DINOSAUR PATROL
THE FIRST JOURNEY
G. A. Tupper
DINOSAUR PATROL THE FIRST JOURNEY
by G. A. Tupper
Copyright 2013 G. A. Tupper
All rights reserved
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1382-2
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Library of Congress registration July 9, 1997
TXu 803-50
Cover art, logo, and book copyright 1997 George Arthur Bush
Cover lettering copyright 2012 Rinehart Studios
G. A. Tupper is a pseudonym for George Arthur Bush
This book is dedicated to my parents
Lee and Joan Bush
DINOSAUR PATROL
THE FIRST JOURNEY
G. A. Tupper
Just a few days ago, on a street almost exactly like yours, four young people went on an extraordinary adventure. My name is Bill. I was one of them.
CHAPTER 1
The sun was shining through the drapes as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The brightness of the sun must mean it is late. If it's this late, then—I'm going to miss school! I stumbled out of bed and reached for my clothes. They weren't there! "What's going on?" I wondered. I always put my clothes out the night before so I wouldn't have to go through this panic. Reaching under the bed for my sneakers, I caught a glimpse of the calendar. What is today? I scanned the crossed-off days until I reached the correct date. It had a big letter "S" over it. What a goof! It was Saturday. I relaxed into a ball of stupidity.
Well, no school today. I wouldn't be late, and I wouldn't look like a total mess. At least that was a positive thing. Gathering myself together, I headed downstairs to the smell of food cooking in the kitchen. Saturday meant "Pancake Day"! Dad was already by the stove inspecting an awesome stack of flapjacks. That's what Gramps calls them.
Mom was preparing to take my older sister, April, to her dance lesson. I think they had already eaten. Mom didn't like pancakes as much as Dad did. As a matter of fact, nobody could put away a large stack of flapjacks like Dad! He used an old family recipe that I guess I’ll have to learn one day.
I helped myself to a small stack while Dad walked to the table balancing a tower of pancakes. "Do you want to go along with me to the flea market today?" he asked. "I'm trying to find some old car parts."
"Great!" I exclaimed, chewing my flapjacks. "Can Fred come along?" I asked.
"Sure," Dad replied. "Fred's a nice kid."
I was glad that Fred would be coming. He was my best friend, and I always learned something new when I hung around him. I think he went through the entire school library all by himself! Fred liked to read, but mostly books on dinosaurs. He wants to become a paleontologist and dig up old dinosaur bones. I like dinosaurs too. Between us, we've collected just about every plastic dinosaur model kit there is.
As soon as breakfast was finished I gave Fred a call. He was going to ride his bike over right away. I waited in front of the house and noticed the fallen leaves starting to pile up. It was one of those beautiful late-September days. Soon I would be doing some serious raking of leaves, and Saturday afternoon wouldn't be the same.
Both Fred and I had developed certain skills in the art of leaf collecting. Working as a team, one person would rake while the other would bag the leaves. We could get both our yards done by two in the afternoon. That still gave us time to go downtown and search for some new model kits. Mom tried to help by getting us some leaf bags with stupid-looking faces printed on them. Fred pointed out that the people who invented the bags were probably enjoying their success on a sunny beach somewhere. That's one way of getting out of raking leaves!
It was nice that I would have some company this afternoon. The market could be a very boring place if you're not looking for something specific. There were a lot of old antiques and things. I mean really old stuff! There was also a lot of dust. My sister, April, would go crazy sneezing if she went. She was famous for her tornado-like sneezes. It is a family rumor that one of her sneezes was responsible for tipping over the Christmas tree, but Mom insists it was Skippy, our dog. When we were young, I told April that flea markets literally sold fleas! I think that was enough to scare her away from the place forever.
I could start to see Fred on his bike coming over the top of the hill. It looked like his sister, Amy, was coming along too. She was pushing her bike. I liked Amy, even though she was a year younger. In terms of school status, this meant she was practically in kindergarten!
Fred and Amy parked their bikes in the corner of the garage as Dad took the dust cover off the car. It's a classic 1964 Mustang. Dad only took it out on weekends—when it worked. The car was really hot when Dad was my age. He said that it may have taken him thirty years, but he finally bought one. Fred and I get to help him polish it every now and then. It still looks like a great car!
We jumped in and headed for the flea market. It wasn't very far, and we could have walked or taken our bikes, but Dad's car was just more fun. I think he likes to show it off once in a while.
CHAPTER 2
Dad pulled onto the bumpy gravel driveway looking for a parking spot. Crowds of people gazed admiringly at the Mustang as we passed by. "They really know a quality car when they see it," Dad said as he pulled into a parking space.
The building was very long and low, with a rippled metal roof. There were even a few antique dealers set up on tables bordering the entrance. Inside the building was a wonderland of sparkling objects. Lamps, pottery, and knickknacks covered the many tables lining the room. "It's pretty crowded!" Dad said. "Stay together and follow me."
We formed a human train, with Dad as the engine, and plowed through the crowd with ease. Dad knew exactly where he was going! The train pulled to a stop in front of a stand of old boxes. They were packed with car parts of every size and shape. Some were rusted and greasy. Others looked like twisted pieces from crashed space ships!
Dad talked to the owner and started to rummage through the odd chunks of metal. I looked at Fred, and without saying a word we agreed that Dad would be lost to the world of car parts for an hour. "Hey, Dad," I said. "We're going to look around for a while." "—Okay," I thought I heard him mumble.
"Let's go!" Amy said as we left for our great Saturday adventure. It was difficult to identify a lot of the items on display. Fred said they were probably made by Neanderthal men. Something out
