Some of these names are real. Others aren't.

Victor, IA. Take away the comma, deflate the capital letters and it's "Victoria."

It was only a freeway exit sign: ''Victor, 1 mile.'' Pretty unremarkable, but at the time it rushed by, the Iowa night was dark and the road was long. I'd exhausted the CDs I'd brought along. The radio fare was uninspiring. I felt less tired than antsy. Half an hour to go. The mind can get restless. That's when I saw the sign for Victor. Winning name for a town, I thought, staring out over the headlight beams. Maybe it was adopted after one of the world wars. Or after a state basketball title. Victor, Iowa. Victor, IA. Hmm. Take away the comma, deflate the capital letters and it's "Victoria." My brain stirred from its driving rut. What if there were a town in Oregon named Either? It would be Either, OR. The cylinders started firing. How about:   Terminally, IL   I'm, OK.   Low, Cal.   Ballpoint, Penn.   Bali, HI   Perfect, Tenn. I glanced at my wife in the passenger seat as she hovered between consciousness and sleep. I hesitated, but this was too good to keep. I rattled off the concept. She was two steps short of bemused, one step short of noncommittal. After 32 years of marriage, she was not about to encourage another venture into verbal whimsy. Didn't matter. I was on a roll:   Trala, LA.   Pro And, Conn.   Marcus Welby, MD   Little Whim, Minn. The journey's final half-hour flashed by, and, when we arrived at our daughter's home in Iowa City, I eagerly explained my new pastime to her. She has the same knack for wordplay and we drifted into the wee hours, her husband -- a more scientific sort -- tolerating our badinage before we called it a night. But before nodding off I thought of Hittor, Miss. And Pass, KY. Since then, my daughter and I have e-mailed additions to our atlas of what-if geography. Some of her recent suggestions:   Dripdry, Wash.   Why Oh, WY   Show Your, ID   Jealousy and, NV   That's, AL   Uh, OH   Oom, PA I responded rather feebly with Off, Tenn.; Iron, OR, and Ar, IA, which no doubt would boast an opera house. One day I explained the premise to a colleague, who soon flashed me this playful electronic message:   Ex, Conn.   Noah's, Ark.   Who, ME? But then she returned from a trip the next weekend to say, "I couldn't stop thinking about your stupid game." I knew I'd struck paydirt. So here's your chance to become similarly obsessed. You might be driving along, some moonless night, facing endless miles of asphalt. The radio will be unaccommodating or dead and you'll need something -- anything -- to keep you awake. Or you'll need a diversion -- any diversion -- to occupy the kids. That's when you might pass a sign: "Dishman, 1 mile." And you'll happen to be in Washington. Go for it.