I found the canister by feel, my fingers tracing the cold metal. Stuffing it into my pocket with a hurried push, I fumbled with the safety clip, my hands slick with nervous sweat. I had to go bad! But as my thumb found the trigger, it slipped. We will be dead by the morning.

Camping alone was a surprise experience. Packing my gear and gassing up the steel horse I ride took a different type of sentiment.  How would I survive?