The day started as most other checkout days – the charade of me sluggishly wheeling a wonky bell cart around the narrow corridors of a hotel, struggling to keep all the bags and equipment in check as I navigate past the trolley of housekeeping goodies.

We left Grand Junction with a few bowls of Cheerios in the car and the GPS set to Moab, Utah. We’d been talking about Moab since early on in the tour, and as the colors and shapes of the scenery became more vibrant and angular, there was a collective excitement about camping in the rugged adventure terrain. Jessica was a veteran of the area and had a gem of a hidden camping location in mind. It was a short hike in, nestled in the scrub, sheltered by a cavernous red rock. Someone had fashioned a chair out of stones, a throne for our arrival.


After securing our secluded and much coveted spot we decided a swim was in order. Tour guide Jess acquired some valuable information from the most trusted of sources – the teenage cashier kid from McDonalds. Aaron did not lead us astray, and soon, not unlike Aaron’s brother Moses, we found ourselves wading in a river, frolicking in the rockpools of one of Utah’s most prized natural areas.

As day turned into evening we made our way to the Lion’s Back, a mammoth rock with a steep incline that Jess decided would be our sunset vantage point. As the weather channel had predicted it was breezy. But the further we climbed, the blowier it became. And as we approached the peak, noticing a car that had plunged off the side several years earlier, the wind pounded the Lion’s Back with serious fury. So serious it became comical as hairstyles turned into chaos, and cheeks flapped like dancing jelly. Standing was increasingly difficult (and possibly dangerous) so we reclined as the sky turned pink, and the red rock walls of Moab shed their several shades, changing colored costumes every minute.

The night was rounded out by the campfire, complete with kebab skewers, flame cooked shrimp and vanilla bean s’mores. The air stayed warm, and if you looked down you’d see dusty desert feet. If you looked up, you’d see a sky flush with stars, and a shower of meteors hurtling towards the earth, burning up in our planet’s protective atmosphere. The fire’s light flickered against the flora, the crickets sung their songs and the Aha crew danced and howled at the splendor of it all.

There is a place in Kansas that 30,000 people visit each summer and 40 percent of those people come back. It is called Prairie Dog Town.

 

In our quest to find dinner on our first night in Milwaukee, we were wandering around downtown and happened upon a total gem of a bookstore–three stories of used, new and vintage copies. The endless shelves and rooms and genres happily entertained four road travelers in need of new reading material. The night however, was quickly getting away from us and we were afraid we wouldn’t find an open restaurant. Turning down a side alley in hopes of the lights on the other side, we made a fateful and spur-of-the-moment decision as we saw a suspicious door on the left that looked like it could house a run down Italian restaurant. Boy were we wrong.

While the story so far reads like a thriller from the third floor of that bookstore, the next sequence will surprise you. Little did we know that we had stumbled upon one of the Nation’s best spy-themed restaurants called the Safe House. We still had yet to figure this out before we were asked for a password, and after three incorrect guesses (“swordfish,” “Capone,” and “bananas” do not work, by the way), we had to prove we weren’t double agents. By dancing. Without music.

Once allowed entrance we had a great night exploring hidden passageways, lurking behind one-way mirrors and checking out the spy memorabilia. By our luck it was karaoke night and Dave introduced himself to the early crowd singing an old opera tune, “nessun dorma.” An hour later “Dave and the Ahas” returned to the floor with “Build Me Up Buttercup” and the rest is history.

Many people often ask us how we get around the country. Do we drive the Airstream? What pulls the Airstream? How often do you change the oil? What sort of transmission fluid do you use in the truck? Do you use any aftermarket equipment on your engine to boost your horsepower?

Well to answer some of these questions, we are using Glenn’s truck to transport ourselves and the Airstream, the oil of choice is Delo and the transmission fluid is Dextron 3. Gary’s truck has traveled over one million miles (this is no lie) through all the elements and so needs its precious rest before some day being immortalized in the Duramax/Chevrolet Hall of Fame.

Glenn’s truck is a beast of a machine, complete with particulate filters, rear airbag suspension and power windows. But, as with all automobiles, sometimes things need attention. So lets take a few moments to appreciate the importance of vehicle maintenance. Behold, an homage if you will to the truck that hauls the mobile studio 10,000 miles across the USA.

WARNING: THIS VIDEO CONTAINS TECHNICAL LANGUAGE AND MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ANYONE WHO DOES NOT LIKE TO “TALK SHOP”.

But if you have a penchant for EGR coolers and stories about torque converters you’re in for a real treat.