ZZ Wei has a way with clouds

In my sweetie's fantasy, we will climb aboard the travel van and fly into adventure. We'll equip it with cooking utensils, Krustez pancake mix and canned tuna, a mattress, a collapsible table and chairs, collapsible bicycles, a Coleman lantern, adventure books, maps, changes of underwear and good boots, and sing-along travel music. Off we'll set, our hearts bouyant and lacking for nothing. Yes, he has seen About Schmidt, but he has also seen the movie where the man climbs aboard his riding mower? small tracter? to reconcile with his brother half a continent away. Maybe the bicycles wouldn't collapse but ride outside the vehicle on a rack. Maybe I would not collapse within myself, dismayed by my virtuous antagonism towards gas usage, my less attractive desire to stay in fine hotels and dine in restaurants where there is no ketchup on the tables. I have no wish to make meals ala Lucy in The Travel Trailer movie or to scud around corners like Goofy in the Disney film. I haven't even seen RV or whatever the recent film is called with Robin Williams in it, but I don't feel attracted to doing so. In our travel van, the highway would spool under us like film stock while the scenery painted itself for our passing. We would never misunderstand the nest egg concept, or be really, truly lost in America. We would only play "Born to be Wild" with a sly nod to how silly we look. How silly do we look?