"I can't think of one thing I'd rather be doing than this."

Gail: This may be the stop where Fate stops us in our hubris and says to us: "No Marlboro Miles for you. Try as you might, I have stored no Miles here for you." Which is fine. Fate has its way.

Gail: Keystone . . . Pabst Blue Ribbon . . . that's a good sign. Those are usually the GPCs. GPC smokers'll usually be too cheap to buy anything besides Keystone or Pabst.
Burford: I've noticed a correlation between Mickey's [Michelob] Big Mouth bottles and Marlboros. Premium brands that start with an M.
Gail: Oooh!
Burford: And as we know, an M upside down is a W, which stands for Wagner--which is also a premium brand.
Gail: Wagner is definitely a premium brand!

Gail: That was the first time I heard him say anything about not going all the way to Tucson.
Burford: Yeah, that's true. We keep forgetting to tell him that we can't see the Superstitions any more.
Gail: Well, I think we'll make it to Oracle. Where we can stop & have dinner at a greasy spoon & celebrate.

Gail: HAHAHA! We're going up a hill that will KILL Doc!
Burford: I'm really glad I didn't decide to ride this five miles.
Gail: Yeah. Of all the five miles you could've chosen to ride, this would've been definitely the worst. Hill--it's all hill!

Gail: Mile 101 is another hill. Doc! We are going seriously HAHAHA up HILL! You know what would be really cool? If, as soon as he gets up here, like a full-on headwind just swoooosh! You know, did I or did I not offer a 3-mile?
Burford: Yeah, you did. Every three miles.
Gail: And he said, "Nope. Five miles." Five miles it is!

Gail: Night is falling. It's getting colder. The Miles has not been located, but a very fine imitation has. Stickers are in my socks. My sandals are feeling wet. At this point I'm feeling very . . . upset at Doc. He's sitting on his ASS, peddling his little BICYCLE! We're out here, treading the coolie, looking for the Miles! It's been a long day in the sun and van, never knowing at what point will we find, or not find, the beloved and elusive Five Miles. And Doc, in that little uppity way he has, peddling his bicycle like la-de-da it's some fuckin Sunday drive through the park! Which it is not. Not for Burford and I. For we are the Five Mile Men.

Burford: We were harassed by cowboys in a truck. They did circles around us & stuff.

(Later, when it was almost dark, the same idiots buzzed close by me and honked, trying to make me crash. Small-town fun at its best.)

Gail: Roll up your windows, it's starting to steam the windows. It's cold! God bless Doc, for all his dreams, his hopes, his childish aspirations--hey, girls!
Burford: Girls!
Gail: Hey, girls, wanna hang with us? We have--
Burford: No way they could live here.
Gail: Nah. They're too hot.

Gail: All right, 4.5 miles outside of the Cabinet Cabaret, we think . . . it's all uphill--it's a very steep uphill--and it winds uphill . . . we think Doc's just gonna say, "Let's call it a day, boys." What do you think?
Burford: I don't know. I think he might go the last little bit to Oracle. It could go downhill.

Gail: The sun is now officially down. It is very cold. I'm in my shorts, my sandals, my t-shirt, I am feeling very--the word I'm looking for is . . . I don't know, good, I guess. Feelin' alright, feelin' good. Feelin' alive, awake. Got the desert air, got the pebbles, I got the near-death experience with a couple of fuckin' hillbilly dorks. I got trash to sift--HEY! C'mere! It's not Marlboro Miles, but it might be somethin'! It's a jacket from World of Cloth. It's a pretty good jacket, too. It's all bloody & ripped. "World of Cloth, Laboratory Corning Branch." That's pretty cool! "Satisfaction Guaranteed."
Burford: "Alternative Trends."
Gail: Shall we search the pockets?
Burford: Sure. Maybe there's Marlboros in 'em.
Gail: It's all bloody. Aw, never mind.

Gail: I'm now scouring the perimeter with a fine-toothed . . . er, set of eyes. Gonna find me--up until this point, my colleague Burford has located all of the Marlboro Miles except for the ones Doc himself has claimed--
Burford: [In the distance] WOO-HOO!
Gail: Aw, fuck him! Got one?
Burford: No, but I got porn!
Gail: You got porn? HAHAHA! Yes!
Burford: "Blow Jobs R Us."
Gail: Oh, let me see that! I mean, uh . . . from a clinical standpoint, the viewing of such . . . wait, hold on.
Burford: Oh, wow, got a big dildo picture!
Gail: Oh my!
Burford: Here, you read this, I'll keep looking.
Gail: Ball-licking--oh, this is how he gets ya! This is how he finds it He finds porn . . . I will not be falling into his little trap of--ooh, look! Hear a sorority sister [&c. &c.] This is like Headline News. As I was saying, I sense dissension among the troops, with Burford's attempts to sidetrack me, taking me away from the original goal of finding Marlboro Miles--ooh, Burger King hat!--and thus he himself claims for himself the Marlboro Miles. This time I shall not be deterred--ooh, barbed wire--and I shall walk away with a sense of pride for a job well-done. Good Protestant work ethic demands that I find Marlboro Miles once before the trip is done. Glue! No, wait, eyedrops! No, wait, hmm. I found a Red Wolf still in the bag it was gulped from. Now this is just kind of scary.

Gail: Burford, my beloved and distinguished colleague--what have you found?
Burford: I have found a pack of Marlboros. But it's in pretty bad shape.
Gail: Yep, looks like someone ripped 'em off.
Burford: Oh, is it ripped off? Or is it just crumpled?
Gail: See? There's the thing.
Burford: Isn't that it right there?
Gail: Well, we found a pack of Marlboros.
Burford: I found a pack of Doral. Oh, and I also found this: I got some Camel Cash.
Gail: Oh, NICE! Oh, thank you.
Burford: You're welcome.
Gail: That's great. I apologize about all those bad things I was saying about you on the tape earlier. It just gets to me out here, man. You know, you're just so intent on finding something, I don't know, I just . . . I'm starting to lose it.