Stephen hates North Dakota - it is State-a Non Grata with him. Although I can only count 12 states that we've driven through, we feel certain that we must have winged another state, making North Dakota the unlucky 13th. It's the only explanation: so far, we've been here less than 24 hours, and there are three rock chips in Stephen's windshield.
Aside from that, North Dakota has road work clogging up the highways (some of the roads are down to unpaved surfaces), and road workers clogging up the motels. Cooler weather, rain, and tornadoes. A weird hodge-podge of time zones that meanders across the state. (Re: the time zones - can't believe there are some people who want to do that to Saskatchewan. One time zone - no weird town-by-town time changes. Simple.)
We feel that the Trapper's Inn has enough of our money, so we decline to eat breakfast in Belfield, and instead head for Williston. It will all be better in Williston, happy little town of cable televisions channels in my childhood.
Remember that? Maybe you're too young. Those were our first cable channels. Instead of just local content on CBC and QC8, it was our first access to American TV! Suddenly, we had NBC and CBS and ABC. So many Saturday morning cartoons, so little time. All broadcast from the big bustling metropolis of Willison.
Williston is a decent size, and they have a Rotten Ronnies. Hooray! However, due to their weird time zone issues, we're there at 11:20 (even though it's really only 10:30 - what are you people doing on Mountain Time? I don't see any freaking mountains around here, do you?) so we have Quarter Pounders for brekkie.
However, the curse of North Dakota still holds - I get ketchup on my shirt. Dammit! This would never have happened in Utah! (But if it had happened in Texas, it would have been an BIGGER splooch, just cause that's the way Texas rolls.)
Anyway, the roads after Williston are clear, no road work and no big rigs. Thank you, Williston! (Although Stephen still hates your state.)
The return to Canada starts with the border guard. He flips through our passports, vainly trying to discover when it was that we first went to the States (first border guard forgot to stamp our books. Doofus!).
Had we bought any guns or ammunition? No. (Although I am carrying my spent shells as a souvenir, I decline to mention this.)
Had we bought any booze? Well, duh.
Did we go into Mexico? No. In fact, our passports show we didn't even get into the States, except for the odd fact that our vehicle is now on the US side of the border. Huh.
Was there anyone else in the vehicle? Just the Mexican, hiding under the camping gear.
Did anyone ask us to bring them something back on their behalf. Why, yes, officer, my friend Jacqueline wanted magnets.
How many magnets?
Oh, lots and lots. She was especially interested in magnets from the Atomic Museum...
Border guards writes things down furiously, makes a phone call. (Later, I see that Dave's Facebook update says Jacqueline is missing, last seen being dragged into a black van. I'm sure it's all coincidence...)
Anyway, they let us back into Canada (because according to our passports, we've never left).
We drive into the grim, gray, rainy gloom - bumpity bump bump - over the Canadian roads, and wonder what the heck we were thinking, coming back here. There's Weyburn. Yawn. (Keifer Sutherland said the same thing, you know.)
Oh, I can tell we're back in Canada! The gas cartels are firmly in control, with their provincial gas prices. In the US, gas was more expensive in smaller centres, and cheaper in big cities. In big cities, you'd see different prices at gas stations that were a few blocks away from each other. In Saskatchewan, the price for gas is exactly the same whether you're in Weyburn (God help you!), Regina, or Saskatoon... but that's all just a coincidence, of course, no price fixing going on.
Right. And Saskatoon doesn't have a taxi-cab mafia either.
Also in the United States? What they call "bad roads", we call "roads". The road between Regina and Saskatoon would be a bad stretch of Interstate.
Oh, and just to highlight the gasoline price differences: I think the most we paid for gas in the US was $2.99 per gallon. It cost about $40 to fill Stephen's vehicle at that price. We get to Regina and we're at half a tank. It costs us $30 to fill half a tank with Canadian gas. With gas taxes like that, our crappy roads should be paved in gold.
And it also makes you think twice about your options - want to plan a road trip through Canada? Or down through the States? Even with the exchange rate, your food and gas will be cheaper down south. (Plus, you can go to Vegas and shoot things. Always fun.)
It's gray and rainy and flat as we drive homeward, and we're thinking sadly of Utah. Oh Utah! Why did we leave you??? (I know why I left you, Santa Fe. I can't afford you.)
