As Rodney churns down the Township Road, Twisty pushes the tape into the stereo.
"Hey," she says, "Ronco’s version of, Hank’s Greatest, and I can see in the box that you have his latest tape, plus all the old classics, like, ‘The Lost Years."
"I pride myself in being the complete collector," HM Weenerman says proudly.
"What’s that?" I spot in a hayfeild, the college van pulled in, and set up aroound it ar evarious charts and people scurrying about in lab coats.
"Slow down so we can get a good look," I advise Twisty.
"This is the Rodney-Mobile," Twisty reminds me, "Slowed down is its standard speed."
Weener-Man is squinting, "I can make out the charts, one reads, ‘Identfying the Howler Monkey,’ Whhops," Weener-man slides down in the passenger seat.
"And there’s Winsome Springs," Twisty says, "By a table with plaster-casts on them, look like big foot-prints with no discernable traits on them," Twisty holds her breath as Rodney makes a big bounce, "She’s got a caliper out and is measuring."
I take a look myself, and ask Weener, "You wear your spare tennis shoes today?’
From his slouched down location, Weener-man answers, "Thought I might get in some fishi8ng later today, so I’m wearing the Reserves, Size fourteen, not much tread," then he says to Twisty who’s driving, "Try stepping on it, I might be more comfortable away from these lab coats."
Twisty rolls her eyes upwards, "This is Rodney, I’ve got the gas-pedal floored now."