I’ve posted this story on my LiveJournal, but as it’s turned into a bit of a dead zone there, and not a lot of people here have probably read my LJ, in honor of Canada Day, I thought I’d share my adventure into the Great White North last year.

A quick basic summary, for those who don’t know, or don’t remember:

Last year, my job folded, and I was given a generous severance package. I decided to use the funds to move from North Carolina to Seattle, and while doing so visit all my various on-line friends. For my trip, I’d gotten a route plan, called a TripTick, from AAA. I also purchased a TomTom GPS, and spent the extra cash to have Darth Vader’s voice on it. So with the Dark Lord of the Sith as my guide (and the AAA maps as backup), I headed North. My first stops were up near Boston, then on to Ottawa to visit our Podcast Queen, Deanna.

I took I-89 North through MA and VT, and the views were amazing. Absolutely beautiful mountains and vistas which I wish I had taken pics of, but every half-mile were signs saying “EMERGENCY STOPS ONLY” in the side-lanes, so I kept driving.

I had lunch at this little place called the Route 4 Deli, a great roast beef sandwich with sharp Vermont white cheddar cheese. It was there that I realized that I forgot to let my bank know that I was going to Canada, and better tell them so that they wouldn’t freak out and block my card when it crossed the border, thinking it was stolen or something.

So I pull over on Route 4, just before the exit back onto I-89 to make my call. As I’m finishing up, this cop comes by. I wave “hello” to be friendly, and they turn around, park behind me and come up to the car. And I’m thinking “oh great, getting arrested here would SUCK.” I rush the call and hang up just as the cop gets to my window. I know I need to call my bank back, as I missed just about everything they said about fees and crap while I’m in Canada, something like a charge for every purchase and $5 charge for using any ATMs here. But I did not want to still be on the phone as the cop started talking, as police don’t like you telling them “Hang on a min, I’m busy.”

So he asks me who I am, what I’m doing, where am I from, what’s with all the crap in my car, so I give him the basic thumbnail version. Gary, heading to Canada, NC, moving because of severance package, etc. and that I’d just pulled over to use the phone. He looked a bit skeptical but said “Ok, drive safe,” and left.

This really should have been a warning for me on what to expect later, but I was just relieved to not be in a Vermont jail. Not that I’d done anything to deserve being in a Vermont jail, but that’s never stopped people from being arrested in the past.

I got back on the road and had to stop for gas in Williston, VT where I saw a sign for the “Garden of Eatin’ Cafe” and wished that I had not had lunch before then as I’d love to say I’d eaten there.

From there, it was more I-89, though the Champlain Islands where I stopped at a 9/11 memorial and saw people ice fishing. ICE FISHING! I’m sorry, I can’t imagine enjoying eating fish so much that sitting on ice in a shack for a few hours seems like a good idea.

From there I ended up taking a Ferry from the islands, going back into New York State, and here my Tom Tom made my voice purchase worth every penny as Darth Vader tells me “Now board the ferry, and bring me all the passengers. I want them alive!” It’s fun being a nerd.

The ferry ride was cool, especially as I landed a spot at the front of the ferry, and had a really good view.

Upon leaving the ferry and going up the one road into NY, there was a state Sheriff road block/ID checkpoint. I don’t know if it’s always there, or they were looking for something, but it was my second interaction with The Powers That Be of the day. So I roll my window down, and it’s a repeat of my conversation with the VT officer. I give him the same thumbnail, and then he asks me “Are you wanted for anything and on the run from North Carolina?” I laughed and said “Oh, God no!” and smiled my best smile. He grinned back and sent me on my way.

I then spend the next hour and forty-five minutes driving through the backwoods, and I mean serious backwoods of NY State. It could have easily passed for the backwoods anywhere in the South, aside from the two wind farms that I drove through. And driving through them at dusk, with Metallica’s Sanitarium playing on my radio, those very tall towers with their slowly spinning blade/arms, silhouetted against the red and purple sky, I could understand why Don Quixote attacked them as giants.

So around eight pm, I finally hit the Canadian border, crossing at the town of Cornwall. I give the Canadian Border Security lady my passport card, and she asks about anything to declare, while eyeing all the crap in my back seat. I say I have nothing to declare, and she asks about the stuff. And I stupidly tell the truth, that I have a lot of my crap with me and in the trunk. So she points off to the side and says “Go park under that awning and go into that building.” Which I do.

I go inside and talk to another CBC lady, give her my ID, she asks where I’m from, what states have I lived in, what’s in my car, how long am I staying, and all the rest. She then goes away for about 15 minutes, then comes back with my visitor paper and says she and another lady CBC officer are going to search my car, and I can sit outside and watch as they do so. I pop the trunk for them, and the lady does a double-take, as every square inch is filled with boxes of my crap.

She looks at the boxes, then looks at my luggage filling the back seat before coming back over to me. She says “Ok, well, I am going to deny you entry into Canada today. You just have way too much stuff in your car for just a simple visit. You have no job and no home address to go back to, so we can’t risk that you’re going to try and just stay here. You’re going to have to go back to the US, get all that stuff out of your car, ship it, and then you can try and come back.”

I was, well, flabbergasted. As you can imagine. I wondered where there would be a storage unit near the border, or would I need to get a hotel room for my stuff while I was in Canada? I saw money flying away, or my trip into Canada being canceled right there.

