The Spell of the Alcan
by Adrian Crane, with apologies to Robert Service
I wanted the win, and I sought it, 
I scrabbled and timed like a slave 
Was it tires or factor, I fought it 
And drove my car into a grave 
I wanted the win, and I got it, 
Came out with a triumph last fall 
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it
And somehow the win isn't all 

No!  There's the Alcan (have you run it?) 
It's the cussedest rally that I know 
From the big dizzy transits that link it 
To the timed sections that run in the snow 
Gene says Jerry was tired when he made it 
Jensen says it's a fine rally to shun 
Maybe, but there's some as would trade it 
For no Summer event - and I'm one 

You come to get zeros (dammed good reason) 
You feel like a rallyist at first 
You lose seconds like hell for no reason 
and then you are worse than the worst. 
It grips you like some kind of sinning 
It twists Ken from a foe to a friend, 
It seems it's been mistimed from the beginning 
And it seems it will be to the end 

I've drove on some mighty steep hairpin 
That's plumb full of ice to the brim 
I've watched the big driving lights follow 
Then hit the snowbank so cold and go dim 
Till the road set the freezing tires screaming 
And the oil tumbled out, diff and box 
And I've wished that I surely was dreaming 
With bad chinese food at every stop 

The rest halt - no sweeter was ever 
The gas station pumps and a meal 
The coffee spilt on the odo 
The drivers asleep at the wheel
The navigator that never knows wrongslots 
The wilds where the gas tanks run dry 
The fudging, the factors, the unfairness 
Oh Jerry, why can't I ask why 

The winter, the truck lights that blinds you 
The handbrake locked tight as a drum 
The cold fear that follows a speed change, 
The transits that make your bum numb 
The route book thats older than history 
The tsd's where the weird miles dance 
The silliness, the CB's the mystery, 
I've bade em good-bye - but I can't 

There's a land where the stages are nameless 
And the roads all run God knows where 
There are instructions that are erring and aimless 
And seconds that hang by a hair 
There are factors that nobody reckons 
There are controls unpeopled and still 
There's a land - Oh it beckons and beckons 
And I want a score dropped and I will 

They're making my horsepower diminish 
I'm sick of speed limits inane 
Thank Jerry!  When I'm cited the third time 
I'll prepare for the Alcan again 
I'll drive - and you bet its no One Lap 
It's hell but I've driven it before 
And its better than tickets by a damm sight: 
So for me its the Alcan once more. 

There's clearing a stage and it's haunting 
It's luring me on as of old 
Yet it isn't the win that I'm wanting 
So much as just zeroing the road 
It's the great big broad rally up yonder 
It's the 'TSD' where perfection has lease, 
It's the slick roads that fill me with wonder 
It's the good score that fills me with peace