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Big mosquitoes are better than small mosquitoes, my son concluded at our camp outside Custer, S.D. He found it easier to track and swat the larger blood suckers. Logical, but I had hoped for more profound wisdom when our trip began three days before. Imagined as an educational retreat into the heart of our great nation, I expected inspiration and awe. But teenagers make their own wisdom.

A suggestion to visit friends in Sioux Falls, S.D., struck a nostalgic nerve road trip! Undaunted by gas prices, I set to work engineering an efficient, action-packed adventure across half the country. Tuned to revive aromas from my childhood adventures in our 65 Impala, but compressed into nine days, the route I charted carved a precise loop through five western states. Along the way, the schedule allowed quick detours to just a dozen points of interest. Call it speed tourism.

Via the Internet, I reserved campgrounds and motels, alternating between the two to save money - and reduce gaminess. The reservation websites worked great. Just be careful what you search for. When I pulled into my RV site in Custer, the camp host laughed at my homely van. Stupidity is only a mouse click away.

On launch day, the five of us piled into the van, cramming miscellaneous gear between us. What didn't fit inside went on top or on a cargo carrier hanging off the trailer hitch that scrapped every driveway from here to Sioux Falls. Ouch.

With our modern Conestoga wagon packed to the rafters, we headed east along the Oregon Trail to a campsite on the Idaho border. That evening, the boys headed into sleepy Hunnington for a snack at the one cafe. The sheriff gave us a friendly nod as we meekly shuffled into a nearby booth and then ordered chocolate cream pie all around. Photos of yester-year hung on the walls recalling the days of "100% White" patronage and "All White Help." Didn't expect this kind of nostalgia.

Reality returned at the gas pump the next morning in Ontario, Oregon and about every 250 miles. Seemed my overweight van was doomed with 20 mpg or worse for the duration. Yester-year sure had some upside.

Grateful for the monotony of I-84, we zoomed through equally monotonous Eastern Idaho. We found our next camp on the Wyoming border just down the road from the dead moose. If dead moose is gone, just watch for signs.

The next morning, we set off for Jackson, WY; the Grand Tetons; and a swing through Yellowstone. On the way, a traffic jam signaled a buffalo herd grazing roadside. We snapped

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