This being Canadian Thanksgiving, I'm writing at home on a Monday. Actually, we're both resting up from quite an adventure.
Early Saturday, we set out to drive to to see Charity's father and step mother in Michigan. While Mapquest estimated the journey would take just under six hours, it ended up taking ten.
At the Port Huron border crossing, the back-up was unbelievable. We crept and and crawled 20 minutes to pay our toll, then crept and crawled another 90 minutes (over the Blue Water Bridge with a lovely view of Lake Huron, a slight compensation) to get to U.S. customs. We figure lots of Canadians were crossing to snatch up bargains using their Canadian dollars (which now are worth more than U.S. dollars). But also, it became clear that customs officials were taking much longer than usual. Looking ahead, I could see why. A border official was taking bananas out of the back of a car. Big prominent signs said to avoid delays and fines by declaring any fruits, vegetables, plants, or meats. The rules hadn't changed, but the emphasis had.
Anyhow, when it came our turn I figured honesty was the best policy and confessed to carrying two apples and two oranges plus containers of vegetarian chili. At the mention of chili, the official became animated and, after looking in the hatch, said it looked to him like ground beef was in there instead of the hydrolyzed soy protien we claimed it to be. We were given a yellow slip and told to pull over to a place where an official from the agricultural department would come out. After being waved into place by a nice man in body armor, we saw, with sinking hearts, the long line of people holding yellow slips approaching a door into a building. We got in line. Fortunately, an official came along asking for people who had agricultural issues and before we knew it he'd checked our car, chucked our fruit, and declared that our chili was okay. (Blessedly, he and another official punched some buttons so we could use the rest rooms.)
We were on our way. All and all, the border had added two and a half hours to the trip. After that, we decided (and Charity's parents fully understood when we told them) that we did not want to wait until Monday to return.
So at around 5 p.m. yesterday we set out. This time everything seemed in our favor. We stopped in a forested Michigan rest area to eat a late picnic supper, then, to our delight, at the border rolled up to Canada customs with no one ahead of us. After the customary three or four questions, we moved on. It all seemed so right, and, like passengers on the Titanic, we revelled in our good fortune. We relaxed. Slipping in an audio book we motored away from the border and towards Toronto.
But then came the fog, first a little, and then more. And more. We began to slow down and things began to feel dangerous. I began remembering all the news stories I'd heard over the years about all the accidents that had occurred due to various conditions in that flat farmland between the two Great Lakes. So many accidents had happened, in fact, that it was a little like the Bermuda Triangle--at least in my imagination. But, gripping the steering wheel, I soldiered on as the visibility got still worse. I began wondering if it was even safe to keep going. My eyesight at night ain't what it used to be. Should we blow money on a motel? Or what?
At last I spotted a ramp leading to a rest area. We got off. Inside, we contemplated standing in line for coffee and decided against it. Instead we stood around and browsed on bits and pieces on display. We decided to go on.
Fortunately, after some more interminable white-knuckle driving, things began to improve, at least a little. We pulled into another rest area and as a reward got ourselves a couple of those McDonalds hot fudge sundaes with the little bag of optional peanuts. I savored every sweet, choclately dribble.
On we went. Getting closer to Toronto, more traffic and more road lights meant more visibility which helped us to finally start going the speed limit. At long last we made it to the old familiar Toronto highways--the 401, the 427, the Gardiner--and finally, 12:30 p.m. to be precise, we pressed a remote letting us into our underground parking.
After hauling and dropping our stuff (and of course greeting Gus the cat) we crashed, and it was good. I slept the sleep of the just for just as long as I felt like it (arising at 10:00 a.m.) and this morning, lounging on a couch eating toast and sipping coffee with Charity, we watched a not bad 1986 chick flick called Pretty in Pink.
We each gave thanks (or should have) that we were safe and sound, then talked over the weekend.
Early Saturday, we set out to drive to to see Charity's father and step mother in Michigan. While Mapquest estimated the journey would take just under six hours, it ended up taking ten.
