We had one big problem as we drove through northeastern Colorado and Nebraska.  Every time we got the scent of fresh cow flop permeating the camper, which was every ten minutes or so, Freddy kept accusing me of leaving wind.  I found that very insulting.  The bad part about Nebraska is the price of gas.  I thought Colorado was expensive.  Nebraska was as high as $1.69 in some places.
    We spent the first night in North Platte, Nebraska. The local Texaco had a free RV dump, so we were able to shower and replace the water.  What with the campsite in Colorado, that made three days in a row that we had enough water for me to shower.
    In North Platte, we stopped at Fort Cody, a gift shop with some neat merchandise, probably made in China by authentic American Indians.

    Morning, June 5th, Thursday.  As the sun rises over the WalMart sign, I get up to check the oil.  I figured it might be down a quart, as it needed about half a quart 300 miles earlier.  Panic.  I had waited too long.  The only sign of oil on the serpentine dipstick was a tiny brown spot way at the bottom, where it twists.  I filled it up, then went to WalMart to buy some more for backup.
    As much of the money from the Denver show was in checks which we sent to the bank from Loveland, cash is really getting low.  I almost bought a cheaper synthetic than Mobil One, but finally decided against it.  The Stoughton show is Saturday, and although I've given up the hope that we'll ever have a $1000 show, we can be sure of two or three hundred, which will tide us over until the next show.
    When I got back to the camper, I got scared.  A puddle sat there under the car, whispering, "Doom, doom, doom."  I took off my good I DO I DO tee shirt, a souvenir of my second major role in a musical comedy, so I wouldn't get it dirty, and looked underneath the car.  No matter how often I shower, no matter how many cans of orange hand cleaner I use, my fingernails have been permanently stained with black grease and oil for the entire trip.  That's thanks to Rocinante, the money sponge.
    I put my finger in the oil.  It was clean.  Maybe that was a good sign.  Perhaps some oil had just spilled out of the funnel.  We decided to drive a little further, then check the oil next time we buy gas.
    Ahead of us, at exit 225, was Amana.  I remembered learning about the Amana community when I was in college.  A splinter group from the Lutheran Church, the Amanas had formed the commune in Iowa sometime around 1865.  It became one of the most successful such communes in America, probably because around 1915, they developed the best refrigeration system in the world and built a factory to produce Amana appliances, now licensed by Maytag.  I figured visiting the seven Amana colonies would be a good educational experience for Freddy, and besides, the winery might have free samples.
    Our first stop was a little gift shop, with items much like you find in the Pennsylvania Dutch area.  The show abounded with German food items, dolls presenting little German farm people, and those little ceramic slogans my grandmother (probably everyone's grandmother) had on her wall: "We grow too soon old and too late schmart."  While Diane and Freddy browsed around at cute stuff we had no money left to buy, I checked the oil.
    Bad news.  The engine was smoking from oil that had dripped onto the exhaust pipe.  The whole bottom of the engine dripped oil.  We were in trouble.  I got Russ on the phone to ask about the warrantee.  He wanted me to go home, but that was out of the question.  He finally suggested I look all over the engine to find the leak--maybe it wasn't in the seals.  Maybe it was something simple like a faulty oil pump or something like that.  I decided to head for the nearest repair shop, but first thought I should top off the oil to get me there.
    When I put the funnel on the pour pipe, I saw that it was loose.  The bolt holding it to the engine block was stripped and the pipe came off in my hands.  At last, here was a problem I could fix.  The oil must have been bubbling out of the valve covers when the engine ran.  I bought a new rubber gasket for $2.75 and a 10 cent bolt for a dollar (that purchased from a cheap bastard) to secure the pipe and everything was fixed again--but my fingernails remained as greasy and filthy as ever.  I can't wait until they get just a little longer--then I can cut them off and start all over again with clean fingernails for a day or two.

CHAPTER EIGHT