4:29 am. Barbara and I are sleeping peacefully, dreaming of triceratops bones, elephants, and school kids, all trying to trample us. Dreaming of better times to come, when all those kids have to go back to school and write reports on what they saw. Reports like, "A Terrified Old Man with a White Goatee Screaming NO! NO! GET AWAY!" In my sleep, I realize that I'll still be on vacation when they're back in their classrooms. I smile.

4:30 am. We are unceremoniously and rudely awakened by an alarm, blaring at about 10,000 dB (for those of you who don’t know, that’s really loud). I peel myself off the ceiling and investigate. It’s the LP gas leak detector. We have a propane leak! I hit the mute button, and the screeching stops. Okay. I can go back to bed. I’m sure this is not a serious problem. The serious problem is that I’m up at 4:30 am. I look for my hammer, but it’s in an outside compartment. I’m way too cold to go out there for it. But if it were in here, I could easily take care of this problem.

60 seconds later, the &%$# alarm starts screaming, again. This time, I’m right next to it, and it’s REALLY loud. I hit the mute button and once again get some peace. For 60 seconds. Then, for the next half hour, it's screech, hit the mute, wait 60 seconds, screech, hit the mute, wait 60 seconds, screech…

Okay. This thing is not going to stop. I get dressed in my warmest clothes and go outside (no, I gave up on the hammer 20 minutes ago) and turn off the propane at the tank. Back inside, I fan the detector with a towel to try to clear it of residual gas, and we’re golden. No screeching, but by this time, it’s after 5:30. No sense in going back to bed, so I make some coffee and pout. (Remember I told you I was good at pouting? First entry. Winnemucca. Pay attention, there’s a quiz later.)

We spend the rest of the day trying to find someone who can look at the LP system and fix the leak. I finally talk to someone at an RV service center who tells me that LP gas detectors are only good for a few years, and most people replace them every year. Mine is about ten years old. She tells me to go to a parts store, buy a new detector, bring the RV in, and they’ll replace it. I can hear her eyes rolling skyward.

I get the detector and install it myself. I turn on the gas, and, what do you know? No beeping. (Don’t tell me I installed it wrong! I don’t care. It’s quiet, and I can sleep.)

We have tickets for a DC tour after dark, and we decide we can go if we get some sleep. We both take naps, then head to the bus for the tour.

We see a bunch of buildings, none of which I remember. We are able to get off the bus at several stops, most notable is the Lincoln Memorial, conveniently located 42 blocks from where we are let off the bus. We have 20 minutes to get there and get back, or the bus will leave without us. We hustle down the street, cameras ready, but I’m not sure exactly where the memorial is. We take pictures of something, figuring all the buildings look alike. No one will notice if it’s the wrong one. (See the picture of the "Lincoln Memorial" right there? It’s actually the IRS building with a Lincoln doll we found on the street a couple of days ago. If you look closely, you can just see Barbara’s hand holding it in front of the building to make it look like he’s sitting there. Pretty clever, huh?)

We also see the north side of the White House. It’s really white. Not much else to say.

There are 10 million motorcyclists in town for Memorial Day. Add those to the school kids, and we’re taking the next couple of days off.

The only thing I still don’t understand about all of this is why am I writing this entry in present tense?