The White Mountains of New Hampshire were hiding from us. They were hanging out in their shadowy northeastern corner like a silent spider waiting to pounce upon our neglect.  I mean, whoa.  Spectacular.  Who knew?  We didn’t!

We drove up to the  highest peak, Mt. Washington, watching the trees mellow in hue and dwarf into a shrubby carpet of tundra.  The air chilled, and the sky exhaled eye-level endless grey clouds that coolly slinked by as if to say, “Welcome to the big kids’ playground.” 

 At the top, the mountain dives down then opens and unfurls into rocky, peaty tiers like a massive god palm.  We scrambled down the face, a tumble of silver and black-pocked boulders and smaller cracked chunks laced with yellow lichen.  Patches of spongey crimson, white and green vegetation squeak and spring beneath your feet.  We hiked down 2 miles onto one of the wide bumpy fingers and shot a dreamy (or nightmarish) Hellbender scene.  The wind was righteous and perfect for that witchy whipped black cloak kinda shot.  And the spectral haze was a generous gift for the likes of nothing-but-a-camera-and-tripod-keep-it-simple us.  

It was really cold and getting late… and then it started raining.  This made for a slippery climb back up as the last licks of sun sank deeper behind the mountains.  We made it up, frosty but unscathed, to find we were the last souls up there.  There was a tiny piece of paper on our windshield saying the Auto Road was now closed.  Hmm.  We made the steep winding ride back down, and sure enough the gate was closed and locked.  We were wondering if we’d be sleeping in the truck for the night when we got lucky.  A man who works there happened to see us from another road and came to open the gate.  Another act of kindness we will pay forward.  So we made it out, but we’ll never ignore those mysterious tall beauties again.  We’ll be back for more, White Mountains!  

Moving on…. to Maine!     

It’s a good thing we’re into the horror genre because today threw us some terror balls. My bones shiver just thinking about it. I’m talking about the kind of horror that comes with hitching 7,000 pounds of trailer to a pick up truck…. and realizing that the pin that holds the whole attachment together…. is MISSING!!! (Yes, even fat solid inch-wide steel is sometimes called a pin. Weird.) We’re not savvy enough yet to know whether it fell out or someone knicked it. (We hear it happens. Hellbender will have to pay a visit to those unlucky souls.) I mean, can you imagine the carnage that could transpire from such a big whoops? Thankfully John noticed, and after finding a replacement we nervously hitched for the first time and safely eased away from Site #1 at Woodbury Meadows….. until our GPS sent us down a dirt road that narrowed and snaked until it sputtered into nowhere. Doing a 3-point turn with close to 28 feet of monster behind you = another white knuckler. But this isn’t the first navigation nightmare we’ll sweat through, and with a little luck and a bit of exponential skill (John!), we’ll edge on.

Had to kick off with a little drama. But can’t neglect highlighting our first camping base: a private nook on someone’s property in East Calais, Vermont. Rimmed by fluffy hills and steeped inside a blazing cauldron of leafy autumn fire, it was the perfect maiden haven for the Wonder Wheels. Our host, Jon, was a soft spoken kind man who quietly stood apart as we made our first back-in (a sharp-turned, gravelly uphill one at that) into the site. It’s a whole new dance, this trailer thing, and it takes some time to learn the steps. Jon was like a gentle parent watching from a one-eyed safe distance while their kid struggles to achieve something a bit scary on their own. He then greeted us warmly and happily handed down hitching advice we were grateful for. Vermont too had had their first frost, and a few surviving cherry tomatoes clung to each other at the site’s pretty perch across from a glassy pond. The trees and clouds look in that mirror daily and say, “Damn, I look good.”

Thanks, Vermont. We’ll be back. Next stop: the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Rolling, rolling, rolling!

Life is such a drag…. when you’re pulling it behind you.

This morning, at the crispy cusp of dawn, we hitched our new home to a big-boned, shock-solid pick up truck and hit the highway. It was the first Catskill frost of the season, but not our first time at the road-eo. (Can I coin that term?) Ten years ago John, Lulu, Zelda and I set out in our beloved Harvey the RV (RIP, Harv) with a pocketful of know-nothing but heaps of hunger. We knew nothing about life in a motorhome; we were hungry to make a film – and gobble up the American landscape while we were at it. Rumblestrips was born, and slapped silly by the wild joy of that ride, we walked away with an itchy love-rash the size of forever. It frets and burns and never goes away. So five features later, and finding ourselves wandering around the flimsy halls of Covid, it’s time to scratch that create/recreate urge again. This time though we have the itch to hitch! Introducing the Wonder Wheels: a 27-foot Minnie Winnebago travel trailer. Film we’re shooting? Hellbender! First stop? The Green Mountains of Vermont.

