An ultimate adventure rig?

[Steve Seitel]

Sometimes, the mind wanders:

Two-Piece Two-Bit Travel Rig Blues​

​

Analytical Logic is prone to insist​

That an ideal travel rig cannot exist.​

Still, it's a notion that's hard to ignore,​

One that I've pondered quite often before.​

​

Lying late awake, mulling the choices,​

Hearing seductive soft murmuring voices​

Conjuring odd notions of magical carpets ​

That check all the boxes, hit all the targets.​

​

My rig must go anywhere, climb like a Jeep​

And do it efficiently; fuel isn't cheap.​

Fast on the highway, with comforting ride,​

Something to pamper an aging backside.​

​

Full boondocking kit for choosing to stay​

Wherever we are at the close of a day.​

At the push of a button our camp is set up,​

With coffee that's steaming in self-heating cups.​

​

But not Spartan camping; rather the contrary.​

With a comfy king bed and extensive library​

Of classical works in leather-bound tomes,​

The sort that you'll see in the most elegant homes.​

​

Belay that! That sort of book never gets read,​

So we'll take along trashy dime novels instead.​

​

But my point remains valid; there's no need to rough it​

With seven-channel audio blasting J. Buffet,​

A wide-screen TV with satellite reception,​

And a VR attachment to augment perception.​

​

And (with spousal permission) a couple of maids​

To rack up the pool cues, schedule parades,​

And serve us some crepes all slathered with jam​

With a side of tomatoes and maybe some ham...​

​

When it's late and I'm awake, it seldom fails​

That my mind goes a-hounding down disjointed trails,​

From Blanding to Seuss, it's borderline creepy.​

Let's call it a night. At last I feel sleepy.​

 

[Mighty Dodge Ram]

I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who prefers dreams of vehicles to counting sheep. Thanks for the prose.

 

[Kolockum]

That is very good!

 

[hebegebe]

Sometimes, the mind wanders:

Two-Piece Two-Bit Travel Rig Blues​

Analytical Logic is prone to insist​

That an ideal travel rig cannot exist.​

Still, it's a notion that's hard to ignore,​

One that I've pondered quite often before.​

Lying late awake, mulling the choices,​

Hearing seductive soft murmuring voices​

Conjuring odd notions of magical carpets ​

That check all the boxes, hit all the targets.​

My rig must go anywhere, climb like a Jeep​

And do it efficiently; fuel isn't cheap.​

Fast on the highway, with comforting ride,​

Something to pamper an aging backside.​

Full boondocking kit for choosing to stay​

Wherever we are at the close of a day.​

At the push of a button our camp is set up,​

With coffee that's steaming in self-heating cups.​

But not Spartan camping; rather the contrary.​

With a comfy king bed and extensive library​

Of classical works in leather-bound tomes,​

The sort that you'll see in the most elegant homes.​

Belay that! That sort of book never gets read,​

So we'll take along trashy dime novels instead.​

But my point remains valid; there's no need to rough it​

With seven-channel audio blasting J. Buffet,​

A wide-screen TV with satellite reception,​

And a VR attachment to augment perception.​

And (with spousal permission) a couple of maids​

To rack up the pool cues, schedule parades,​

And serve us some crepes all slathered with jam​

With a side of tomatoes and maybe some ham...​

When it's late and I'm awake, it seldom fails​

That my mind goes a-hounding down disjointed trails,​

From Blanding to Seuss, it's borderline creepy.​

Let's call it a night. At last I feel sleepy.​

Great! I can hear that with a C7 blues turnaround!!!

 

[Avg.Joe]

Nice job Steve!