US Border Crossing

We got to the border around 10 in the morning. A Gen Z border guard with a neatly trimmed goatee and a flawless uniform instructed us to pull up to a designated spot with a gleam in his eyes. Probably due to an enthusiastic hope that I would be the one that brought him and his co-workers salvation from the boredom of guarding that Highway 5 border crossing. That crossing gets very little traffic. Daisy Mae crawled forward and stood obediently for examination.

Way Too Many Questions

But first, the solemn young border guard narrowed his eyes. Then he very sternly proceeded to ask a litany of questions with the unconcealed hope that I would fumble something. This young man did not have an easy smile if he ever smiled at all. He took my passport and examined it carefully, comparing the photo to my face. He asked me where I was going. I had no idea, but I blurted “Graceland” and “Texas” because they seemed reasonable enough. ” How long will you be there?” Question and question and question.

Weapons? Yes -Actually A Few Good Stories

Luckily, I think I had a big advantage. I was in a more experienced age group. One that knew well enough the value of a meandering and relentless story for repelling young folks. I could threaten him with a long-winded life story…or just act like I was going to. And the questions would stop. And they did. After a quick search of the RV, and turning a blind eye to my remaining pair of sad-looking bananas, he gave me one last suspicious glare. at me suspiciously. “Have a good trip”. Maybe he was thinking “Next time I’ll catch you with something, I know it”. But it didn’t matter.

Free and Footloose In A Foreign Country

Because now I was free. Set loose in a foreign country. And it was scary. I didn’t really know exactly where I wanted to go. However, I was curious to meet some of Canada’s American neighbors. I wanted to check out their art and their culture. But I still hadn’t planned my trip due to limited internet access. Well, that and a dazzling array of choices.

I felt like a deer, wide-eyed in the headlights. And I was in a country that while similar to Canada, has so many different ways of doing things. The first thing I would do was find a place to camp for the night. I was graciously invited to camp at a farm near Woodland, North Dakota, and I drove 30 miles of rolling gravel streets and avenues before I got there. North Dakota is a big place.