At first light, Carl fired up the huge 454 motor in The Whale and let it warm up, while they put stuff away and battened things down. In ten minutes, they each had a cup of coffee sitting in the console, and Carl glanced over the multitude of gauges on the dash. "Well, oil and water temperatures are perfect, oil pressure is 40 pounds at idle, two gas tanks are full and the center tank is 3/4 full, so we can go maybe 800 miles before we have to refuel. I've got plenty of chewing tobacco and once we get on the Interstate, you can cook us up some breakfast. We got about 800 miles to go as the crow flies, and about 980 miles as the crow walks. I figure I can cover a thousand miles in 24 hours with no sweat, so let's hit it!"

Carl and Emma were near the intersection of three states: Oregon, Idaho and Nevada, which left them a rather clear route to get to the Badlands.

Carl caught 95 north in Oregon, slipped east on 55 in Idaho and hooked up with Interstate 80, and put it on cruise control at exactly six miles an hour over the speed limit, a speed he knew would not attract attention from any decent highway patrol cop.

Emma busied herself in the back of the big Whale, frying up bacon and eggs, while Carl kept his eye on traffic and fiddled with the radio, trying to get a clear station with Rush Limbaugh on it.

The miles rolled under the massive tires of the Suburban, as the mighty 454 engine loped down the road, barely working. Carl stopped around mid-afternoon, just after they crossed the Wyoming/Utah state line, gassed up, hit the rest room, bought a sack of greasy burgers and 30 weight French fries, and hit the road again.

They drove easily and comfortably through the early night, and were far enough ahead of schedule to stop a bit north of Cheyenne to take a few hours to nap. Emma thought it might be a good idea to see the Badlands in the daylight to appreciate them.

At dawn, they were on the road again, and by 8 AM, they were on Highway 90, heading east of Rapid City, South Dakota. Another 40 miles of driving brought them to Badlands National Park.

The photos in the magazine didn't do justice to the staggering beauty of the Badlands! The early morning sun cast a golden glow on the sharply-pointed rocky peaks.

Our wandering duo pulled up to the Badlands Loop Road on Route 240 and paid the $5 fee to the ranger. He gave them a few brochures and warned them about taking anything from the Park.

Carl was stunned. "Hey, all I want is one of those dinosaur bones or claws like in the Jurassic Park movie. You mean I can't do that?"

The ranger patiently explained things: "Sir, the problem of fossil rustlers is very real. There are gangs of commercial rustlers who poach ancient sites and sell the stuff to local tourist shops. And there are others who specialize on selling fossils to museums all over the world. There wouldn't be much left for folks to see if we let these fossil crooks run rampant."

Carl got red in the face. "But I don't want a sack of fossils, and I'm not a crook! All I want is maybe one teensy-weensy little dinosaur bone or claw."

The ranger sighed. "Sir, we realize that the average citizen is not the problem, and we know that every now and then, somebody takes something out of here. But all we can try to do is discourage the practice. We're a whole lot more worried about the commercial fossil rustlers than we are about the odd tourist who sticks a bone in his pocket."

Carl looked puzzled for a moment, then his face brightened. "Well, you guys don't search everyone who goes in and out of here, do you?"

"No sir, but there is a stiff fine and perhaps a few nights in jail for anyone unlucky enough to get caught."

"Hmmm. Well, okey-dokey, then. We're just gonna wander around and look at things. Where would you say the best spots would be to actually see some fossils?"

"Your best bet would be to park over there where the signs to the marked trails are, and head off on any one of them. But after you get out a mile or so, get off the trail and wander around the cliff bases, or in the arroyos. Look in the colored clay and rock sections, especially where you can find some exposed horizontal layers of material stacked up like slate. And if you find something interesting, take a picture of it to preserve the memory. That way, the next person who wanders along the same route can have the same thrill of finding a fossil."

"Right. You got it, ranger."

"Good luck, folks. Would you like one of these pamphlets that identify the different fossils you're likely to find?"

"No thanks. Emma here bought one of those illustrated fossil books at a roadside stand, so we're covered. Also, I saw Jurassic park. Twice."

The ranger smiled. "Well, that certainly qualifies you for fossil hunting. Just keep an eye out for those T-Rex's."

Carl looked at the ranger intently. "Are you goofy? Those things have been dead for hundreds of years."

"Just a little bit of ranger humor, sir."