My golly goodness Ed, I hope I can make it to the end of this here letter in one peace.
Truth is my nerves is as jumpy as a fish in a cat facktry on accounta havin’ drove thru that hiway in BC thats named after Joe Frazer, the boxer fella that discovered it.
I was doin’ fine till the part they call the Helluva Canyon, thats filled with all them tunnels and the road dipsy doodles like a rolly coaster at the fall fare.
It mite of been OKay if I was drivin’ somethink with a bit of heft, like the old Packerd I first come up to the Youcon in 20 years back.
But when yer in a vehickle the size of two peenuts on the haff shell, tryin’ to drive like an honest cittizen, it sure dont help to have a rig the size of WallMart tryin’ to weld hisself to yer back bumper.
The faster I peddled the more intimmate he wanted to get. Any body watchin’ probly figgered we was part of some new Dooks of Hazzard fillum.
I still dont how fast we got up to, since my meter dont go that high. Finely I jest turned off the key and said “if thats what you want big feller, have at ‘er”.
I probly saved some gas, and thats a good thing fer the environment.
Saved time too. When the trucker finely stopped to make his bladder gladder, it was allready too late fer me, so I kept on goin’.
The rest of the trip went much more better. Its the first ever time I drove up the Number 37 from Hazelnut past Bell Too and the like.
Never did meet the folks they named it for, nor even seen a bronze plack, but I’m sure Stuart and Cassy R. was both fine, upstandin’ pioneers.
Turns out I need’nt of worryed about a close encounter of the moosely kind. There was’nt one to be seen anywheres.
Leastwise if there was, I never seen ‘im. I mite of slipped under the belly of one when I was’nt payin’ heed. But bein’ that time of the year, my thinkin’ is they was mostly off in the woods with other things on there mind.
So here I am, back in my little cabbin at Anny Lake. Mernas Mom moved back to Haines Junkshun to be with’er pals, so things worked out fine.
Thing is Ed, this mite be the last letter I send you. Dont take it personal, its jest that yer new to the editters job and we aint ever met.
I cant even say fer sure yer name is Ed. Its kinda hard ritin’ to some body you cant put a face onto.
If I get to town some day, maybe we can go fer java and bit of a jaw. If yer doin’ the buyin’ I’ll be happy to do the drinkin’.
Anyways, good luck with yer little paper. Its a pip.
Yer pal,
