Canadian adventurea - Day 2

The Trip North . . . Day 2

We awoke early to hit the road, eager to make our way to the Canadian Border and points north. We had stayed at a Hampton Inn, part of the Hilton Hotel chain and ate our quick breakfast and grabbed our little “to go bag” and off we went into the Great Plains . . .

During my first driving trip up to Alaska it was the sixth month anniversary of the attack on September 11, 2001. My daughter and I were listening to the radio which was playing a tribute to those that lost their lives on that horrific morning. Within one minute of the tribute finishing we came upon something that made us both break into tears.

We were in the middle of ‘nowhere USA’ washed in a landscape of white from the snow and an overcast snowing sky just a few miles south of the border crossing.

This is what we came upon in the distance . . .

As we drove by that morning the impact of that day hit both of us . . .

Driving again this same stretch of highway I wondered if this flag would still be flying in the constant breezes of the Great Plains. I was glad to see that it was.

This trip is an ever constant changing horizon . . .

As we approach the Canadian Border there is an area that reminded me of the Badlands of Missouri. In the distance the rolling hills and deep breaks showed many changing topographies.

Charlie didn’t sleep all that well last night dreaming of another border crossing problem but when we approached the customs lady who asked us all the questions, I gave my answers cheerily to her and it only took a couple of minutes to make our way into Alberta Canada.

Charlie was on his second trip to the Canadian border in the last month. My brother in law was turned back last time not having the correct paperwork so for Charlie it was a somewhat stressful time. I slept great but had no worries as I have had my own adventure years ago.

This reminded me of my first trip to Canada . . .

Yeah, it was about a girl I had met and invited me up to see her several months before. We had met in Atlanta and she was from Montreal and spoke with a French accent . . . very different from my slight Southern drawl that people sometimes remind me I have. I always tell them I have spoken this way all of my life and that everyone else has the accents . . . most people don’t seem to be amused by that comment.

I drove up from Atlanta in my 1969 Dodge Charger . . . it looked like what would become “The General Lee” many years later on the Dukes of Hazzard television show but without the Confederate flag on the roof and the # 01 on the doors. It was a great car and I called it Pegasus as it was a fast car and flew everywhere. I wish I still had that car as one that the actor who played in the show just sold a replica for 9.9 million dollars, go figure.

Anyway, I was 22 years old and heading to another country to see a girl I had met with friends in an unlikely place, a weekend at the lake on my houseboat. Friends had brought her with them and we hit it off and after she left we kept in touch and she had casually invited me up to see her.

We wrote letters a bit and I had a couple of weeks off in August for a road trip. In my mind, her French Canadian accent sounded so great when she wrote back in one of her letters, “Please come, I am so lonely without you.”

That was all I needed so I drove to Montreal in anticipation of a great week of fun in a new place and the drive would be another adventure. I made it Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania that first day and stayed in a small motel overnight.

I met a guy in the little bar at the motel and he was telling me about buying the “duty free” liquor and cigarettes at the Canadian Border. I don’t smoke and was on a limited budget but made a mental note to buy some for my friends and take it back with me when I returned home. They smoked Marlboros and the price was always increasing back then so I figured I would be a ‘buddy’ and do that for them.

Being new to this ‘international traveler’ thing I missed the duty free store where they were selling the cigarettes and proceeded directly to the Canadian customs crossing. “Is this your first time in Canada?” the customs officer asked. I proudly said “Yes!”

“How long will you be in Canada?” the officer asked me. “Almost two weeks.” I said.

“You are on business?”

“Pleasure. Her name is Carole.” (I’m sure with my accent it sounded more like “Karoool to him.)

The officer smiled.

“By the way,” I asked, “where do I buy the duty-free cigarettes?”

“Oh, I am sorry, but you should have stopped at the trailer just behind you.” the officer said.

I started to back up and he quickly stopped me.

“I am afraid you cannot back up. You must drive around and back through the United States Customs.” He told me.

No problem as I could do a quick U-turn and head back a grab the cigarettes for my friends. I pulled up to the U.S. Customs agent standing there to let me pass.

“Are you an American citizen?” he asked me.

“Yes.”

“And where were you born?”

“Atlanta, Georgia!”

