When we last left our friends, they had just come through a harrowing punctured radiator experience that Carl solved in a thoroughly disgusting manner (See last month for the tasteless details) that had Emma in a foul mood for days afterward.
In order to calm Emma down, Carl figured that maybe a little side trip off-road and some healthy recreation might be in order.

"Say, honey-pot. What say we git those dirt bikes off the bumper racks and take a nice trail ride? It's been some time since we wandered around on two wheels."

Emma just crossed her arms and pointed straight ahead with her chin.

Carl had The Whale on cruise control at exactly 58 miles per hour as they headed north. He knew damn well that no highway patrolman was going to stop you for a lousy three miles per hour, and it sure was fun bending the law a little bit, if not actually breaking it. "So, whaddaya think, sweety-pie? Just a romantic little trail ride. Maybe we can even find a deluded stream and do some skinny dipping. Hee, hee!" Emma shook her head and smiled, in spite of her foul mood. "You mean "secluded" stream, not "deluded" stream. When are you ever going to learn to quit mangling the English language?"

Carl rolled the window of The Whale down and launched a huge brown brackish wad of chew at a speed limit sign. The wad hit about seven inches off center, and he realized he had not allowed for the slight headwind when calculating his spit trajectory. "Hey, never mind all that grammar stuff. Howsa 'bout you and me taking a break and having some fun? C'mon, my little meadow muffin, let's roll the clock back a few years.

Remember that time back in '86 when we stumbled across that neat hot springs with the waterfall? And I chased you all over the place, buck-nekkid?"

Emma blushed a bright red and giggled uncontrollably. "Oh, Carl! You devil! It's a good thing no one saw us running around like a couple of teen-agers."

Carl emitted an evil little smile. He knew he had her on the hook. "Well, no wonder I chased you all over that hot spring. If I recall, you had just lost about 15 pounds with that new acrobatics tape from Cher, and was lookin' good!"

Emma giggled. "Oh, Carl! You mean "aerobics" tape, not "acrobatics" tape. You might not believe it, but I'm nearly the same weight now as I was back then. For the last month or so, I've been knocking off the guacamole dip and tortilla chips and eating rice cakes dipped in hot sauce instead."

Carl nodded his head knowingly. "Hells-fire, I knew something was up. You been lookin' real good as of late. It's a good thing we're married, or I'd be spending all of my spare time chasing you around. So, my slender cupcake, what say we take in the perfect trail ride?"

***

About an hour later, Carl saw an interesting dirt road and pulled off. He drove for another 20 minutes and found a nice flat area to park in. There were nicely wooded hills not too far away; the area looked pleasant. In fact, just about ideal.

Carl unloaded his big 600 KTM four stroke dirt bike from the rear bumper rack, and Emma's shiny little Hodaka from the front. Twenty minutes later, they had their riding gear and helmets on, and both gas tanks topped up. Carl had their swim suits, towels, and lunch stuffed in his back-pack.

Right before they fired the bikes up, Carl got the keys to The Whale and turned to Emma: "Listen, my turtle-dove of love; I'm gonna stick the keys to The Whale in the gas cap flap just so you know where they are."

Emma bristled. "Carl! That's the very first place any car thief would look. You simply have to find a better place than that."

"Huh? Well, I guess you're right. OK, I'll stick 'em under the lip of the rear bumper."
Emma gave a disgusted look. "That's the second most obvious place. You can do better than that."

"Hmmmm. Aha! I'll just put 'em on top of the roof. No one would ever think of looking there."

"What if the car thief is tall? The first thing he'll see is the shiny car keys glistening in the sun. And when we come back from out trail ride, The Whale will be gone. Think, Carl, think."

Carl scratched his head for a while. "How about this? I just stick 'em up the exhaust pipe!"

Emma sighed. "That's the third most obvious place. Everybody does that!"
Carl spit a large wad dead center on a nearby rock, and thought. "Okie-dokie. I'll stuff them behind the license plate."

"That's the fourth most obvious place they'd look. You've got to do better than that. After all, this is our home, and we have to protect it."

Carl shrugged his shoulders. "Jeez, woman, you're making it tough. Well, what about sticking the keys in the gap in the hood under the wiper blades? No one would ever look there."

"Honestly, I think you're putting out flags just telling potential Suburban thieves where to look. If anything, that place is more obvious than the first four places. You've simply got to come up with an original place to hide the keys."

Carl thought real hard; hard enough to where his head almost hurt. Then it came to him in a flash: "I got it! I'll just dig a small spot under one of the tires and bury the keys there. Then I'll cover it up with dirt and no one will never ever think of checking there."
Emma didn't appear 100 percent convinced. "What if someone sees the freshly moved dirt?"

"Don't worry about that. I've got an idea that'll make the traces virtually invisible. Just trust me on this one. Now just fire your bike up and let's go have us the perfect trail ride."

***

And a wonderful trail ride it was. After riding for less than a half hour, they discovered a small bit of paradise in the hills: a small stream emptied into a pool of crystal-clear water about waist deep. It was shaded from the sun by over-hanging trees and pine-needles lay on the ground in a foot-thick carpet.

Carl and Emma frolicked in the water, splashing each other like kids at play, then lay back on their towels on the pine-needle cushion, and let the sun dry them off. They ate their lunch and shared a small bottle of Thunderbird wine.

As the sun started to drop, they put their riding gear back ion and back-tracked to The Whale. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the camp-site; The Whale was still there, its tobacco stained flanks glistening in the late afternoon sun.

Then Carl gulped visibly.

"What's wrong, dear?"

Carl smacked himself on the forehead and let out a groan. "Well, I did it, Emma. I screwed up as much as a person can do."

"How's that, dear?"

He sighed. "Remember I told you I had an idea to protect the keys hidden under the tire?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think that technique had a basic sort of a flaw in it."

"How so, Carl?"

"OK. Now, don't get mad, but here's what I did. I scooped out a little hollow under the tire and stuck the keys there. Then I got in The Whale and let it roll backwards about a foot to cover up any signs of disturbed dirt."

"And?"

"And then I put The Whale in park and locked the doors. Emma, we got the keys buried dead-center under the left front wheel of our Suburban!"

Emma didn't say anything, but did start smacking Carl on the head with her helmet.

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.