June 3
Lake Pfiefer, MN
So in preparing for this epic adventure I tried to take in all considerations and packed accordingly. Lots of clothes, camping and cooking gear, a guitar, massage table, and my trusty 22 caliber rifle should I be forced to live off the land, or be attacked by wild bears or mountain lions. That being said I cruised on up 61, and since I was this close to Canada, and never having been abroad, decided I would cross over into their fair country, drive along it's southern border and reemerge in the states at International Falls, MN. As I pulled up to customs and awaited my turn at the drive-thru, I whipped out my shiny new passport acquired less than a month ago. The agent went down her checklist of obligatory questions, and when she asked "Do you have any firearms? I casually replied "Yes" (wrong answer!) After a few more questions I was told those five words you don't want to hear at a border crossing. "Pull to the left please." I parked my car and went inside where I was told to have a seat and wait (just like the dentist's office.) After about 15 minutes I was called to the counter to undergo a series of questioning hereto for never experienced. I half expected them to drag me into a bare room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I was then told to have a seat and after another 15 minutes was re summoned to the counter. The agent had her paperwork completed and no doubt had searched my files (if I have any.) She then informed me I would have to fill out a registration form and pay a $25 fee for the privilege of transporting my rifle. After having gone over my budget earlier in the day, and considering that the southern part of Canada couldn't vary that much from the northern part of the U.S. I kindly asked if I could waive the registration and just return to my homeland (wrong question!) She obliged my request, but told me they would have to search my car. I was told to have a seat again, and after another 15 minutes four security agents emerged from their dark lair, and with my accompaniment proceeded to the parking lot. I was told to stand on the sidewalk in front of the car while my loyal Sentra yielded her contents to the probing hands and searching eyes of the agents. They searched through all my luggage, opening any boxes or bags they encountered. I even saw one agent looking inside my shoes, trying to find any shred of evidence so they could pounce on me, throw me to the ground, and place me in shackles. I must admit I felt a bit incriminated, especially when a busload of tourists stopped in the parking lot directly behind me and watched all the goings on. Finally, satisfied that I wasn't smuggling any illegal aliens or drugs, and that I wasn't a threat to the security of their sovereign nation, (which at this point I wasn't entering anyway!), they went back inside, but not before informing me they needed to search my cell phone and laptop, to which I obediently typed in my password. After another 15 minute wait an agent came forth from the inner sanctum bearing my computer and phone (which I'm quite certain they planted tracking and monitoring devices in) and instructed me on how to leave their facilities. Back in my car I pulled around the side of the building with an agent pointing me in the direction of my homeland. I politely smiled and waved, but she failed to return the gesture. I was actually hoping for a kiss, because after spending the last hour and a half kissing a part of their anatomy ( that I learned in my A&P class is known as the gluteas maximus, medius, and minimus) I felt they could at least return the favor and kiss mine goodbye. Upon arriving at the American checkpoint I was asked if I enjoyed my trip to Canada, to which I told them my little story. They then told me to (guess what!) "pull to the left please!" After another series of questioning and searching (although much more abbreviated than their northern neighbors) I was allowed to set foot on native soil. None the worse for wear and a little bit wiser, I wasted little time driving back down 61 a ways and then hanging a right and heading deep into the north woods, stopping much after dark to pitch camp for the night.Later that night I was awakened by the sound of raindrops on the tent and I lay there pondering the events of the day. I tried to think of a moral to this story, but all that came to mind was the words to an old Hank Jr. song "and y'all was gettin' screwed but ya wasn't gettin' kissed". Idaho bound.
Lake Pfiefer, MN
So in preparing for this epic adventure I tried to take in all considerations and packed accordingly. Lots of clothes, camping and cooking gear, a guitar, massage table, and my trusty 22 caliber rifle should I be forced to live off the land, or be attacked by wild bears or mountain lions. That being said I cruised on up 61, and since I was this close to Canada, and never having been abroad, decided I would cross over into their fair country, drive along it's southern border and reemerge in the states at International Falls, MN. As I pulled up to customs and awaited my turn at the drive-thru, I whipped out my shiny new passport acquired less than a month ago. The agent went down her checklist of obligatory questions, and when she asked "Do you have any firearms? I casually replied "Yes" (wrong answer!) After a few more questions I was told those five words you don't want to hear at a border crossing. "Pull to the left please." I parked my car and went inside where I was told to have a seat and wait (just like the dentist's office.) After about 15 minutes I was called to the counter to undergo a series of questioning hereto for never experienced. I half expected them to drag me into a bare room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I was then told to have a seat and after another 15 minutes was re summoned to the counter. The agent had her paperwork completed and no doubt had searched my files (if I have any.) She then informed me I would have to fill out a registration form and pay a $25 fee for the privilege of transporting my rifle. After having gone over my budget earlier in the day, and considering that the southern part of Canada couldn't vary that much from the northern part of the U.S. I kindly asked if I could waive the registration and just return to my homeland (wrong question!) She obliged my request, but told me they would have to search my car. I was told to have a seat again, and after another 15 minutes four security agents emerged from their dark lair, and with my accompaniment proceeded to the parking lot. I was told to stand on the sidewalk in front of the car while my loyal Sentra yielded her contents to the probing hands and searching eyes of the agents. They searched through all my luggage, opening any boxes or bags they encountered. I even saw one agent looking inside my shoes, trying to find any shred of evidence so they could pounce on me, throw me to the ground, and place me in shackles. I must admit I felt a bit incriminated, especially when a busload of tourists stopped in the parking lot directly behind me and watched all the goings on. Finally, satisfied that I wasn't smuggling any illegal aliens or drugs, and that I wasn't a threat to the security of their sovereign nation, (which at this point I wasn't entering anyway!), they went back inside, but not before informing me they needed to search my cell phone and laptop, to which I obediently typed in my password. After another 15 minute wait an agent came forth from the inner sanctum bearing my computer and phone (which I'm quite certain they planted tracking and monitoring devices in) and instructed me on how to leave their facilities. Back in my car I pulled around the side of the building with an agent pointing me in the direction of my homeland. I politely smiled and waved, but she failed to return the gesture. I was actually hoping for a kiss, because after spending the last hour and a half kissing a part of their anatomy ( that I learned in my A&P class is known as the gluteas maximus, medius, and minimus) I felt they could at least return the favor and kiss mine goodbye. Upon arriving at the American checkpoint I was asked if I enjoyed my trip to Canada, to which I told them my little story. They then told me to (guess what!) "pull to the left please!" After another series of questioning and searching (although much more abbreviated than their northern neighbors) I was allowed to set foot on native soil. None the worse for wear and a little bit wiser, I wasted little time driving back down 61 a ways and then hanging a right and heading deep into the north woods, stopping much after dark to pitch camp for the night.Later that night I was awakened by the sound of raindrops on the tent and I lay there pondering the events of the day. I tried to think of a moral to this story, but all that came to mind was the words to an old Hank Jr. song "and y'all was gettin' screwed but ya wasn't gettin' kissed". Idaho bound.
Canadian Idiots! To paraphrase "the weird one"...with their silly monopoly money, can't take them seriously at all. Don, this episode would have been the perfect chance for you to go into one of your classic David Carradine poses! -James
ReplyDeletethis would make a great story if you ever end up on Jeopardy, when all of the contestents tell really lame stories but some of them are awesome. yours is classic (the sentra forfeiting its dignity is a worhty price for a good story). keep them coming!
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