Her hobby was riding horses, hobbyhorsically.
They enjoyed camping, intentsly.
He walked through the fog, mysteriously.
He stamped his foot, ground-breakingly.
She sat on the chair, deep-seatedly.
They bounded across the field, grasshopperly.
She splashed about in puddles, wellingtonly.
She sprinkled herbs on her pasta, gingerly.
He tramped along the trunk road, elephantically.
She hobbled along the mountain path, walking-stickly.
He grabbed the steering wheel, clutchingly.
She appeared in a camping commercial, inadvertently.
He held in his hand a book of scary stories, grippingly.
She tended the garden, sluggishly.
He backpacked across the galaxy, star-trekkingly.
Her soup was so hot, pipingly.
She bopped and boogied all night long, foxtrotingly.
She walked across the beach, flipfloppily.
He slipped on the ice, skiddingly,
and broke his arm, humourously.
He put his clothes in the washing machine, tubdrumtuckly.