I plugged the new Reverend Horton Heat c.d. in. I was one track in when I noticed I was going 75 and a city police was in my rear view. I shook my head and grabbed a Marlboro from the rolled up pack on my sleeve, reached over and cracked a beer. I took a long drink, fiddled with the smoke a little more, looked at my stained and busted knuckles and said, "hell with it". I decided in those few seconds that I was either going over the border into Mexico or die in a ball of fire trying.