And you know what? The traffic obstructions in Saskatoon are worse now than when we left. (Why are you knocking down bridges while I'm away? That's not smart.)
I guess there really is no place like home.
Aside from that, North Dakota has road work clogging up the highways (some of the roads are down to unpaved surfaces), and road workers clogging up the motels. Cooler weather, rain, and tornadoes. A weird hodge-podge of time zones that meanders across the state. (Re: the time zones - can't believe there are some people who want to do that to Saskatchewan. One time zone - no weird town-by-town time changes. Simple.)
We feel that the Trapper's Inn has enough of our money, so we decline to eat breakfast in Belfield, and instead head for Williston. It will all be better in Williston, happy little town of cable televisions channels in my childhood.
Remember that? Maybe you're too young. Those were our first cable channels. Instead of just local content on CBC and QC8, it was our first access to American TV! Suddenly, we had NBC and CBS and ABC. So many Saturday morning cartoons, so little time. All broadcast from the big bustling metropolis of Willison.
Williston is a decent size, and they have a Rotten Ronnies. Hooray! However, due to their weird time zone issues, we're there at 11:20 (even though it's really only 10:30 - what are you people doing on Mountain Time? I don't see any freaking mountains around here, do you?) so we have Quarter Pounders for brekkie.
However, the curse of North Dakota still holds - I get ketchup on my shirt. Dammit! This would never have happened in Utah! (But if it had happened in Texas, it would have been an BIGGER splooch, just cause that's the way Texas rolls.)
Anyway, the roads after Williston are clear, no road work and no big rigs. Thank you, Williston! (Although Stephen still hates your state.)
The return to Canada starts with the border guard. He flips through our passports, vainly trying to discover when it was that we first went to the States (first border guard forgot to stamp our books. Doofus!).
Had we bought any guns or ammunition? No. (Although I am carrying my spent shells as a souvenir, I decline to mention this.)
Had we bought any booze? Well, duh.
Did we go into Mexico? No. In fact, our passports show we didn't even get into the States, except for the odd fact that our vehicle is now on the US side of the border. Huh.
Was there anyone else in the vehicle? Just the Mexican, hiding under the camping gear.
Did anyone ask us to bring them something back on their behalf. Why, yes, officer, my friend Jacqueline wanted magnets.
How many magnets?
Oh, lots and lots. She was especially interested in magnets from the Atomic Museum...
Border guards writes things down furiously, makes a phone call. (Later, I see that Dave's Facebook update says Jacqueline is missing, last seen being dragged into a black van. I'm sure it's all coincidence...)
Anyway, they let us back into Canada (because according to our passports, we've never left).
We drive into the grim, gray, rainy gloom - bumpity bump bump - over the Canadian roads, and wonder what the heck we were thinking, coming back here. There's Weyburn. Yawn. (Keifer Sutherland said the same thing, you know.)
Oh, I can tell we're back in Canada! The gas cartels are firmly in control, with their provincial gas prices. In the US, gas was more expensive in smaller centres, and cheaper in big cities. In big cities, you'd see different prices at gas stations that were a few blocks away from each other. In Saskatchewan, the price for gas is exactly the same whether you're in Weyburn (God help you!), Regina, or Saskatoon... but that's all just a coincidence, of course, no price fixing going on.
Right. And Saskatoon doesn't have a taxi-cab mafia either.
Also in the United States? What they call "bad roads", we call "roads". The road between Regina and Saskatoon would be a bad stretch of Interstate.
Oh, and just to highlight the gasoline price differences: I think the most we paid for gas in the US was $2.99 per gallon. It cost about $40 to fill Stephen's vehicle at that price. We get to Regina and we're at half a tank. It costs us $30 to fill half a tank with Canadian gas. With gas taxes like that, our crappy roads should be paved in gold.
And it also makes you think twice about your options - want to plan a road trip through Canada? Or down through the States? Even with the exchange rate, your food and gas will be cheaper down south. (Plus, you can go to Vegas and shoot things. Always fun.)
It's gray and rainy and flat as we drive homeward, and we're thinking sadly of Utah. Oh Utah! Why did we leave you??? (I know why I left you, Santa Fe. I can't afford you.)
And you know what? The traffic obstructions in Saskatoon are worse now than when we left. (Why are you knocking down bridges while I'm away? That's not smart.)
I guess there really is no place like home.
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