffffpll, fffoo grrrtt thsuu vvllimmm nnnn ..."

Emma cut in. "Carl, please don't try to talk with a half pound of tobacco in your mouth. I can't understand a word you're saying!"

"Sorry, honey-pot. Now I got it all wadded up in one cheek, so I can denunciate properly."

"You mean enunciate."

"Right. That's what I said. Whatsamatter, you spill some of the chocolate soda in your ears, or something?"

Emma settled back with a sigh, and smiled. "Well, are we heading to Canada finally? I'd like to get up there when the leaves are turning colors."

Carl spat a huge wad of chew-juice at a road-side sign and nailed it on the lower left corner. "Boy, I'm gettin' better with age. That musta been a 22 foot shot at 55 miles per hour. Not bad at all. Oh yeah, you mentioned Canada? Well, I think we ought to wander in that general direction. But I sure got the urge to do some off-road wandering on the way up there. Just find us a nice little dirt road somewhere, find a stream or a lake and maybe do some camping. Sound good?"

"Ooooooh! That sounds wonderful. I'll get the map out and look for something interesting."

Carl grunted. "We don't need no stinkin' map! All I gotta do is use my keen sense of sight. I'll just keep my eyes open for some landscape that looks good, and any old dirt road that heads in that direction will do."

"What do you look for?"

"Easy. You look for some humps and bumps in the terrain. Hills have to have valleys. I mean, you can't have a hill if it's all even. If a hill was even, it would be level and wouldn't be a hill, now would it? You follow that so far?"

"Uhh, yes. I think so. Then what?"

"Like I said, you got your hills, so that means you got your low spots. And when you got low spots, that's were you can find water. I ain't seen a lake yet on the side of a hill, or on a mountain peak. So, we head for some kind of space between a coupla hills. Bingo! Chances are we'll find a perfect camping spot, catch a few fish and have a great time."

They drove for a few hours, listening to Willy Nelson tapes and munching on Dorito chips dunked in a garlic/jalapeno/bacon dip. Then Carl let out whoop and pointed off to the right. "Now that looks a spot with some potential! Check it out; big hills, lottsa trees, some grass on the low land ... should be fine camping somewhere back in there."

Carl peeled The Whale off the highway and onto a side road. A few miles down the road, he pulled into a small gas station and gassed up all three tanks. The attendant wiped a greasy red rag over the windshield. "If you're headin' back in the hills, you might wanna buy some extra water to take with you."

Carl took out some paper towels and re-cleaned the windshield. "No thanks. I'll just find me a place to camp near some water."

The attendant wiped his runny nose with the same greasy red rag. "I don't think there's much in the way of lakes or ponds up there. Of course, I ain't ever been up there myself, but I don't see no boats ever go by here."

Carl let out a clever-looking smile. "Young man, that don't mean a thing. If you know your way around the woods, you can always find some water."

Emma finished off her Yoo-Hoo Chocolate Soda. "Maybe we should stock up on water, Carl? I haven't checked the water tanks lately."

Carl snorted. "Hey, have you considered the fact that they charge money for the water here? If you want water from that hose, you gotta put three quarters in the machine. And the jug water is 59 cents a gallon. I think we'll just pass on that for now, and find our own free water. I will need some beer extra beer, though."

Ten minutes later, they were underway down the narrow paved road, which soon turned into a pleasant dirt road, which in turn, turned into a bumpy-narrow two-track. The came to a fork, and Carl took the right trail, which was a very tight, gnarly trail that headed off toward those inviting hills.

Carl was glad that he had some good Rancho shocks on The Whale, as the trail deteriorated badly, and the big Suburban was able to get up to a comfortable speed that let the shocks work, while the chassis stayed relatively stable.

Up ahead was an abandoned old farmhouse with a faded Mail Pouch sign on the side, that looked ready to fall over with one stiff breeze. Carl stopped, and zeroed out the odometer. It never hurt to know exactly how far back in you were, and that farmhouse made a great landmark. Just in case.

