February 1, 2007
By:Rick Sieman
When we last left them, The Whale had just run out of gas in the middle of the woods because the new hot-rod motor had used up 60 gallons of gas in 30 miles.?
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 | January 1, 2007
By:Rick Sieman
When we last left them, Carl had just headed for an All-Chevy Swap Meet in Toonerville, Colorado, professing "the need for speed". Yes, Carl had been bitten by the horsepower bug, and bitten bad!
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 | December 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
We join them now as they drive north, through the lovely state of Colorado, on Highway 287. Why such an out-of-the-way road like 287, instead of Interstate 25? Simple. Because on those massive and smooth Interstates, you are isolated from experiencing what the real world is like.
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 | November 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
When we last left them, Carl had just out-run a New Mexico state Highway Patrol car across the border into Colorado by hitting the nitrous oxide bottle on The Whale. Emma, of course, was in a state of panic and thought that the cop would shoot at them.
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 | October 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
We join them now as they lumber along in a northerly direction on Interstate 25 in Northern New Mexico, heading for the Colorado state line. As per standard practice, Carl kept the cruise control on The Whale set at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.
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 | September 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
We join them now, as Carl drives The Whale north on Interstate 25 toward Albuquerque, New Mexico, at exactly two miles an hour over the speed limit. Emma is sitting at the fold-down table with road maps spread all over the place, a frown on her face. Carl bites off a plug of tobacco, and asks: “Hmmmphs pparsziitt foooo dap phaarod?”
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 | August 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just arrived at a motorcycle dealership in St. Louis to look up an old friend, Fat Jack Splinkowitz. Fat Jack owned "MOTORCYCLES R US," a modern fancy facility that was a far cry from the old grubby bike shop Carl remembered with great fondness. More than twenty years ago, Carl used to race dirt bikes out of Fat Jack's shop.
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 | July 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just left a crooked mechanic in an utter state of dismay. We join them now, as they head north, toward St Louis, with The Whale purring gently along at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.
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 | May 1, 2006
By:Rick Sieman
We join them now as they head Southwest on Natchez Trace Parkway, toward the great state of Mississippi. The Suburban purred quietly along at exactly two miles an hour over the speed limit...
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