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?”

“Carl, how many times have I asked you not to talk when you fill your mouth with a fresh wad of that terrible stuff? I simply cannot understand a word you’re saying!”

Carl shifted the wad to his left cheek, making him look like a very large chipmunk. “Sorry, dear. What I was asking was how far is it to the road, so we can get un-lost again? Ya know, if you had kept an eye on those maps two days ago, we’d be in Canada by now, instead of here in New Jersey.”

Emma sighed. “We’re in New Mexico, Carl. About a hundred miles south of Albuquerque. And the reason we’re here instead of in Canada, is because you said you knew the way and didn’t need a map. I tried to tell you when you headed west out of St. Louis that you were going the wrong way, but you wouldn’t listen. And you still wouldn’t listen when we passed through Oklahoma City, and then you refused to believe that we were in Fort Worth. Remember? You told me that Fort Worth was Cleveland and that we’d be seeing Lake Erie real soon. Then you made a “course correction” to get us headed north again, and we ended up in El Paso. Do you remember all that, Carl.”

Carl rolled the window of The Whale down and spit a brown gob in a long graceful arc, hitting the lower left hand corner of a speed limit sign. “Well, vaguely, I guess. Anyways, keep an eye out for a road that’ll take us over to see the Continental Divide. I hear it’s around this area, and I’d like to see it.”

Emma ran her finger down the map. “Okee-dokee, turn left on highway 90. It should be coming up real soon. That’ll take us through Kingston and toward Silver City.”

***

Soon, The Whale was rumbling smoothly down the more interesting back roads, surrounded by the spectacular New Mexico scenery. Carl pulled off to stop for gas and Emma let out a squeal of delight as she saw a big display of Indian pottery for sale to the side of the station. Emma examined the beautifully painted clay pots until Carl joined her after pumping 92 gallons of premium unleaded in the huge tanks.

Emma went from one pot to another: “They’re all so beautiful, Carl. I don’t know which ones to get.”

“Woman, you gotta know your way around this stuff, or you’re gonna get burned. Now, how many do you want?”

“About a half dozen, so we can give them as gifts to our relatives in Ohio on our way to Canada.”

“OK, stand back woman and let me handle this. Carl walked over to the Indian lady seated on a blanket. “How much are these here, Pocahontas?”

“The ones on the left are fifteen bucks and the ones on the right are ten; and the name is Margie.”

Carl spent a good deal of time choosing the pots, and eventually bought four from the left side and two from the right. He paid Margie and went to get The Whale while the pots were being wrapped in newspaper. Emma, curious as ever, asked Margie: “What’s the big difference between the pots on the left and the ones on the right? I mean, they’re all beautiful, but ...“

Margie let out a small smile. “Beats me. I guess some people just like to pay fifteen bucks and some people like to pay ten bucks. Human nature, you know.”

***

Carl and Emma decided to get off the black top and explore some of the many dirt roads criss-crossing the landscape. One could never tell what might be found while wandering. Emma sipped at her Yoo Hoo chocolate soda and enjoyed the scenery, while Carl piloted The Whale on the empty dirt roads at leisure speeds. Emma’s reverie was shattered when Carl let out a huge whoop. “Looka there, Emma! Hot damn, a real rattlesnake roundup is happenin’, and we’re lucky enough to be in just the right place at the right time.”

Carl pointed at a hand-painted sign, that read: RATTLESNAKE ROUNDUP TODAY ONLY - PRIZES, FOOD, FUN AND SNAKES. An arrow at the bottom of the sign pointed to a fork in two-track dirt road.

Without a moments hesitation, Carl whipped The Whale to the left and gassed the big Suburban, while singing at the top of his lungs, “Oh, we’re gonna catch us some snakes... doobie-doobie-doo... big ole snakes in a sack ... yaba-yaba-doo... snakes, snakes, snakes... all day long...”

Emma hunched against the door, pale white, lower lip trembling. “Carl, you can’t be serious! I’m scared to death of snakes, even itty-bitty garter snakes. And you’re talking about rattle snakes! Are you nuts?”

“Nuts? Heck no! I been readin’ about snake hunts since I was a kid and I’ve always wanted to be in one. Now here’s my chance! Hoooooeeee!

