gasoline: hands glued to the steering wheel, smack between a ledge straight down and a wall of spruce as thick as thieves. and as sure as a sharp corner comes a jack-knife kind of creepiness, sweeps up and over me. oh gasoline donít leak out on me, two thousand miles left to go a brand new name, haircut, hell make me a blond if itíll blend me in. ďlovely weather for an april day, i just came through saskatchewan from as south as you can drive before you drop.Ē said he just planned on passing through, but that he didnít know heíd crash into tarnation pouring coffee in a lonely old truckstop. down it goes from there on in, iím a sucker for attention when it revs up to me wheeling like a screech. but by degrees his grip got tight, suspicion turned his knuckles white, had to drive them in my face to find relief. where i found the muster is a mystery best left in apartments found deserted and a semi-trailer theft. where you ended iíll pick up, onwards to tuktoyaktuk, about as north as you can go before you drop.