When we last left our friends, they were headed in the general direction of Canada, but had been distracted with various side trips. Since they had no real schedule to keep, this was no big deal. That was one of the great benefits of being retired and living out of a traveling 4x4: you did what you wanted, when you wanted.
In fact, Carl tended to lose track of what was happening, since he never bought a news paper and whenever he watched television, it was usually WWF Wrestling or Road Runner cartoons. We join them now, as they wander (what else?) in a generally northward direction.

Carl leaned back in the conformable captain's chair with his legs stretched out. As per usual practice, the cruise control on The Whale was set at 58 miles per hour, exactly three miles over the posted speed limit. Carl's philosophy was clear on this:"Ain't no state trooper chicken-crap enough to write you up for three miles over the limit. It's jist enough to irritate 'em."

Carl yawned, belched heavily, and then quietly passed some gas. To cover himself, he thought quickly: "Did you see that dead skunk alongside the road back there? Musta been the size of a German Sheppard. Pheeeeewww! Enough to make you gag."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Ugh! It's awful. And for some reason, it smells like pepperoni."

Carl suppressed a smile. Faked her out again! "Say, Emma. Why don't you turn that radio on and see if you can raise a good country station? A coupla good Willy Nelson songs right about now would be nice."

Emma fiddled with the knobs on the intimidating Blitzkreig Watt Blaster radio, and finally found the tuner. She rotated the knob slowly:

... turn, turn, turn ... squack ... squeal ...

"... coming in at number 19 on the Top 40 list, is Shoot The Cops In The Head, by Ice Water Jones and the Rap Killers, up last week from number ..."

... turn, turn, turn ... "

"stamped, self-addressed envelope to Famous Morticians School, right here in Tulsa ... ... so if you've always wanted to be a mortician, now's your chance! Just send a ?"

... turn, turn, turn ... "

"... and quit losing money with low interest back savings. Forget gold and silver. Yes, the real way to make big bucks, is with plutonium investments. Did you know that you can't make nuclear bombs without plutonium? That little known fact can give you the inside edge on real ..."

... turn, turn, turn ... "

"... so why pay more for groceries? C'mon down to Finsters Food Fair, where you can get three bunches of rutabaga for only 49 cents, and not only that ..."

... turn, turn, turn ... "

"... tuned for the six o'clock news, brought to you by Lucky Lube, where you can get your oil changed in 20 minutes or less, and then roll the dice to see if you pay double, or get it free. Only in Nevada, it's Lucky Lu ..."

Carl sighed. "Ain't there nuthin' good on, Emma?"
Emma fixed him with a sharp look. "It wouldn't hurt you to find out what's going on in the world today. Let's just listen to the evening news for a change."
Carl grunted.

" ... and the President said today that his budget plan will help the economy in the long run, and that the American people will be able to handle the increase in taxes ..."

Carl got read in the face. "Dammit! I knew I never should have voted for Nixon. He promised not to raise taxes. And now look at this: increased taxes!"

Emma shook her head from side to side. "Carl, Nixon isn't president any more."

"Hmmmph. No wonder, what with raising the taxes and all. Who whipped him? Goldwater? Hubert Humphrey?"

"Not quite. They got a new guy in named Clinton, from Arkansas. Some kind of New Age person. He wants gays in the military ... that sort of stuff."

"What's wrong with that? You gotta have gates in the military. If you don't, all sorts of weird people will get in to the bases. Not only that, you gotta have big tall fences with barbed wire on the top."

"Not 'gates', Carl. Gays. Oh, never mind. Why don't we just listen to the news, and maybe we'll find out something interesting. After all, how many times can you listen to Willy Nelson singing Whiskey River?"

"I dunno. Two hunnert? Three hunnert? I never get tired of it. So what's your point, Emma?"

"Oh, never mind. Just shut up and drive. Maybe, in spite of yourself, you'll learn something."

" ... news is brought to you in part by the best little lake in the area, Lake Finster. Swimming, boating, fishing and just plain fun, are part of the activities at Lake Finster. And not only that, if you just stop by and fill up your tank, you could win a free inflatable boat. Located just three miles off Highway ..."

Carl snapped to attention. "Look, Emma! There's a sign! We're only a few miles from Lake Finster. And we're low on gas. Who knows? Maybe we can win that inflatable boat. That boat we got on the roof is getting pretty old and crusty. It sure would be nice to get a boat that's not only new, but maybe half the weight of our old rig. What the heck... let's give it a shot!"

