I thought about driving across Canada on the southern border. First, because I had hoped the weather might be cooler. Most people I've talked to have said the states are a lot hotter. I've been watching the temperatures and I don't think so.
Then I got to Alberta and after a few miles of glorious rock mountains (see photo above), the landscape starts looking like Northern Montana or North Dakota. Flat prairie fields of grass or agriculture. Boring. I thought I might as well do the USA route to the east with better access to food and Walmart boondocking. So I headed south from Lethbridge along Highway 4. I was practically the only one on this highway all the way to the border. I think other drivers knew better than to cross this border.
I've crossed the border nine times so far. Never had a problem, never an inspection. Only one American border agent acting like an asshole. The border at Coutts was huge. Most of the borders I've crossed have been small with a building that is about the size of a large shed.
The asshole border agent was bathed in cologne. He asks the same questions then it looked like his brain kicked into gear, a light came on in his eyes, and he said, "We do random inspections and you've been selected." Did he not like an answer I gave? Did he not like my tie-dye t-shirt? "Drive to the left, park, and someone will come out and do the inspection."
So I drive to the left. Not sure where to park so I just park. And wait. Every border I've been to has signs that read, "DO NOT EXIT YOUR VEHICLE." So I wait. And wait. And wait.
Finally I got sick of waiting so I left the van and went into the building. The woman at a desk behind the counter asks if I am the person who is the inspection victim. (No she didn't say it that way.) Duh. I tried really hard to be quiet, friendly and civil, but I said loudly, "I had no idea what I was supposed to do! He said turn left, park, and someone will come out."
She says, "He told you to come in." Now I did not want to argue with a border agent who is about to inspect my vehicle. I've heard they can have you empty all it's contents and make your life a living hell.
I tell her I'm glad she's doing the inspection and not the asshole. She asks, "Why?" as if she's caught me in a confession. I say, "Because he's bathed in cologne, I'm deathly allergic to it, and I don't want him near my van." She was fine with that.
I continue to wait...I have no idea what the fuck she's doing. After about ten minutes, she comes to the counter with a form and asks me questions: Where are you from? Do you live on a farm? Where did you come from? Did you spend time on a farm? Did you go hiking? Was the ground dry or wet? Do you have firewood? Seeds? Antlers? (WTF!) Do you have food? This is in addition the normal questions: do you have weapons, drugs, cigarettes, alcohol, money...I have food. What kind of food? It seems food is worse than weapons or drugs. She reads a list of foods and I respond with either yay or nay. I'm so glad I didn't buy an avocado! I almost did! But I did buy chicken and a red pepper. Food I just bought when I was in Idaho because you can't really get good food in Canada.
Time for the inspection. She follows me out to the van. She's very friendly, cheerful, and conversational as am I. She has me open the van and tells me she needs to see the chicken package to ascertain if it's a problematic company or production location. I say, "But it's not in the package. I took the pieces out of the package to freeze them in single serving portions because I am single."
Oh no. Bad move.
She doesn't come into the van, nor does she obviously look around or ask me to remove the totes or containers. She looks on the form she's been filling out and says she wants to see the chicken and the red pepper. It was only half an organic red pepper, but two pieces of ORGANIC chicken thighs. She holds out her hand and informs me they must be confiscated. I tell her they are organic and expensive. She doesn't care. She does explain that the states are having a bird flu problem. I asked if she can eat them because I hate for them to go to waste. She says no. I bet they do eat them. I bet they keep all kinds of goodies for themselves.
I lifted the frozen hamburgers and asked if beef was OK. It was. She also said it was really good I confessed and gave them up because if I hadn't and they searched and found them, I'd be facing a hefty fine. I just said, "Had I known I couldn't bring chicken back over the border, I would have never bought it!"
I thanked her, we discussed the wildfires on Highway 2, and then she said I'm good to go. I think it's weird she didn't search herself and left it to me. It makes me wonder if my disclosure on cologne allergies kept her from getting in the van or making too much of a stink. (Pun intended.) She did have a bit of a smell on her, but it was windy.
The next two hours as I drove through Montana I was a dangerous driver, distracted from ruminating all the would a, could a, should a scenarios, and extremely pissed off. I wonder if she would have let me flip a U-y and return to Canada to stay until I ate my chicken? Why didn't I ask if I could make dinner in their parking lot, cook the chicken, and eat it right there? What a waste of money!
My anti-Trump friend thinks the USA is a pit of sleaze and double dealings. I just hate they took my chicken.
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| Just over the British Columbia-Alberta border, before Albert got boring |
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