St Mary's Lake

An hour after leaving the park, we are welcomed to the fine and friendly country of Canada. Well, maybe welcomed is too strong a word, and friendly damn sure is too strong a word. The border guards didn’t like us.
If you’ve ever crossed the border to the north, you know the routine. Welcome to Canada, are you carrying any firearms, alcohol, tobacco products, illegal drugs, produce, pets, contortionists, nuclear weapons, or marital aids. Well, I had half a carton of cigarettes in the back and I like to be honest (I have since quit smoking, but that wasn’t the problem). So I told the border agent about the cigarettes. Then the trouble started. She asked, “Are you planning on leaving anything in Canada?” to which Dave replied, “Only footprints.”
Up to this point I would have thought everything was fine. This was years before 9-11 and it’s only Canada. In the middle of nowhere and Canada. She instructed us to pull the vehicle into the inspection bay and then proceed inside to be interviewed. So I did.
I had gotten a passport the year before when I went to Italy and I was glad to get the chance to use it and get another stamp in it (OK, I was pissed, but looking on the bright side). So in we went. We sat in an oil change shop style waiting room and then one at a time we were called into the supervisor’s office. “What is your name?” “Where are you from?” “What are you doing in Canada?” “What do you do for a living?” “What is your address?” “What is your birthday?” “How long do you intend to stay in Canada?” He was looking at my drivers license and my passport while asking me these question and filling out his form. Then I was sent out and Dave was taken in (on the way to Calgary Dave told me he got the exact same questions).
When he was finished with Dave, we went down the stairs to the inspection bay and were instructed to stand in front of our vehicle. The lady made a search that was too thorough to be called a token and too lame to catch anyone but a smuggler who was a complete idiot. She went through our packs, the cooler, she sneezed and I said bless you and was given the stare that says I have the power to put you in jail. I jokingly said hold your breath when you open the trash bag with the dirt clothes in it. Again with the stare. What crawled up her bum and died? Finally, reluctantly, she told us we could go and turned her attention to the next car stopped. A little Honda Civic covered in Grateful Dead stickers and two occupants covered in Grateful Dead clothes, I don’t think Canada likes people who don’t look like Ned Flanders. And they didn’t stamp my passport.
It was about two and a half hours to Calgary, and we were making good time after we got through check point Charlie. In a little town on the way we stopped for gas. It was a little more expensive than in the states but that was OK. I thought. They sell gas by the liter instead of gallon. It was about three times as much to fill up the truck, on the way home, we ran on fumes to get out of Canada and back into North Dakota to fill up. The whole money issue was a little confusing. The Canadians are perfectly happy taking American money, their cash registers are programed to make the change automatically. Dave and I stopped at McDonald’s for a quarter pounder and a diet coke, the value meal was five dollars and change, and I thought, damn!, but sometimes a diet coke from McD’s is worth it, and I gave the girl a twenty. She gave me back twenty two dollars and change in Canadian. This was going to be good.
Calgary is a nice city. It’s a big city that is fairly well laid out. It’s clean and the people seem to drive reasonably well, and in the US, I don’t hope for any more than that. In fact everywhere we went after the gestapo check point, we got strange looks and friendly service. Canada is a nice place, once you get in.