one trace over the line

"Man, this is the way to travel," said my classmates. They leaned over to turn the volume up on the radio, humming along with the rhythm section and kind of moaning the words, "One trace over the line, Sweet Jonas, . . . One trace over the line . . ."

One trace! You poor fools! Wait till you see those goddamn Agrs! I could barely hear the radio . . . slumped over on the far side of the seat, grappling with an iPod turned all the way up on "Sympathy for the Devil." That was the only MP3 we had, so we played in constantly, over and over, as a kind of demented counterpoint to the radio. And also to maintain our rhythm on the road. A constant speed is good for GB milage -- and for some reason that seemed important at the time. Indeed. On a trip like this one must be careful about GB consumption. Avoid those quick bursts of pseudo-formalism that drag blood to the back of the brain.