Back in the mid-90's, when I was in my twenties, I was a small time criminal and drifter who moved from place to place, across dozens of states, never staying for too long. I kept to myself, but moved within the fringes of society in each place I lived. By jumping on and off trains both within and across Mexico, Canada and the United States, crossing borders illegally, I was able to evade authorities for a considerable time. I also had no fixed address.
I eventually got busted for check fraud and was picked up by the police in a small town just west of the Mississippi. For some reason, the lieutenant really had in it for me and threatened to lock me up for years. They booked me and while en route to another jail, my train derailed over a switch, allowing me to escape and freed me to hide in lonely desperation...to change my identity...freed me to run before the relentless pursuit of the police lieutenant obsessed with my capture. I fled to the Yukon Territory.
There, I came across an organized dog fight. A white German Shepherd was badly injured and I forcibly took it, angering its owner, a vicious trapper named Hazel. He vowed revenge and I held up in an isolated cabin. He called the Mounties and they eventually found me and a shootout ensued. The dog was killed and I ran, chased by a Canadian Mounty Commander obsessed with my capture.
Long story short, I utilized a number of tracking techniques to avoid the posse in the dead of winter and eventually fled to Alaska, where I now write this under the light of a candle. I will forever be looking over my shoulder, for I can never be truly free.