At the Port Huron border crossing, the back-up was unbelievable. We crept and and crawled 20 minutes to pay our toll, then crept and crawled another 90 minutes (over the Blue Water Bridge with a lovely view of Lake Huron, a slight compensation) to get to U.S. customs. We figure lots of Canadians were crossing to snatch up bargains using their Canadian dollars (which now are worth more than U.S. dollars). But also, it became clear that customs officials were taking much longer than usual. Looking ahead, I could see why. A border official was taking bananas out of the back of a car. Big prominent signs said to avoid delays and fines by declaring any fruits, vegetables, plants, or meats. The rules hadn't changed, but the emphasis had.
Anyhow, when it came our turn I figured honesty was the best policy and confessed to carrying two apples and two oranges plus containers of vegetarian chili. At the mention of chili, the official became animated and, after looking in the hatch, said it looked to him like ground beef was in there instead of the hydrolyzed soy protien we claimed it to be. We were given a yellow slip and told to pull over to a place where an official from the agricultural department would come out. After being waved into place by a nice man in body armor, we saw, with sinking hearts, the long line of people holding yellow slips approaching a door into a building. We got in line. Fortunately, an official came along asking for people who had agricultural issues and before we knew it he'd checked our car, chucked our fruit, and declared that our chili was okay. (Blessedly, he and another official punched some buttons so we could use the rest rooms.)
We were on our way. All and all, the border had added two and a half hours to the trip. After that, we decided (and Charity's parents fully understood when we told them) that we did not want to wait until Monday to return.
So at around 5 p.m. yesterday we set out. This time everything seemed in our favor. We stopped in a forested Michigan rest area to eat a late picnic supper, then, to our delight, at the border rolled up to Canada customs with no one ahead of us. After the customary three or four questions, we moved on. It all seemed so right, and, like passengers on the Titanic, we revelled in our good fortune. We relaxed. Slipping in an audio book we motored away from the border and towards Toronto.
But then came the fog, first a little, and then more. And more. We began to slow down and things began to feel dangerous. I began remembering all the news stories I'd heard over the years about all the accidents that had occurred due to various conditions in that flat farmland between the two Great Lakes. So many accidents had happened, in fact, that it was a little like the Bermuda Triangle--at least in my imagination. But, gripping the steering wheel, I soldiered on as the visibility got still worse. I began wondering if it was even safe to keep going. My eyesight at night ain't what it used to be. Should we blow money on a motel? Or what?
At last I spotted a ramp leading to a rest area. We got off. Inside, we contemplated standing in line for coffee and decided against it. Instead we stood around and browsed on bits and pieces on display. We decided to go on.
Fortunately, after some more interminable white-knuckle driving, things began to improve, at least a little. We pulled into another rest area and as a reward got ourselves a couple of those McDonalds hot fudge sundaes with the little bag of optional peanuts. I savored every sweet, choclately dribble.
On we went. Getting closer to Toronto, more traffic and more road lights meant more visibility which helped us to finally start going the speed limit. At long last we made it to the old familiar Toronto highways--the 401, the 427, the Gardiner--and finally, 12:30 p.m. to be precise, we pressed a remote letting us into our underground parking.
After hauling and dropping our stuff (and of course greeting Gus the cat) we crashed, and it was good. I slept the sleep of the just for just as long as I felt like it (arising at 10:00 a.m.) and this morning, lounging on a couch eating toast and sipping coffee with Charity, we watched a not bad 1986 chick flick called Pretty in Pink.
We each gave thanks (or should have) that we were safe and sound, then talked over the weekend.
posted by Ted | 9:58 AM
2 Comments:
Huh. Wonder why the worry about produce all of a sudden.... I mean, I know some funky things have been coming out of china lately, but sheesh... what are a couple of apples and oranges going to do?
What occurred to me is this: in the last few weeks there's been talk by some important congressmen in the US about security issues related to the Canadian border (this was news in Canada, of course). My thought was, what if creating the big delay was a means the US government was using of discouraging too much traffic from Canada--hence reducing a perceived security threat. In other words, concern about the threat was of greater importance to the government than encouraging Canadian dollars to flow into the country.
This, at least, is my theory...
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