He headed for a gap between two large green hills that looked promising. The trail got rougher and rougher, and all that was left on the ground to guide Carl, was the two-track marks left by others who had gone that way in the past.

There were some slippery off-camber sections that required finesse from the driver, so Carl slipped The Whale into four wheel drive, and instantly felt the big BF Goodrich All Terrain tires start to grip and pull smoothly forward. No slide-slipping with those babies!

A half-hour later, Carl dropped down into a rock-filled canyon, and had to pick his way slowly around most of the boulders and over some of the bigger ones. The only clue that any other vehicles had ever passed through here, were the scrape marks on the rocks.

Carl was glad when they finally got out of that stuff and into some normal woods. The two-track trail resumed, and Carl was able to go back to two-wheel drive. The only thing that made the driving difficult, was that the brush was over-growing the trail. Fender-high weeds, brush and scrub pines scratched up against the sides of The Whale. At times, Carl couldn't even see the trees flanking the trail, and shuddered when he heard that all too familiar scraping sound on the body that meant it would require several hours of buffing with rubbing compound to get the scratches out.
Emma tapped Carl on the shoulder. "Dear, I don't mean to interrupt you, but ..."
"Then don't! Under conditions like this, a driver has to pay complete attention to the terrain and his machine. My mind is like a computer, wanderin' back and forth from the controls, to the gauges, to the obstacles, so any distractions would ... what's that noise?"

Emma sighed. "I think it's the sound of your radiator boiling over."

"What? How could that be?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you. While you've been so busy driving, I figured the least I could do was keep an eye on your gauges. You know ... the oil pressure, the temperature. All the usual stuff. You've been running about 280 degrees right now."

Carl peered at the dash in stark racing horror! Whoa! The temp gauge was pegged!
He found an open spot and pulled The Whale off the trail and shut the engine down.

When Carl popped the hood, he was greeted by a wall of steam.

He let loose with a stream of vile Navy curses that would have curdled milk on a cold day. Emma blanched. "You know, I never did get used that kind of language. Not even after you spent 28 years in the Navy with all those foul-mouthed friends of yours."

"Sorry, honey-pot. I got sorta carried away. Now stand back from all that steam and let's see if I can figure out what caused this here grief."

Carl did the old trick of moving the hood up and down to clear the steam from the engine, and in moments, he had a clear view of the engine compartment. A small stick was poking right dead center in the front of the radiator, and steam and liquid was blowing out of the hole.

Carl started swearing like a trooper again, and Emma smacked him on the top of his head with an empty Yoo-Hoo bottle. "Carl! Now you stop that, right now! One more foul word from you, and I'm going to stick this bottle up your ... your ... your nose!"

"Whoops. Sorry, my dear. I promise to try harder to correct my language, no %*#@. Owww! That hurt. You almost split my head open with that stupid soda bottle. We got us a bigger problem here than my foul mouth, Emma. There's a hole in here the size of bowling ball."

Emma peered over the front end. "Pish and tiffle. That's nothing. I've got a magazine tech article that tells you how to fix cooling system problems on the trail. I read the whole article while we were driving down the road, and there's no reason in the world we can't fix this ourself."

"Where's that magazine? It's the September issue, right? Go get me the magazine and a couple of cold beers. I think I'd better read that thing over."

A few minutes later, Carl was working on his second beer and had finished the article. "No problem, Emma. This thing pretty much covers it all. We've got the right stuff to plug the hole, so all we have to do is fix it, then fill it up with water. Emma? Go fill up a couple of jugs from the sink tap and bring 'em out here. I'll start on fixing the damage."

Carl grabbed a rag and released the radiator cap, and watched as the last bit of steam escaped from the massive over-sized radiator. He then checked out his tool kit and found some radiator sealants. Just about that time, he heard a loud "Oh, no!" from inside The Whale.

"Emma? What is it? A spider? A snake?"

"No. It's worse than that. We're completely out of water!"