Since Lulu is rocking post-grad life in Portland, Oregon, we are now a trio. And we know a little more about making films, although each new endeavor is a whole new school of discovery. (And we have some fun toys: drones, steadycams, zip lines!) We will be promoting The Deeper You Dig from the road as it makes its Arrow Films debut this October. Z will be performing a twisty tango with those slippery cellular clouds for remote learning. And we’ll be gulping in the candy shop views Mother Nature offers so generously every fall. Please, ma’am, may we have some more?

So here’s to the drag. Wonder Wheels’ concrete conquest 2020.

At Wonder Wheel our third feature film is cocked and ready to blare.  Nothing like staring down the barrel of a shiny new production, and this one is poised to be a real blast…..  

Noticing a theme here?  Clever pistol, aren’t you….    Well, yes, our next film is aptly called THE SHOOT.   It’s about some rockers who go to the desert to rob a high-end fashion shoot (a little double-entendre there), and  before you can say “Strike a pose, darling,” bullets are flying, girls (and boys) in bikinis are fleeing, the desert sun is pounding, and the coyotes start hounding.  

Of course it’s also a love story.  Because why not?  When you’ve got the heat hurting, heads spinning, and guns spitting nickel, it’s good to temper it with a little sweet buttery love-brickle.

April is the big month, but along the way we’ll have John’s weekly musical hors d’oeuvres from the wicked score he’s cooking up, served up with stories from the production front.  As with our other films, this will be a family affair — but this time we’re joined by several new (and fantastic) actors and  crewmembers  we cannot wait to work with!  We’re dropping the hammer on this baby and hope you’ll stick around for the new-movie mayhem…..

Like a cruel joke, the very moment we were pulling into our new campground for a week in the Florida Everglades, an alligator was strolling through.   A pond sits like a black yolk in the middle of the place, and this gator, all smiley smug,  passes right through sites 13 and 14 to go for a dip.  This was about a 6-footer, big  enough to have folks picking up their pooches like they were all Madison Avenue fancy…..  By day 2 there were three gators hanging out, one which had arrived during the night and had everyone’s hackles up– a big 10-12ft whopper that  patrolled the pond with professional menace.  He’d occasionally approach one of the smaller ones, then rudder off with nonchalance to the other end of the pond for an 8 hour nap.  If this is how alligators do their mating dance, let’s just say they are smooth navi-gators.  I guess you could say taking their time is right up their… alley.  Needless to say, our habitual  “Gotta hit the can? Take it outside!” practice took on a whole  new dimension.  (Especially at night:  “Shine the light!  You see anything?  Ok, don’t look… Shine the light!  Don’t loo– SHINE IT!!!”)  

Who knew Florida, the land of tans and tall condos, threw such a heavy wildlife punch?  We didn’t.  But we can’t stop raving about the park system there.  Up north  off the panhandle, we practically had the state parks to ourselves:  Blackwater River (saw cottonmouth),  Grayton Beach (the sweet white sand sings when you walk on it),  Manatee Springs (saw manatees and armadillos), Hillsborough (saw alligators, wild boars).  And then Big Cypress in the Everglades– what a primitive place!  We took some great hikes in Florida, and they all carried a different kind of awareness for all the things that creepeth and crawleth (and swimmeth) on the earth (and in the pond).  Yes, Nature, you have our full respect and attention.  John and the girls saw the biggest rattler they’d ever seen, and supposedly if you drive far enough into the ‘Glades, you can spot big long boas.  We took a crazy gorgeous 15-mile bike ride in Shark Valley, where you get so used to seeing alligators, I stopped counting at 95.   It’s good to know these massive wild places still exist, and that the realm we can visit is just a fraction of it.

Ok, pedaling back a stitch:  Austin, (who doesn’t love Austin?), the Alamo, and time to officially head east.   
 
Louisiana was like walking through gumbo:  great, gooey and peppered with the slow-mo memory of an old life there.  I went to college in New Orleans (Tulane), and revisiting Louisiana 20 years after graduation is still a thrill.  I’m 41, but in New Orleans I will forever be 18.  It’s impossible not to drive down the mansion-crusted St. Charles St, or prowl below the curtain-licked late-night balconies of the French Quarter, or hold your breath past graveyards frozen in their grim stony-molared smiles– and NOT feel like you did when you arrived at 18.  I still swoon.

