Psychiatrists are so out of touch with reality they don't believe anyone is normal; when I hear about crazy people I have to be convinced. "Just HOW is he crazy?" I demanded to know.

It was obvious George did not want to talk about it. He licked his lips once, peered straight ahead, then finally glanced over at me. "Well, he talks to himself."

I scoffed. "So do I."

"Yeah," George replied. "But, Bob answers himself!"

I shrugged at this proof too. "So do I."

George paused long enough to eye me warily, and gripped the steering wheel tighter as he visibly backed away from me in the truck. "You and him," he declared, "will get along just great!"

And it didn't take long for it to go down that way either. When we reached the camping site at the lake we found Bob telling Diana the name of a moth they were watching. Then he gave her the name in Latin. Then he told her what the normal habitat of that particular moth was. Then he flipped open his butterfly identification book and showed her a picture of the critter in full color. I was awed by the man's knowledge. And when he held his camera like a professional, snapping a picture of the moth just as it flew away I was really impressed.

George introduced us. "Bob, this is Peso Little. Peso, this is Bob."

Bob shook hands with me and said: "Hello, I'm George's brother- in- law from Los Angeles."

"Well, great," I responded. "I'll call you Uncle Bob then. Why didn't you use a flash when you snapped that last picture?"

Uncle Bob shook his head. "Well, I didn't need to use the flash since I don't have any film in my camera anyway." He waited until my eyebrows went up, then he added: "Just practicing."

I was delighted. Uncle Bob was a genuine treasure. It was soon discovered that Uncle Bob and I had a lot in common; he loved to cook; knew how to loaf; was observant, witty, and provocative. When a woman began setting up camp in the site next to ours Uncle Bob got there 30 inches before I could throw a word in edgewise. In a matter of minutes they were fast friends, and she was sharing breakfast with us. Then they were running to the store with Diana. When they returned, Uncle Bob encouraged her and George to exchange business cards so they "would always remember each other." I felt very comfortable with the whole scene as I watched from the chaise lounge.

George smiled benignly at his brother-in-law. "Tell Peso what stops your bus made on the way here from LA."

"Even though I'm on a very limited income," Uncle Bob explained. "I spend most of my time traveling, sightseeing, and enjoying life."

He'd bought a cheap round trip bus ticket in Los Angeles and routed it himself. From LA to Des Moines, IA, to Portland Orey, to Boise, ID, to Chicago, ILL, down to Kirtland OH, over to Pottstown, PA, a little loop down to Arlington Cemetery, VA, over to Charleston, SC, a night in Chattanooga, TN, and then a direct shot at Sherwood, AR, via a little loop to St. Louis, MO.

After I got my mouth shut, similar peripatetic convolutions were discussed as options to get back home. When he mentioned Santa Fe I then suggested my favorite town, Gallup, NM, and told him what pleasures to expect there. "That is the most Indian town in America. There is no other tribe on earth like the Navajo, and Gallup is their Saturday night Mecca. Every week it's like a genuine pow wow. I used to cowboy with them on the reservation, and I was in Gallup during their last Intertribal Indian Fair. There were visitors from all around the world and tribal representatives from as far south as Peru and as far north as Nome. Gallup, is authentic."

Uncle Bob put it down in his itinerary as a "must see" attraction. "For "89.00 I intend to see everything in the world there is to see, again."

"I can't possibly miss that," agreed Uncle Bob.

And that's the way it went down. Before daylight next morning we pulled into the McDonald's parking lot at Beebe. While George and I sought the lavatory to wash our hands Uncle Bob went up to the counter and introduced himself to all the girls working there. When we came back in he called us forward and introduced us to all of them, one by one, by name, and told us what he had learned of their background. They were astonished by his total recall, and delighted by the attention. From that point on our breakfast was old home week. A cheerful flow of banter from us to the kitchen and back again ensued. McDonald's fare never tasted so good.

At the Beebe Flea Market Uncle Bob impressed me even more. We had split up and gone our different ways. At one point I encountered the strangest looking vegetable I'd ever seen in my life. The vendor proudly declared it was an egg plant, and gave me the name of that specific variety. Right then Uncle Bob came drifting by and I hailed him, holding one of the pods up. "Uncle Bob, what is this thing?"

Uncle Bob didn't even break his stride. He declared it was an egg plant, named that particular variety, and without pausing, presented its Latin name in its entirety, told me how many varieties of egg plant were known, mentioned several other plants in that family which he thought I might recognize, then stopped to tell me how to prepare several dishes from the particular egg plant in my hand.

I was so astonished that I dropped my spoons I'd just bought two tables over. Uncle Bob picked them up for me and studied them for a second. "These are stainless steel. The design is not unique, and this pattern is commonly available. If you paid 15 cents each you paid too much. At a nickel you got a bargain."

His gaze flickered to my eyes. "How much did you pay?"

"Uh, uh, 10 cents each."

"Average," said Uncle Bob. His eyes glistened sadly. "Just another average buyer."

Only then did it dawn on me; our mutual admiration club was not quite mutual; I was not impressing Uncle Bob!

Without any encouragement on my part being necessary, Uncle Bob went his way, and I went mine. That allowed me to recoup what little respect I had for myself and wrap it around me as a shield against his opinion on the way home.

After we'd been in the truck a little while George broke the uncomfortable silence and sounded us out on his idea to start a time vault and charge people to put articles into it to appreciate in value for their grandchildren. As soon as he said the name of the company would be Rip Van Winkle Time Vaults, Inc. I exclaimed that it was a wonderful idea, and declared it was marketable as well. "People will buy anything when it is presented right. Why, I paid $10 to have a star named after my wife."

"$10!" Uncle Bob almost shouted. "I paid $30 to have one named after Mama!"

He was inconsolable for many miles. None of our endeavors to find an interesting subject pulled him from his despondency until we'd given up and remained silent for awhile. Then George cleared his throat. "Bob, you've been practically everywhere on earth. Where would you really like to go on your next trip?"

Uncle Bob reflected on this choice opportunity as if it were a real option to be considered. I could almost see Paris flicking by his inner eye, then Rome, Australia, Sweden, China. Then Uncle Bob grinned excitedly. "I'd like to go to the moon," he declared.

Then he explained. "I just bought two lots up there recently. I have a signed deed to them and everything. And, I'd just like to vacation on my own property. I'd like to sit back, with my feet up, and gaze down at everywhere I've been to on this earth."

"Knowing you," said George, "the ticket won't cost but six pence."

It was true.

Uncle Bob was just that kind of a man.

"Can you get two tickets?" I asked him.