When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gone through their confused version of Miami Vice. For the moment, the wandering couple had seen enough of the orange juice state to last them a decade or three. Carl figured a complete change of climate was in order and they had always wanted to see Mexico anyway.

***

We join them now as they head west through Louisiana, toward the Left Coast. The day is warm, the sun shining brightly and The Whale is rumbling smoothly along at exactly two miles an hour over the speed limit. The day is so perfect, that all the windows on the giant Suburban are rolled down. No air conditioning needed today.

Carl shifted the plug of Red Man chewing tobacco to the right side of his mouth so he could control the spit from the left side. A good chewing man learns effective spitting techniques early.

A roadside speed sign was in sight up ahead and Carl concentrated mightily as The Whale approached. He pursed his lips, allowed sufficient lead and aimed just so... and let loose with a brownish wad of juice that flew in a flat arc. The wad hit dead center right between the two "5s" and Carl grunted with satisfaction. Sure, the legs get old, but some things got better with age.

Emma sighed and looked up from her knitting. "Dear, I wish you wouldn't spit all over the landscape. Who knows what kind of terrible things could happen?"

Carl let out a big booming laugh. "What kind of trouble? Will the spit patrol give me a ticket? Haw, haw!"

Emma wrinkled her nose and thought for a moment. "Well dear, there could be a sudden gust of wind and it could blow all that stuff right back in your face."

"Winds? On a warm day like this in Louisiana? Did you stick one of those knitting needles in your brain, Emma? That's a laugh! Whatever... why don t you take a break from making that three-necked sweater and git me some good country sounds on the radio?"

Emma stared at the intimidating sound system that cost more than the average car, and hesitated.

Carl barked, "The red button, Emma, the big red one that says "ON". I told you a hunnert times that's the one that fires it up. Jeez!"

Emma sighed and gingerly pressed the button. A bewildering array of multi-colored lights blinked wildly and LED bars climbed up and down like monitors on a nuclear reactor on steroids.

A blast of sound pounded through the cab of The Whale:

"Ooooooh babeeee, bayd, baby, baby, I wanna jump on your lips! Ya, ya, ya, down with the pigs and up with giant bags of dope and I'm gonna lick you on the..."

Carl yelled over the music. "I don't think that's Willy Nelson, Emma. Just mebbe you ought to try a few more stations." Emma located the big dial that changed stations and rotated it:

?dial, dial, dial...
"...so now is the right time to invest in gold and silver. Sure, the market has been down, but that means it's ready to go up, so you ought to take all of your money out of the bank and get ready to make some real interest. Stop down at the Gold and Silver Euphorium and ask for Lefty or..."

?dial, dial, dial...
"...no matter how long you've been bald, new Danish Formula Bush Head Number Seven will bring in a crop of hair. And we offer a money back guarantee, so just send $29.95 to P.O. Box..."

?dial, dial, dial...
"...gosh, the big band sound really brings back memories of Benny Goodman and the.."

?dail, dial, dial...
"...the right time to plant okra is just after the last frost and right before the ?"

?dial, dial, dial...
"...add one cup of butter to the milk and stir it in. Then, chop up the tuna into one inch squares, making sure it's dead first, then add two cups of bread crumbs and one teas..."

?dial, dial, dial...
"...the smallest bible ever made. Do send your love offering to Brother Love, cause if you don't, chances are pretty good you are gonna burn forever in..."

?dial, dial, dial...
"...which brings us to the effect that modern dance has had on the political system..."

?dial, dial, dial...
"...city council meeting have been changed from Monday evenings to?"

?dial, dial, dial...
"...strangest weather conditions we've had in Louisiana in 40 years. While the weather is near perfect, there are odd gusts of wind up to 60 mph coming in over the Gulf. Wind warnings are in effect on all major roads and..."

Carl's eyes opened wide and he removed the plug from his cheek and placed it in an empty Big Mac styrofoam container. Jeez, was he in the Twilight Zone or something?

?dial, dial, dial...
"...so heavy metal history will be made this weekend when the Iron Butterflys and the Deaf Lepers join the Satanic Angels and the Rabid Bats in the Rock Your Guts Out Bash at the ?"

..dial, dial, dial...
"...and that's Lester Dank and the Soggy Hollow Swamp Suckers with 'Don't Sit On My Hood If'n You Ain't Gonna Treat Me Good. Next up will be the Blue Grass Corn Shuckers with their hit album..."

?dial, dial, dial...
" Whiskey River don't run dry... ohh, Whiskey..."

Carl smiled. "Well, Emma, it looks like you finally got a decent station. You ain't gonna do much better than Willy singin' Whiskey River. I think you finally got that radio figured out."

Emma blushed, and figured that maybe that being married to Carl had its high points now and then.

Carl stretched his legs out and let the cruise control take charge. He took a deep breath in and was at peace with the earth.