“Where do you live?”

“Atlanta”

“How long have you been in Canada?”

I looked at the clock in my car . . . “About seventeen seconds I guess.”

The officer did not seem amused, so I explained about the cigarettes.

He waved me through . . .

I went back to the duty free trailer and bought the Marlboros and a couple bottles of liquor and pulled back into the Canadian Customs line. As my luck would have it the officer who greeted me now was not the one with whom I had talked with moments before. Oh no, here we go again . . .

“Have you ever been to Canada before?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“And when was that?”

I looked at the clock again . . . “About six minutes ago,” I told him.

He did not seem amused either, so I told him about the cigarettes and the liquor, too.

“May I see them please?” he asked.

I was stricken with terror. Suddenly, all of my fears about being out of the country came back. What had I done wrong? Where would they take me? Would I be beaten like the guy in the movie, Midnight Express? Would I ever see my Karool again?

I handed the officer the carton of cigarettes and the two bottles of liquor. He looked at them and handed everything back to me and said, “That is fine, Please continue.”

“Well, King,” I said, “Does this mean this case is closed?”

Sgt. Preston of the Yukon had been one of the favorite television shows of my youth.

The customs officer glared back at me as I drove away. I also made a mental note to myself never to be a smart aleck while trying to get into somebody else’s country.

I’ve gotten so far off track now with this story I wonder if I should continue and finish it here and now or get back to our current Canadian travels.

I’ll finish this one quickly before getting back on track . . . I arrived in Montreal in late afternoon and called and announced, “I am here!” when she answered the phone.

There was this strange silence on the other end of the phone . . . then Karool said, almost hesitantly, “That is good.” “There’s something wrong?” I asked as my heart was pounding in anticipation of something horrible about to happen.

“I must talk to you, I’ll be right over!” she said.

Shortly as she gave me a hug she explained that she had written me a letter but I must have left before it arrived. “I never got your letter.” I explained as she was about to plunge a dagger deep into me.

“I am engaged to be married shortly so we cannot continue.” She explained.

“Do what?” I asked in my best Southern questioning style.

The long and short of it, her old boyfriend had come back into town and wanted to get back together with her. I was crumbled as I had just driven 1,200 miles to see my French Canadian friend.

I left Montreal at dawn the next morning. If I could just quickly get back inside the U.S., I would feel a lot better. Finally, the border loomed on the horizon in front of me.

I went through the usual with the U.S. Customs officer. Then, he spotted the liquor and cigarettes in the back seat of my car. I hadn’t been in Canada long enough to open anything. “May I see the cigarettes, please?” he asked.

My mind was thinking . . . No. Please don’t do this to me . . . I’ve just been dumped and all I want is to get back into my precious country.

I handed the officer the carton and the liquor and he looked at them and said, “Please pull your car over here and step inside.”

It was a minor thing as I had to pay the ‘duty’ on my duty-free items I had purchased when I drove into Canada. I changed my plans and headed to Gettysburg National Battlefield the next day and toured that beautiful historic place. Pickett never had a chance.

Ever since that time I have had a hard time liking anything that is Canadian. Until, I met a friend in my gaming Community who lives in Edmonton. He has changed many of my negative feelings from my first trip to Canada. He is a good friend.

As we drove northwest from the border towards many distant horizons we were continually being blown about by the ever present winds across the plains or prairies as the Canadians call them. Our rig and the trailer were being moved back and forth but as we headed up over a hill and came across this scene . . .

I still can’t understand why we cannot develop more energy from wind power. There are places in California, Wyoming, and Canada that have developed many wind towers in windy areas.

The end of our second day found us in Edmonton where we would stay with my friend Russ. We were running a little later than expected due to the freeway being closed down in Calgary from a traffic accident. We fueled the rig and continued on the detour that had been set up but we only traveled less than 4 miles in an hour and fifteen minutes.

We had directions for driving through town, crossing the river and making it to his house. I called him about an hour out to let him know we were running late but it worked out almost perfectly as when we arrived at his house there was cold Guinness waiting and the steaks were coming off the grill for a nice meal. We stayed up talking and having a few more Guinness enjoying seeing each other once again.

Miles traveled – 522.2

Ice