Hassle Me, You May, But You Won't Stop Me Or Break My Stride

Sunday, August 26, 2007 - Day 66

I didn't sleep too well on the floor of the hotel room last night. I woke up at my usual time, around 7:30, and couldn't go back to sleep. At least I got a nice warm shower. First one of those in a few days. By 11 we were on the road into Seattle so Gifford could apply for or inquire about some jobs. That did not go well, and did not put either of us in a good mood. I was, however, able to stand in one spot and see three Starbucks, all within a quarter mile of each other. That almost trumps every other beautiful vista I have encountered in the last three months. If only there could have been four...

Then it was north to Canada. Despite the fact that Giff had driven all yesterday and all this morning, he would not relinquish driving duties. We reached the line for the border probably sometime around 3pm. We were not entirely sure of the plan for the whole day, but we were going to make it to a waterfall north of Vancouver, then probably come back to the states and stay in Seattle or Portland. Nearing the border, knowing the names of two potential waterfalls, I felt that we had a good chance of not being hassled. Being in a car, with two people, knowing where we are giong and for how long, we should have been fine, eh? No, no, no!

I guess there were a few flags. Maybe my name was in their system for having been pulled aside only a few days earlier. We were asked to pull in to the parking lot and go inside the building. We were questioned by a young man, couldn't have been much older than us. Mostly the same questions about where we were from, why we were coming to Canada, for how long, who we knew there, etc. Then he separated us, to really get to the bottom of this matter. Gifford was told to go stand 10 feet away while I was grilled. He asked me about the last time I had been around narcotics. I couldn't remember, figured it was recently, but just told the guy two months for the hell of it. He didn't seem to believe that. I told him I had been biking for the last two months and didn't need drugs. He wasn't convinced. He asked me if we had any in the car. I told him I didn't know for sure, but I wasn't carrying any. He told me it was okay, they're Canadian, they don't care about that kind of stuff. I was just being honest. Then I had to empty my pocket, show him my belt line, and lift my pant legs to reveal my sock line. Luckily I was smart enough to leave my pocket knife in the car. That would have just added even more to the troubles, I'm sure.

Then Gifford and I traded places, me going far, far away, to the middle of the small waiting area, a mere 10 feet away. This was the man at the Customs counter. We were then directed to take our paperwork, which had been handed to us originally at the drive-thru booth, to the other side of the room to the Immigration counter. There we were not greeted so much as acknowledged by a young woman, probably about the same age as the guy at the Customs counter. She proceeded to ask the same questions as before. Like idiots, we were completely honest, not that we really had a choice by this point. She wanted work info, money info, how long we were planning to take to drive from Canada down to Los Angeles. We tried to tell her the full story of what we were doing, but there was obviously a disconnect there. They couldn't believe that we would drive into Canada at 3:00 (it was about 4 by this point) to go to a waterfall and then drive back down the same night. She also couldn't wrap her head around the fact that I had ridden my bike up there from California. Here's roughly how our conversation went. Me: 'I was in Victoria about a week ago.' Jerk-Girl: 'What were you doing there?' Me: 'Just visiting. I had never been, and I rode my bike up from California to visit Canada.' Jerk-Girl: 'You rode your bike up here from California?' Me: 'Yes.' Jerk-Girl: 'You mean like a motorcycle?' Me: 'No, a bicycle.' Jerk-Girl: 'What kind of bike?' Me: 'A roadbike. What do you mean?' Jerk-Girl: 'I'm picturing like a pedal bike...' Me: 'Yeah, that's right.' Jerk-Girl: [blank stare].

The whole thing was ridiculous. They even asked for my social security number. I tried to put the whole thing together for her, but it was kind of useless. I should have just given her the link to this site and let her read for herself. Finally, she gave up trying to find something to really call us out on. I think she must have looked up my work history or something. She said she found our story suspicious, but she was going to give us the benefit of the doubt and let us go. I thanked her for the hassle.

Driving through, Vancouver seems like a really nice city. It is pretty. I like how Canadian cities, at least Victoria and Vancouver, have a more European feel to them. Once outside the city, it was gorgeous. Riding along cliffs above the bay, mountains all around, islands quite close. Around 5:30 we reached Shannon Falls. It's quite public, at a provincial park, but there were not many people there. I was worried that there would be too many people and I wouldn't be able to conduct my business.

I have wanted to come up to Canada, to Vancouver, since I came out to college in California. My brother and I always had a mild obcession with Canada growing up. I'm not really entirely sure what it was that sparked this love, probably a number of things, but we were all about anything Canadian. When I was in high school, we wanted to take a road trip up there to Toronto. My senior year of high school we bought a short bus on eBay. We nicknamed it the Canadian Coach (pronounced cooch), as it was going to be our vessel up to the great land of Canadians. We had a small Canadian flag mounted in the bus to remind us. Unfortunately, we never got the chance to take that trip. The bus exploded early in the summer, blew a piston, due to a lack of oil. It was quite a sad night, watching a small fire burn under the hood in a parking lot not more than a mile from my house. It was around 12:30am. We didn't have the money to drop a new engine in, as just the labor alone was going to be 1800 dollars. I paid 800 for the bus, and with remodeling the interior and some mechanical maintenance, we had invested at least 2000 in that short bus. It was a beauty. I just didn't think about checking the oil every week, like I should have. It was a 1978 Chevy.