So I start talking with her, explaining once more the situation about the move, that I shipped most of my stuff to Seattle ahead of me, and only have clothing or personally valuable/fragile things in the car. The second CBC lady was more receptive to what I was saying, but I made sure to keep focusing my discussion with the first lady. She asks me how did I know the person I was visiting? I told her that we did a podcast together.

Had I been to Canada before? I tell her no, and she seemed shocked it was my first visit.

What was a podcast? I said “internet radio show, and that seemed to placate her.

Why was I crossing into Canada there? I said “Because this is where my GPS said to go.” I thought it would be unwise to say “Darth Vader told me to come here.”

The questions kept on rolling: What I did for my old employer, and details on what that entailed? Where I was going to live in Seattle? What was going to be my job when I got there? What route was I taking to Seattle? How much was my severance? How much money did I have now? Did I go to college? What skills did I have?

It was very personal, but I spilled it all, full disclosure and honesty. The truth was crazier than anything I could make up, and lies would just encourage my being bounced.

I must have looked or sounded a mix of pathetic and honest enough that she started asking me if I could prove any of this.

Did I have the receipt for shipping my stuff? No, as I did that over the phone last week…but I did have the card of the place I shipped it with! But they were closed.

I had the tracking info in an email…that I couldn’t access because my smart phone had no signal.

I could see she was on the edge when I remembered my AAA TripTick thing, with all the maps of my route from home to Seattle! So I asked “Can I get you something out of my car that will back me up?” She said yes and followed me over to the car. I pulled the two TripTicks out and said “Ok, here, I had AAA make these for me. This one covers my route from NC to Canada then down to Austin, and here is from Austin to Seattle.”

She looked them over for a few moments, kinda nodded and said “Ok, you can enter Canada. But you have to leave before midnight on March 7th. If you are still in the country at 12:01, a warrant for your arrest will be issued. When you leave Canada, you must check in with the CBC building at the border, like this one here, though you don’t have to cross back through here. If you don’t check in, the warrant will still be issued for your arrest.” To which I replied “Which means I go to Canadian jail, which is not something I want to blog about.” She nodded back and said “Yes.” Then she sent me on my way.

It said all that on my visitor paper, along with the restrictions that I was unable to get a job while in Canada, or attend any schools or job training courses. They were really worried that I was going to be some kind of illegal immigrant. I joked with a friend all day Monday and Tuesday that I was a dangerous man, and apparently Canada agreed.

I loved that I couldn’t just leave Canada, that I had to check out with Border Security on my way out, or they would have issued the arrest warrant for me anyway, making me an international fugitive.

Once in Canada proper, I got a sandwich, drink, and a doughnut at a Tim Horton’s, as it’s a Canadian thing to do, then drove the rest of the way to Deanna’s place. I amused her and her husband with the border crossing story, and then got settled into the guest room they were kind enough to let me stay in while visiting, it even had a real bed!

I put up the ultra-short version of this story on FacBoo and Twitter to amuse people, slept and spent the day relaxing after all my close calls with the Law.

During my stay, I got to see a hockey game, where a fight broke out 10 seconds after the starting bell, I bought a puck and silly hat, had a delicious pastry delight known as a Beavertail, and other touristy things. Deanna drove me around Ottawa and a bit of Quebec, seeing government buildings including Parliament, the American Embassy, where the PM and other people live, where the Mounties live and train, lots of snow and beautiful vistas.

After a week with Deanna and her lovely family, I headed to Toronto to visit another friend there, just ahead of a snowstorm, which seemed fitting.

After a week in Toronto, I headed back to the US. I hit the border, went around the spot where they check your passport when you come in, and got directions on where to go to check out of the country. So I went in, told the CBC lady my story, and she processed the paperwork so that I wouldn’t be a fugitive from Canadian justice.

This is good, as the RCMP supposedly always get their man.

Once that was done, she said “Let me go with you outside so I can show you how to get out of here.” And I said “Ok,” figuring that I was just enjoying more Canadian politeness. We went out to my car, and after I got in she pointed out the cement walls, the road I needed to take, and the road back into Canada. She tells me to make sure and take the left, and not the road back into Canada, which had a series of pylons along both sides of the road. She says “Don’t drive through those; you’ll set off the alarms. Now go ahead and leave, and I’ll watch you go.”

That’s right; they had to watch me leave, to make sure that I left. Wow. I am so dangerous to Canada!

From there, I crossed back into the US, where a border guard with a thick African accent quizzed me about my trip to Canada, where I was going, did my car have NC license plates, and all other kinds of questions that I answered honestly, but briefly, with no more volunteering info that was unasked for! After three or so minutes, I was back in the US of A, driving through Buffalo. Which is as glamorous as you’ve heard.

From there, it was on to Kansas, then Texas, then Arizona, California, then the long drive North to Seattle.

But that’s another story.

PS: It wasn’t until later that I found out that Cornwall was/is a major smuggling entry point into Canada, so that’s why I got so many questions and looks about all my stuff. Which is also why the AAA route had me entering Canada by another city in their TripTic, but I decided to trust Vader when he guided me to Cornwall.

So, always be wary of advice from a Sith Lord, especially when it comes to border crossings recommended by ones who have a thing for searching for smuggled plans.

 Me & my Ottawa 67’s hat/touque, in Deanna’s basement.