Things we did on the bayou:  boating on the bayou, eating mudbugs from the bayou, cypress trees in the bayou, holding baby alligators and watching them swim by you on the bayou.   
Things we did in New Orleans:  visited Tulane, former favorite professors and room-mates; slinked through the Quarter in the rain; feasted at K-Paul’s, feasted here, feasted there, feasted feasted everywhere….

 Fairhope, Alabama, is also a place I relish from my college days; a beautiful town on the Mobile Bay.  We stayed with some cousins, Deb and Rick, who showed us a royal time.  We pulled Harvey up in front of their pretty house and lived in style for a few days.  I saw an old friend, a beautiful soul and writer, Ronnie Everett Capps, and it was like seeing a tree you once loved to climb or sit beneath.  Sad and happy all at once.      

While in Florida we cut a brief 3-day page out of our road story to fly up to Washington, DC.  John’s dad, also named John Adams, received the Presidential Medal of Freedom (for his dedication to protecting the Environment and founding NRDC) from Barack Obama!  John got to go the White House for the event, and we all got to join in on all the other various celebrations.  It was a big Adams Family event and one to be treasured bigtime.  We also saw my lovable cousins, Lesley, Deb and Don, who charmed the kids while I looked for something to wear that didn’t smell or look like a road bum, which is what I am, thank you very much!

Back in Florida  we bided our time, seeking seashells and pink-orange sunsets, until my mom flew in to visit us.  We hung out with the gators…. ate good Cuban food…. shimmied into Miami where we saw one of my longest-time friends, Patrick, and swam in the warm teal water.  And then my sweet mama arrived.  I could write an entire blog on what a heavenly mom I have, but I’d never finish this one.  So now you know:  I love my mom like air, ocean and bread, all nestled up in one warm bowl of Everything.

We were planted in Ft. Lauderdale for a while, where we also got to visit with one of the coolest people I know:  my Uncle Colonel.  He has a name (Ellis), but to me he is and always will be Uncle Colonel.  His specialty was tanks in World War II, and he was field promoted by General Patton himself.  It was a love fest for him and the girls, and he and John hit it off like wildfire, too.  (I love being married to John; he can talk to anyone  and makes me look good.)

In Orlando we hit a Mardi Gras party my cousins held.  Then I kissed my man and kids, and they wheeled away.   I stayed around to do some VO work and bask in solo time with my lovin’ mom.   We talked and talked over meals with our humorous  relatives and then cuddled up in hotel sheets, eating ice cream….. 
Meanwhile,  John and the girls drove Harvey the RV overnight to Asheville, NC. where they got to see their gorgeous great-grandma Dee.  Her beauty and still, southern poise could move a mountain.  Lulu loved her strong hands; Zelda liked her humor; John loved the words that flowed from her heart.  In NC, they also picked up something very cute, furry, and with razor-edged little teeth:  a puppy!!  Yup.  After 12 years of no-dog apartment rentals and 7 months of RV living, the girls finally got their biggest (and perhaps Lu’s only-ever) wish– a sweetly devilish cup of canine happiness we named Cherokee (“Cherry” for short).  Instant bliss.  And a perfect name, considering Lulu has been teaching herself the Cherokee language (part of John’s maternal lineage) and that our new family member is truly the cherry on top of our 7-month, many-layered cake.

Then: John and the girls ate lightning and Harvey chugged caffeine.  They blazed such a fast path north, they tattooed the Interstate.  Their skid marks screamed “Beaverkill or Bust.”   

And that’s exactly where we are now, in Beaverkill, NY at our homegrown mountain haven.  I’d say it’s a bittersweet stick to chew on– (after all, we’ve been on a freedom fast-track for 7 months.  Daily injections of new roads, new tastes, new knowledge…. Like life, in concentrate:  jam-packed with juicy stories, growth, and crazygood things….)  — But it would be a waste of time to get all maudlin about it.   We love it here in our chunk of Catskill glory.   John is back at his art, which is looking sexy as hell.  I’ll be hopping down to NYC now and then to do the rounds.  There’s home school, new soccer teams, and all the creature comfort that comes with living in one’s own house.  There’s a dog to take on long woodsy walks….. And there’s our film!   Rumblestrips is in need of trimming and shaping and endless hours of sound landscaping, scoring……  It’s looking good, and hopefully in a few months it’ll be able to look you in the eye from its perch on a screen somewhere near you!  But ’til then, there’s serious work to be done.