So our dreams of driving our Canadian Coach to it's ultimate destination were dashed by a lack of motor oil. We had talked about taking our minivan up there, but that never seemed to really become anything more than just talk. In the end, we never made a trip up to Canada. That didn't end our obcession and dreams, however. I personally have had plans to make it up there, talk of a few road trips and the idea to take a train all the way up there from L.A. The train, unfortunately sells out quite quickly and must be reserved far in advance. I didn't know that.

Of course, the dream of my brother and I making that trip physically together were ended eternally when he took his own life three years ago. But that didn't mean that he did not make it to Canada with me in spirit. I carry him with me always, as my primary source of inspiration. He was my best friend. When I was down in the latter portion of this trip, when I began questioning my drive, my motives, I thought of him. I thought of our dream of making it to Canada. I thought of the business I told myself I was going to do there. There was no way I could stop before reaching Canada, no matter what I had to do to get there. It really became so much less about the bike ride than the destination of Canada. Only a tragedy would have held me back.

I had decided about halfway through my trip that I wanted to bring something of my brother's into Canada, to leave there. I have my brother's wallet, with everything that was in it when he died, but I had left it back in L.A., thinking I would have no use for it. Well, luckily Joey was kind enough to find it in my suitcases. He then passed it on to Dre when the Dusty Rhodes kids were coming up to play in Washington. Just hanging out with them was not my sole purpose for meeting up with them in southern Washington. So the wallet was delivered to me personally. It contains a lot of things, namely his license, school id, debit card, insurance cards, social security card, some business cards, and one dollar.

My original plan was to bury the entire wallet, but when I was sitting on a rock at the bottom of the waterfall, checking out the place I had chosen for the burial, I changed my mind. One reason was because of the implications of having all that information together, having it in a place where there is a high likelihood of it becoming uncovered in the near future. Identity theft is a big fear these days, and while he may be deceased, who knows what people could do. Also, and more importantly, I realized that I might want to hold on to some of this stuff. So I chose just a few items to bury. I also searched through a small pool and collected some interesting-looking rocks. There were some really pretty ones. I chose one rock to bury with the rest of the stuff. From his wallet, I pulled the dollar bill and a Sam's club card. That may seem like a random item to pull, but it has meaning to me and brought back memories. I remember the excitement of having a Sam's club card, meaining we could buy things in bulk. Also, they always seem to have some cool stuff there like motorscooters and really comfortable chairs. We would sometimes go there with friends and sit in the furniture aisle, sit in the huge, oversized recliners, and just chat. We also always wanted a trampoline or a go-kart from there. Then on the back of the card there is a picture of him. He is wearing a t-shirt that says Roadkill Cafe and has a goofy smile on his face. That's how I always remember him. He was goofy.

In addition to the one dollar bill, the Sam's club card, and the small rock, I also wrote his name, the dates of his birth and suicide, and what he was to me -my brother, my inspiration, my best friend- on a post-it note and put that in the hole. I burried all this in a small cove created by exposed tree roots and a large rock. It is sheltered from the main flow of the falls, but when the flow increases, this area obviously sees water. I like to think that some kid will discover at least some part of it someday and wonder what it's all about. Maybe no one will ever find it. It doesn't really matter. Josh and I made it to Canada. It took a while, and we faced some tough obstacles, but nothing was going to hold us back this time. On a yellow and black bicycle, inspired by the bus, and the word 'Busdriver' written on the side, we made it. I'm happy that we did. So many times I thought about how I wished he was physically there with me, riding along side or at least physically somewhere I could call him and talk to him on the phone. He would have been terribly proud of and happy for me, I know. He's always with me now, and I know that truly, in my heart.

After my burial ceremony, Giff and I climbed some rocks up part of the falls. It was beautiful. The main fall was high, possibly around 1000 feet. Then there were a series of smaller falls tumbling over rocks and fallen trees. It was a fun climb.

Then it was back south. I would have loved to stick around there for much longer, explore the area much more, but it was obvious that Giff wanted to keep moving, to get down to SoCal. We went into the city of Vancouver and got some Japanese food. It was great. I figured it wouldn't be hard to find some good Asian cuisine in a city like that.

Going back across the border was a breeze, maybe a little too easy. We were prepared to show them our pictures from the day to prove that we really had come into Canada for an afternoon to see a waterfall. The guy asked how long we had been there and if we had bought anything. We told him the afternoon and no. That was good enough for him. And on we went.

We didn't know where we were going to stay, as we hadn't planned it too well, and it was kind of late to be calling anyone for a place to crash that night. So I figured we would find a campground and spend the night there, even if it was just sleeping in the car. At least there would be a bathroom. We left Canada around 11pm, and figured we'd probably make it south of Seattle, possibly south of Olympia. Then we decided that we could just sleep at a rest stop, save the price of the campground, and still have the bathroom access. I mean, if you're just going to sleep in the car anyway, that makes sense. Well, evidently Giff felt like doing some long driving. He drove the entire way down through Washington, into Oregon, and south of Portland. We stopped at a rest stop around 4am. I offered to drive, but he felt no need to relinquish that position, even though he had driven all day and all yesterday. I guess that's his deal.

So, it's sleeping in the passenger seat of a Durango for the night, or what's left of it. Not ideal, but the bathroom is close and I know I am tired enough to fall asleep. It has been a long day and a long journey, and I need some rest.


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