Dewdney Trunk Road

I like driving down Dewdney Trunk Rd on the way to Port Moody - as if for a moment I'm miles away from suburbia and I'm surrounded by wild trees. That is why it didn't seem out of place that a young guy, with green spiked hair, was walking along the right side of the road towards oncoming traffic. He was singing and playing his guitar as he saundered.
It also didn't seem out of place, at least, until later when I gave it more thought, that I pulled over and offered him a ride regardless of the fact I was driving in the other direction.
He pauses, momentarily interupting his grin, before he replies, "No thanks, I'm good." And his rubber lips are smacked back into his original, wide smile.
From the driver's seat, I shout, "You're just walking along singing and playing your guitar?"
"Yep." Now he's showing off his teeth.
"That's rad!" I exclaim.
"Thanks!" And I step back on the gas to continue my drive realizing that I would have loved to talk to him longer. But lengthening this occurance would only exhaust the incantation that teases my mind every time I have driven the Dewdney Trunk Rd since.