Wait.  Am I forgetting something?  Maybe… a 30-foot mean-motored house on wheels?   Ahh,  Harvey, Harvey, the guardian of our bones and vandal of our hearts…..   As of now, he is in earned repose on a snowy field nearby.   Strangely frozen in time like a ghost town’s daughter, he still houses all of our stuff inside:  weathered maps, campfire-scented unmated socks, sand dollars and sand from our shoes, feathers and rocks and clothes and books and all the hot fingerprints of happy times….  But Harvey will be resurrected.   We will be here for a while– how long?  Who knows!– but Harvey has not kissed his last horizon.  And neither have we, folks.  Hell no!

Stay tuned.        

Where are we?  Texas.  On the Gulf.  We are living as if there were a little umbrella in our glass of tropical repose, or a plastic mermaid in our mixed-emotions margarita……  After several weeks of deep desert, and 4 months of mostly isolated destinations, we have found ourselves in a land of many (people, cars, stores, towns) and constant cell service.  I’m feeling wistful.  It’s pretty on Padre Island, but we can’t help but feel like we’ve crossed over into a different zone.  This has its perks, too– the kids are happy and the timing is good– but I can tell both John and I are accepting the shift with a sentimental sigh.  Even Harvey, at 30ft the beautiful runt in this RV Mecca, looks content to take a nap, as we all seem to want to do.  We have worked really hard lately, especially in West Texas, so perhaps a little classic R&R is good.

Ok, a road recap:

Bisbee, Arizona: one of the coolest towns I’ve ever seen.  It springs upon you out of the desert blue, after miles upon miles of tumbleweeds and happy-trails-to-you.  You’ll be heading Southeast from Phoenix when of course you decide to check out Tombstone, which is such high-fructose tourist candy your eyes ache.  But 30 miles beyond, a tortilla’s width from the Mexican border, is Bisbee.  An old mining town  with the most funky, European vibe, it’s built upon a mountain where the open-aired houses perch in tiers connected by aged iron stairs so steep you’d never follow their lead if you weren’t so damn intrigued.  The tiny town thumps with a laid-back, creative pulse–lots of artists, antique-hounds, and supposedly ex-convicts, migrate to Bisbee.  I even ran into an old friend from NYC who’s there now, living in high style.

In SE Arizona we started to learn a lot about great Apache warriors, like Mangus Coloradas, Cochise and Geronimo, and the weight of their stories really sinks in when you’re roaming the vast, gorgeous land of the Chiricahuas.  The Coronado Forest was just a blank space on our map, but when we drove back into the Chiricahua Mountains, it was like we’d stumbled upon buried treasure: great eagle-nosed cliffs hulking above oak-lined creeks (and the occasional brush-hidden stone relic warning “Explosives!” on its rusty door).  
[It was here that we explored how much we could get away with shooting a night scene with only fire light– that authentic campfire feeling we really wanted to capture on film.  Our deal is that we work with what nature is sending our way– sunlight, moonlight, shadows and fog…. It’s real, it’s gorgeous, and it’s free.  It’s also all we’ve got.  But I’ve begun to think of our so-called limitations as our film’s charm.  We are only four, but we get the job done.  If Wonder Wheel had the budget and crew of kings, I bet you a thousand pennies that I would miss running and gunning as a tiny band of makeshift moviemakers.  The Canon 5D is amazing and flexible, and John is very innovative.  It’s also very satisfying having heavies like Harvey the RV and Mother Nature herself in our cast; they really deliver.]

Next, Silver City, New Mexico and then the unexpected little Stonehenge dopple-ganger, City of Rocks.  They really get right to the point, huh?  But that’s exactly what it is: a burst of low-rise rocks in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.  We shot a fun sequence for the film here using just our shadows; the rocks act like mirrors in a fun-house, our shadows all warped and stretched out like taffy.

I had some VO work in Santa Fe.  Loved it.  New Mexico has the purplest mountains and most beautiful bruised-sunset skies…. What a great state.  While John did a nice long slow dance with the computer, editing up a storm, the girls and I fell for the sweet Adobe charm of Santa Fe.  We went to the Georgia O’Keefe Museum, saw a lot of good art, ate lots of chocolate and good food (The Shed!), talked to friendly locals…. We stayed in a residential hotel that gave us a big two-floored loft…. Uh huh.  Santa Fe was good to us.  
Then we drove south and spent one night in a freaky state park called Bottomless Lakes–right out of Twilight Zone, as you might expect an alien’s wink away from Roswell– only to have to have to turn around and head back the next morning to Santa Fe to redo one line for a voice-over I did there.  A four-hour trip turned into thrice that, as we ran into a fearsome blizzard (see Harvey blog) en route.    

