Carl was curious about the park: "I gotta see this place. There's no way those Canadians can run a park like we do here in the good old USA."

Emma looked startled. "Carl! How can you say such terrible things about our northern neighbors? They're wonderful people and share many of the same things that we do."

Carl grunted. "Hmmmpf. I don't know about that. Think about it for a second, woman. Their national sport is hockey, which consists of a bunch of guys dressed up like Eskimos, whacking each other on the head with sticks. Now what kind of a sport is that? Hells-fire, they can't even play football right. Three downs instead of four and a goofy-sized field. If they run that Glacier Park like they play football, you'll probably need a hunting license to go fishing, and a fishing license to build a camp fire."

Emma folded her arms and got a sour look on her face. "I'll have you know that my Uncle Marvin lives in Canada, and he's normal."

Carl laughed. "Normal? You call a guy who lives in a log cabin on top of a mountain normal? And not only that, he drives one of those stupid old Broncos that look like those stupid old Scouts. So go figure. And while you're figurin', go back there in the kitchen area and cook me up somethin' good, like beans and franks. Something hot, 'cause it's gettin' cold outside."

Indeed, it was getting colder outside, in spite of the fact that it was simply the middle of fall. They were heading north on Montana highway 209, near Seeley Lake. A half hour further up the road, the elevation would kick up to over 10,000 feet as they neared McDonald Peak. Higher altitude almost always meant cooler temperatures.

Emma fumbled around in the kitchen for a while, let out a big sigh, then got back in the passenger seat. "Bad news, dear. We're out of propane for the stove. I told you we should have filled that tank up back in Idaho Falls."

Carl rubbed his stomach, which let out an audible growl. "Well, then put something in the microwave oven. I gotta have me a good, hot meal."

"Sorry. The microwave has been broken for almost a month. You promised me you'd fix it. Remember?"

"Aw, geez. I'm starving."

"Well, I can fix you a sandwich, or open a bag of chips."

"Emma, maybe I ain't makin' myself clear. My body is yearning for a real meal. Somethin' steaming hot. Somethin' I can splash some ketchup on. Somethin' that'll make my forehead break out in sweat. Somethin' I can dip a chunk of bread into. Do you get the message, Emma?"

Emma just mumbled under her breath, and it sounded suspiciously like swearing, even though Carl knew that Emma never used bad language.

Then it hit him like a flash. "Hey, Emma! Get a bunch of that bacon out of the 'fridge, and while you're at it, get the aluminum foil out of the top cupboard."

Emma brought the bacon and the foil, and put it down on the center console. "What are you going to do, cook it with your cigar lighter?"

Carl smiled broadly. "Better than that, Emma. Ya see, I remember readin' a book about 10 or 12 years ago, called the Off-Roader's Handbook. I think Spence Murray and James Crow wrote it. Well, anyways, in the back of that book, they talked about a little trick of cookin' your food on the engine. So that's what we're gonna do. Now you take out about a half-dozen strips of bacon and wrap it in foil, just for an experiment. If this works OK, then we'll take it from there. Now lay the bacon out flat, so the heat will get to it nice and even. Then make sure you cover it with foil, and fold the edges over so you don't get any bacon grease leakin' on the engine."

Carl stopped The Whale, popped the hood, and carefully placed the bacon between the intake manifold and the bottom of the air cleaner. He used a section of coat hanger to hold the foil in place.

He closed the hood, fired the engine up and headed down the highway. In about ten minutes, the delicious aroma of cooking bacon wafted through the spacious cab of The Whale. Having never cooked bacon like this before, Carl wasn't sure how long to keep in on the manifold, so he stopped after a half-hour and took a peek. Wow! The bacon was darned near perfect!

He poured the excess bacon grease out of the foil, then proudly took his culinary delight inside to show it to Emma. "Hey, woman. Lookee here! This is some first-class bacon. Have a bite."

Emma cautiously picked up a piece of bacon and munched delicately at it. "Gosh. It's good. Carl, I am surprised!"

"Guess I'm just a genius. Well, as long as this works, I guess I'll just rustle up a complete meal. Emma, go get me a can of pork n' beans, a can of stew, some more bacon wrapped in foil, and some of that french bread."

Without saying a word, Emma bustled into kitchen area and got all the requested items. Carl found a rest area, pulled off the side of the road, and went about the business of loading up the engine with all the food to be cooked.

First, another batch of bacon wrapped in foil was placed on the intake manifold. The frozen french bread was safety-wired in place on top of the air cleaner, which - Carl figured - would warm it up nicely, being slightly less hot than under the air cleaner.

The cans were placed on the exhaust manifold; beans on the right and the beef stew on the left. Carl carefully safety-wired them into place so they wouldn't slip around and maybe fall off on the road from vibration.

With a huge smile of satisfaction on his face, Carl fired the big Suburban up and headed north once again. "Well, Emma. I figure a half-hour ought to do everything. We know that 30 minutes is just right for the bacon, and those big 32 ounce cans of beans and stew should heat up real good on the exhaust, 'cause it's hotter than the intake manifold."

A short time later, the smell of frying bacon once again filled the cab. Carl took a deep breath and his mouth started watering. "Boy-oh-boy, I can almost taste that meal already. Emma, why don't you fold the table down and get some plates out?"

A few minutes later, Carl could make out the unmistakable smell of pork n' beans, then right after that, the smell of stew cooking. "You smell that, Emma? That's the smell of beans and stew being prepared by a master chef."

Emma looked puzzled. "Carl, I have a question that might seem a bit silly. If the beans and the stew are in cans, then how can you smell them?"

Carl's jaw sagged, then his eyes got wide! "Whoa, we got some problems!"

He quickly pulled The Whale over to the shoulder and popped the massive hood, just as the can of beans exploded like a small land mine. About five seconds later, the seam in the stew can gave way, and this can let loose like a bad dream.

Emma got out of the Suburban with a damp dish rag in hand, and started to wipe the beans and stew off of Carl. "What happened, dear?"

"Guess maybe I should have punched a little vent hole in those cans." With that, Carl scooped some beans from the top of his head and tasted them. "Not half bad."

Emma just shook her head and went inside The Whale for a giant roll of paper towels and a bucket of water.