A few minutes later, The Whale rumbled up to the gas station at Lake Finster. Carl filled the tanks of The Whale up, then walked inside the station to check on the boat contest: "Say, what's the deal on winning this here inflatable boat?"

The attendant set down his worn copy of Hustler and handed Carl a card. "Just scratch off any three of the 15 squares. If you get three boats, you win. If you get two boats, you get a free pint of night crawlers. If you get one boat, you get a free plastic whistle. Good luck, partner."

Carl extracted quarter out of his pocket and thought real hard for a moment, then scratched off one square. Wow! A boat!

He closed his eyes, poked a finger at another square, scratched that one off, and got another boat! "Emma! Git your buns over here! I already got two boats. If I get a third one, we're gonna be floatin' high! Wish me luck!"

Emma rubbed Carls' thinning crew-cut for luck, and watched intently as he scratched off the third square.

Carl let out a loud whoop. "Hey! I got it! I won the boat! Lookee here! Hot damn!"

Emma's eyes bugged out. "How'd you do that, dear?"

"Well, I sort of thought it out real careful and used my scientific mind to calculate exactly where the winning squares would be. The rest is history."

The attendant sighed. "Lady, he closed his eyes and picked the last two boxes. This wasn't exactly no rocket science move."

One hour later, Carl was opening a very large cardboard box right next to the edge of Lake Finster. The first thing he extracted from the box was an instruction manual. "You got to follow these things closely, Emma. It's not like blowing up a raft. These modern devices are made out of Kevlar, Mylar, Poly-butyl-stuff, PBS, PVC, and God knows what else. Too much air, and we could blow this thing all the way to Montana. Not enough air, and it'll sink like a claw hammer. So stand back, shut up, and let me set this unit up."

Emma did indeed, stand back. Carl followed the instructions like a free-lance brain surgeon doing a mail-order brain transplant.

He inflated the boat carefully to exactly 80 p.s.i., using the air compressor built into The Whale. Then he installed the small engine, using the supplied hardware, taking extra care to torque them down to exactly the indicated specs. All the goodies were bolted down as per the instructions. His thick forefinger followed each line and each word.

One hour later, the boat was ready.

Carl fired up the five horsepower engine and let it warm up. He did a double check on the brackets and fittings, then smiled: "Emma? Get your buns in the boat. We're goin' to take 'er for a spin on Lake Finster."

Emma looked at the bright yellow inflatable boat. "I didn't realize it was so big. Gosh, it's impressive! But shouldn't we put that little cover over the air valve?"

Carl studied the boat for a moment, then flipped through the manual. "Nope. It don't say nuthin' about covering that thing up with a stopper. This here is a Your-O-Pean boat, made in Germany, and these people make a good product and a good manual. I go by the manual. So hop in and I'll launch this here sucker."

Emma gingerly stepped into the boat and sat down in the bow. Carl got a good grip on the stern and wiggled it into the water. In a few moments, the bright yellow inflatable was floating high and dry. Carl fired up the motor and they churned off toward the center of Lake Finster.

About one minute out, the yellow boat started sitting low in the water. Two minutes after that, it was sitting alarmingly low.

Emma leaned over the side and looked at the air valve. A steady hissing sound was emitting.

She tried to point this out to Carl, but he was busy working his way out among the many water craft on the crowded lake. Three minutes later, water was lapping over the edges of the center of the boat, and even Carl was forced to admit that fact.

Sixty seconds later, the middle of the boat was sagging like an over-ripe banana, and the front and the rear were pointing up into the sky.

Another minute passed, and Carl realized that a real problem was in the making: "Swim for it, Emma! We're sinking!"

Emma bailed over the side and doggie-paddled for shore, while Carl tried to turn the water-laden craft around.

When Emma was half way to the shore, she saw the boat sag heavily in the middle and Carl dive head first into the water.

Unfortunately, he hit a mud bank about two feet below the surface.
Fortunately, the safety patrol saw his feet waving in the air, and extracted him before he ingested the muddy bottom.

Later on, as Emma sipped on a Yoo-Hoo chocolate soda, she reflected on the fact that they were able to sell the boat for $200, which almost covered the rescue fee.
Sigh.

Rick "Super Hunky" Sieman

Carl and Emma live the good life. Carl, a retired Navy Chief Officer, drives a huge 4WD Suburban all over the country to explore off-roading areas. The Suburban, nick-named The Whale, is loaded to the max with every goodie known to man. Emma, a very patient lady, tries to keep the short-fused Carl out of as much as possible.