Carlsbad Cavern = endless underground wonderground….  You gotta go! — and take the hike down, instead of the elevator.  

And then….. TEXAS.  John and I have a romantic attachment to SW Texas, especially the far-flung splendor of Big Bend National Park and its tiny neighbor, Terlingua.  This is a massive Park, where the Chihuahuan Desert meets the Rio Grande meets the Chisos Mountains.  Big Bend was the first trip John and I ever took together, in 1996, and it was like cement between two bricks; we were bound as lovers and glued to that land.   This, our third visit, was busy:  we shot more than we hiked, and when we hiked, we were shooting.  We knocked out a big chunk of the movie, and still found time for a sweet RV Xmas.  The park was putting on some good wildlife shows, too — coyotes, javalinas… and Harvey almost kissed a big burro in the road one dark dangerous night.  
Terlingua is an old ghost town, now known for its chile cook-off and the bustling Starlight Theatre; a speck of a town and teaming with colorful denizens of the desert.  Marfa, 80 miles to the north, was once known for the mysterious string of lights that some claim to have seen along its night horizon (John and I saw them!), but now it is a chic, artsy oasis.  Lajitas, to the west and inside my favorite corner of Big Bend, is another minuscule gathering spot, and where we jumped into 2011 with spurs on.  
John put his acting hat on in Texas, and he wears it well.  That man’s cup runneth over with do-it-all and do-it-well talents: he shoots, he edits, he records, he composes, and now he acts!  You should see the guy halfway up a cactus-mangled mesa, starting the camera, then running down, jumping agave like OJ in an airport, to meet us on film, then running back up to turn the camera off…. It’s awesome.  But when our shots are together in closer quarters, we all pitch in with the on-offs and boom mike.  The kids love to put on the earphones and take charge of the sound board.  And when we’re driving we found a way to rig the camera with a bungy cord on the dashboard.  He’ll estimate focus then climb on the car hood to peer through and check, and he’ll repeat until he’s got it.  We put mikes everywhere we can, and we’re off to the races!  It’s working well, too.  Having already edited most of our visuals, John is now tackling the sound.  A big job, but he’s making big progress.  Very exciting!    

And so, having hustled hard in the desert, we were ready to take the shooting siesta the Gulf seemed to offer.  But now we are back at it and find ourselves in Austin, in a hotel, where we have started to record some of the additional voice work for the film.  Austin is fun and chockfulla good things.  We head to San Antonio tomorrow to see our good pals, Alex and Olga, then it’s onward East.  We’ll try to finish off the remaining scenes, somewhere quiet, and keep on keepin’ on.  No denying, a film is a mountain of work.  But John and I, and even the girls, look at our 4.5 months of work, and we can’t help but see …. a movie!  We’re making a movie, damnit!  A feature-length, one-of-a-kind Wonder Wheel production, and that feels really, really good. 

John and Toby are picking up rocks to anchor the tripod against the wind.

John:  Keep an eye out for scorpions….
Toby:  (picking up a rock) Nope.  No scorpions.
John:  But there’s a tarantula–look.  (pointing out the tarantula) You have really bad eyes.
Toby:  Well, I was only looking for scorpions. 

Overheard from a conversation between Zelda and a boy she met in the RV park:

Boy:  I keep sending Santa letters and they keep coming back…. It’s just a thing kids like to believe in.

Zelda:  Did you try getting his email?

30 feet of fiberglass.  6 tons of burning rubber.  B450 Ford motor, and every ounce a lover. 
  
Harvey is the silent hero of our trip.  If Clint Eastwood asked Wonder Woman out on a date, and they revved their engines all night long, Harvey would be their lovechild.  He’s tough, he’s true… plus, he’s got wide hips.  His birth certificate might say Fleetwood Jamboree, but we know the truth:  Harvey is one mean mutha-truckin’ bad ass, and we love him.