A half hour later, they found the place. About 60 vehicles, mostly campers and trucks, were gathered around a flat area. A sign-up table was in the center of the area. Carl and Emma wandered around, chatting with some of the friendly folks. A board was up that had some of the rules posted and a list of prizes. The grand prize, naturally, was for the biggest snake caught, and that prize was a dandy: a wide man’s belt inlaid with silver and studded with turquoise.

Carl just had to have a shot at that belt, so he plopped his $20 entry fee down and signed up, noting that the proceeds were going to a worthwhile local charity. The event was scheduled to start in less than an hour, and Carl used this time to make two tools; one was a long stick with a forked end, and the other was a long stick with small twine lasso on the end.

He demonstrated how these two sticks were to be used to Emma, who refused to look at the demonstration.

At 12 noon, the event started. Carl fired up The Whale, and immediately headed cross-country, following the natural trails, looking for rock out-croppings, fallen logs and other natural snake spots. Here, The Whale was in its element, as it quietly lumbered across the terrain, the huge tires barely leaving a footprint in the hard-packed ground.

Then Carl saw it; a huge rattler as thick around as a man’s forearm and about six feet long, laying in the shadow of a half-rotten log.

Carl slipped The Whale into park and bolted out of the cab faster than Emma had ever seen him move. The big snake saw Carl and slithered over the log with surprising speed, but Carl ran around the back side of the log, and in a moment, had the neck of the snake pinned underneath the “V” at the end of the stick. It hissed frightfully, opened its huge jaws up wide and curled around the stick.

Carl quickly grabbed the snake directly behind the head and picked it up with two hands because it was so heavy. Emma squealed: “Ohhhh, kill it! Don’t you dare bring that thing near me.”

“No way, Emma. We don’t kill the snakes. After they’re caught and milked, they release ‘em. Now hand me the bag, will ya?”

“What bag?”

“Didn’t you pick up one of those snake sacks they had at sign-up?”

“No sir. I was not about to touch a snake bag, or snake sack, or whatever they call it.”

“Well then, hand me that old bowling bag in the back of the Suburban. The one with the torn carrying strap that I been meanin’ to git fixed. That’ll do just fine to hold junior here.”

Emma got the sack and threw it to Carl, refusing to get within arms reach of the squirming snake. Carl stuffed the highly irritated rattler in the bag and zipped it shut quickly. Then he placed the wiggling, lumpy bag on the front seat of The Whale.

Emma shrieked. “What are you doing, you bonehead? You just put that snake inside The Whale!”

Carl smiled. “No problem, Emma. Even though that baby there is probably big enough to be the winner, there’s maybe an even bigger one around. There’s a coupla hours left in the roundup, so I’m gonna romp around and see what I can find.”

The look on Carl’s face was so happy that Emma didn’t have the heart to yell at him. Carl bounded off like a kid at play, long forked stick waving in the air like some sort of bizarre police car antenna.

After two more hours, Carl wasn’t able to find any bigger snakes, and headed back to the sign-up/judging area. Emma refused to ride in the front with the wriggling sack.

All of the snake hunters were talking and swapping tales, and the judges were counting, weighing and measuring snakes. Carl went to The Whale to retrieve his catch, which looked like a sure overall winner, but his jaw dropped like a trap door when he saw that the bag was empty. Apparently, the spot where the handle had torn of f the bowling bag was weak, and a seam had split right down the side of the bag.

Carl peered in the window just in time to see the big rattler slither up underneath the dashboard. A crowd gathered around soon, offering advice, most of it silly. One man, however, had the answer. “Easy. Just run a hose from someone’s exhaust pipe in the crack in the window, and the carbon monoxide will knock the thing out.”

An hour later, the cab of The Whale was filled with exhaust smoke, and the tail of the rattler slumped down from the dash, and thumped to the floorboard hump.

Carl carefully got in and peered underneath the dash, then let out a groan, “The damn thing’s all wound around the air conditioning ducting and wiring and tied up like a knot. What do I do now?”

Four hours later, long after the awards and prizes had been passed out and the crowds disbursed, Carl finally removed the snake from The Whale. The windshield was off, as were both doors. The dash and instruments were scattered all over the ground, and the guts of the air conditioning hung out like a disemboweled cow.

Carl sat down on his toolbox and sighed. The snake, recovering sluggishly, awoke, took one look at the carnage, and slithered away.

Emma quietly spoke: “Carl? Your snake is getting away.”