The melodic sounds of Willy Nelson drifted through the huge interior of The Whale, and a tear started down Carl's left cheek. Then his right eye misted up. Carl looked over at Emma. Her eyes were moist, too.

Carl thought for a nanosecond or two.

"Emma? When's the last time you cried your heart out over Whiskey River?"

"Well, I can get a good cry out of an old Hank Williams song, but usually Willy Neslon makes me want to dance with a fat guy."

Carl grunted. "Just as I thought! When I listen to a Willy Nelson song I want to get in a fight. This can only mean one thing."

Emma looked confused. "What?"

"We got a gas leak under the hood. That's gotta be what's makin' our eyes water. Or maybe an exhaust leak. Good thing I got an eagle nose"

"You mean an eagle eye, dear."

"Don't be dumb, Emma. How can you smell with your eyes? Lemme pull over and check out the problem. Shouldn't take more'n a minute or two."

Carl popped the hood and poked, prodded, diddled, fiddled, tweaked, twisted, hunted and searched, all to no avail. All the while, tears streamed down his cheeks.

Emma stood alongside Carl, eyes full of tears. "Carl, has it occurred to you that if we're out of the truck and the motor's not running, that perhaps it's not a gas leak."

Carl rubbed his eyes, trying to clear some of the tears away. "Well, then, Missus Know It All, what do you figger it is? Maybe we re riding through a tunnel of methane gas?"

Emma pointed off across the field. "Almost as bad, dear. I think those are hot peppers over there drying in the sun."

Carl peered through the wet haze and sure enough, there was a huge field of fiery-looking peppers placed on racks to let the sun do its job. Wavy lines distorted the air above the peppers like a cartoon drawing.

Carl slammed the hood shut and a minute later, they were back on the road. Both sides of the two-lane road were now lined with peppers of all different colors and shapes. In spite of keeping the windows tightly shut and the air conditioning on full blast, the smell of hot stuff permeated the cab.

Up ahead, a sign proclaimed, "NEW IBERIA".

Carl's eyes brightened. "Hey woman. Open up the fridge and get out that bottle a hot sauce we got on the top shelf. See where that stuff is made."

Emma sighed and did as asked. "It's made in...

Carl interupted. "No wait. Lemme guess. It's made in Blue Iberia, right?"

"You mean New Iberia, dear."

"Yeh, 'at's what I said. You got wax in your ears, Emma? Way I figure it, this here's got to be the hot sauce capital of the universe."

A billboard flashed into view. "NEW IBERIA. HOT SAUCE CAPITAL OF AMERICA!
Carl got a satisfied look on his face and headed West, at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.

***

Texas took forever to cross, or so it seemed to Emma. Whenever Carl got bored with driving on the lonely, empty stretches of highway, he'd pull off on a dirt road and just wander in the general direction of the Pacific Ocean.

Emma let him get lost a good half dozen times, but lost patience when they ended up back in Louisiana again and demanded that he get back on roads with numbers on them.

To pass the time, Carl suggested that they try to learn some Spanish, so that when they got to Mexico, they would have an edge over the locals when it came time to buy things.

Emma shuffled through her Spanish/English book as The Whale rumbled smoothly down the road. "Alright dear. I'll say the word or phrase in English, and you say it to me in Spanish. All righty? Good day, sir."

Carl scratched his chin. "Ahh, that's easy. Beunos Airhose, burrito."

Emma sighed. "No, dear. The correct phrase is: Buenas dias, senor."

"Hellsfire , woman, It was close enough. Give me another one."

"OK. How much is that, please?"

"Uhhh; Tonto samba tengo taco, porky flavor... or something real close to that. Anyways, enough of that. I figure I learned a proper amount of the lingo to get by. Let's put some miles under the frame rails."

They crossed the California border some days later and eventually hooked into the main road that led into San Diego and eventually south to Tijuana and Mexico.

Carl followed the signs carefully and soon the International border came into view. "Looka that, Emma. Mexico! The Land of the Rising Sun."

"That's Japan, dear."

"What are you, nuts? We ain't nowhere near Japan."

The whale rolled up to the guard and Carl leaned out of the window. "Yup?"

The border guard smiled professionally. "Are you here for vacation or business, senor? Or possibly are you here for the racing?"

"Racing?"

"Si. The Baja 500. It is this weekend. You wish to spectate, senor?"

Carl let out a big booming laugh. "Specate? Hellsfire, son...I might just up and enter the thing. After all, I got me a 454 under the hood."

Emma let out a painful sounding moan and buried her head under her knitting.

The guard looked concerned. "Is the senora sick?"

Carl shook his head. "Naw. Musta been somethin' she ate in Texas."

The guard waggled a finger. "No, senor. It was probably the water. We are taught here as children never to drink Texas water. Anyway, senor, have a good time in Mexico and good luck in the Baja 500!"

Emma made a pitiful sound like someone stepping on a hamster.

***

Could it be? Will Carl enter the Baja 500 and risk The Whale? Spooky times could be ahead. Stay tuned.