Driving north to Santa Fe, NM we found ourselves smack-dab in the middle of snow Hell.  Our general route had been determined by how to AVOID such a thing, and here we were stuck in a bona fide blizzard!  I mean, a real nail biter…..  With John at steady helm, Harvey barreled through the wall of white until we joined a line of cars waiting at the bottom of a long hill.  One by one we watched cars of every ilk attempt the climb up the icy hill.  It was like watching a sitcom directed by evil clowns– you didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or slam shut your eyes as cars dangerously spun out and slid down the slope.  (What did we learn?  Trucks with chains, Suburus and even front-wheel-drive Toyotas had the right stuff; pickup trucks were auditioning for the Ice Capades.)  
After an hour of waiting in at least a foot of snow, a cop wished us luck.  We held our breath, got a running start and….. Well let’s just say Harvey must be an Aries because he charged up that hill like he was born for it.  I smothered Harvey in kisses– no, seriously,  I did– and swore to love him forever.  

Part of Harvey’s charm, of course, is his cheese factor.  He’s a 2004 baby, but he’s definitely got a bit of that Harvey’s Bristol Creme thing going on, with his plush beige ceilings, faux wood surfaces and velvety seats.  I can imagine him in dusty denim bell-bottoms, fat comb in pocket, easin’ on down the road….  There’s a fine Winnebago checking him out, but Harvey plays it cool, offers his faded grin and moves on.  
You see, this isn’t the first time Harvey’s been around the block.  He had 90 thousand miles on him when he first caught our eye– and he wears it with style.  He and the road are like Fred and Ginger; they know the dance.  And when you’re sitting in his cab, feeling the weight of his moves, looking out through his wide, clear windows onto an ever-shifting horizon …. Well, it’s enough to break the hubcap on your heart.                         

Go ahead:  Call me crazy.  Call me a romantic, motor-loving fool.  But Harvey is our home– literally.  I don’t care if his paint is peeling or his pieces cracking.  He is our high class highway hotel.  And when you spend 105 days (and nights) within his safe and steady hold…. I dare you not to fall in love.

That’s right: 105 days.  12,000 miles and $4000 in gas.   Yeah, yeah, yeah…. That’s a lot of dinosaur bones.  But in all other respects Harvey’s middle name is Conservation.  It’s all about the things you reuse and how little water you’ve got to clean it; the rare and rationed luxury of electricity; and the veritable velvet rope at the door.  (What can I say, Harvey is very selective:  “Sorry, minor necessity– you’re cute, but you’ll have to wait your turn.  Big unnecessary thing, you got ID?  Nice try.  Oh, you’re on the list?  Yeah, here it is, under Tough Tire Tracks, honey, You Ain’t Getting In!”)
Actually, Harvey is bigger than our old studio in NY, where John, Lulu and I lived for 4 years.  He’s got a back room with big bed and more closet space than said studio.  He’s got a loft space over the cab for sleeping, too.  (We call it World War III, because it looks like something exploded– dolls, books, miscellaneous kidstuff– and when it’s your turn to sleep up there, you gotta shove it all into the CORNER so your FEET have some ROOM, dammit!)  Then there’s the living area, with a long sofa, a dining booth, and a pretty-much one-cook kitchen.  Voilà!  Of course there are those moments when everyone is ON TOP of each other, but they pass, or you head outside.

Did I forget something?  Maybe….the can? The commode?  The crud bucket, the loo…?  Yeah.  We don’t use it.  Our motto is: Take it outside, or take it to Starbucks!   The WC is where Jesus, our hamster, lives.  We also have a shower. That’s where our shoes live. 

Sometimes we pull into a spot to settle in for the night, and even after hours of driving I’m still not ready to leave my perch in the passenger seat.  My butt has carved its initials there, like sweethearts do on trees, and my eyes aren’t ready to accept a static view.  I’ll sit there in lazy denial, content in Harvey’s mouth…… until it’s time to move.  At which point I open the door, get out, and… by then I am already waxing wide-eyed on “where we get to sleep tonight….”  

And, although he would never ask for credit,  you know exactly who got us there.            

Chiricahua Mountains, AZ.  At a tiny general store we ran into some cowboys with a big attitude:
John:  Hey!  How’s it going?
Cowboys: (with an Angus-size smirk) … It’s goin’.
John:  Well, all right!

Back in the RV:  
John:  I don’t know why cowboys think they’re so tough.  Look at ’em– They wear  boots with high heels….

A few minutes later:
Lulu (to Toby):  I’m trying to imagine if you married one of those guys with big hats and beards and long black coats….
Toby:  You mean a cowboy?
Lulu:  Naw, one’a those really Jewish guys…..
(my Orthodox rabbi great-grandfather from Lithuania is spinning like a dreidel in his grave.)

A few minutes later:
Zelda (mid-cheeseburger):  I’ll never make it through this burger alive.

This moment in Harvey brought to you by the Adams family.