(I'm doing this out of order, since I haven't written up any in-Canada adventures yet. They'll eventually appear under the proper date, just a bit out of date. Whatev. We now join this previously scheduled vacation in-progress.)
Today, I encountered that most elusive and most mythical of all creatures... the friendly border guard! Now, I know you are shaking your head. "No, Catherine, that can't be - they don't exist!" It's true, they are rare. But it's like seeing a ghost - if you're looking for one, if you're expecting to find one, they won't appear. But if you approach the border expecting the worst, and you're prepared to be yelled at, - well, most of the time they will yell at you anyway. But 1 time out of 1000, you'll meet a Billy Goat Gruff Border Guard on a good day.
It didn't seem to start out as a good day. We'd left Calgary late, because Bernadette is congenitally slow. Right before leaving on a cross-border road trip is a good time to clean the fish tank and change the water, apparently. After the fish was taken care of, we went to the bank to pick up some US$ and were on the road by 11 a.m. That's crazy late.
However, that could be my Saskatchewan-brain talking, since it takes about 7 hours to get out of our province (and even when you do, you find out you're still nowhere). Calgary's a little further south, so you can get away with leaving later, and we were getting close to the border around 1:30-ish. Some lovely hills as you get close to the border - on the Canadian side, you have Waterton National Park, and on the American side is Glacier National Park (which has hardly any glaciers so far as I could tell, but not the point).
However, before you get to the park, you must cross the border. We rolled up to the border and found ourselves in a very slow non-moving line. What the hell? Why does it take so long to get into America? Look, there's virtually no line-up to get into Canada (we are not so popular, I guess). I counted at least 10 cars behind me about three minutes after I pulled up. We thought there were about 12 cars ahead of us. Then we realized, the rest of them were hidden behind the curve. S-l-o-w. Eventually, I think the US border guards realized their line-up was getting crazy out of control, so they opened another lane of guard-action. (Meanwhile, the Canadians cracked open another beer, cause they had nothing to do but watch everyone lining up to leave Canada. "We'll get you for duty violations when you come back!" they yelled. Jerks.)
Fortunately, I picked the fast-moving non-criminal car line. Woot! After only 40 minutes of waiting in the middle of almost nowhere, I was finally face-to-face with my border-guard interrogator. I was anxious when I pulled up, prepared to answer all of his questions, but he was actually friendly. Asked how we were doing, where we were going, our jobs, and he even made a Saskatchewan joke about the 13th man (which brought tears to my eyes and I told him we don't joke about that). Then he told us to have a nice vacation and let us in.
(Why didn't I take a picture of this magical friendly border guard? Bad idea. First of all, the border guard union might hunt him down and take him out. Second, it's like dealing with wild animals - you never can tell. One moment, you're feeding a bear marshmallows, the next minute, it's eating your arm. Same thing with border guards! If you even lay a finger on your camera, you might get an hour-long lecture of how you can get thrown in jail for photographing federal facilities. Better safe than sorry.)
Anyway. Back in America once again. I clapped my hands with giddy joy. I love you, America! You're like a giant playground of fun!
We stopped at the elegantly-named town of Babb, filled up on gasoline, and I immediately bought some magnets. That's what you do in the States: You climb things, you miss trail markers, you eat cheap food, buy cheap gas, and buy magnets.
We drove into Glacier National Park on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. "Park pass me!" I demanded of the ranger. Now I'm good for a year's worth of free parks in the US. (And even if I don't use it as much as in past road trips, I'm sure they'll put the money to good use.)
The Going-to-the-Sun road goes up into the mountains, so you can only drive it in summer, and only during daylight hours - last admittance is 6 p.m. I think. Bernadette seemed anxious as the road wound its way up into the mountains. Whenever I pulled up to a viewpoint, she would gasp, grab the 'holy-shit handle' and start grinding her foot into my car mats. "There are no brakes over there," I told her.
There's some road construction being done on the road, so it was slow and bumpy at times, but the views were spectacular. We spent a little time wandering around a lovely waterfall and creek at Sunrift Gorge. The visitor center at Logan Pass was in the midst of some absolutely gorgeous scenery - it's at 6646 ft (2025m) with mountains all around, some of them with wee little glaciers, too. (I'm just saying, it's no Columbia Icefields, that's all. Oh wait, I looked on the map, and some of the glaciers are in the park interior, so they're hidden.)
After Logan's Pass, it's almost all downhill, and there's more road work, so we couldn't stop at Avalanche Creek. On and out of the park. Bernadette and I dilly-dallied over where to stay - West Glacier is just outside the park, like 5 steps from the gate, so it would be quite pricey and likely full. There were a few places we passed with vacancies. Hungry Horse looked promising, but the drawings of a sad starving horse on some of the landmarks made me sad, so I wanted to go somewhere where the horses would be fed. Whitefish was the largest town in the area, so here we are at Whitefish (apparently, there's a state park and a lake nearby.)
Bernadette was interested in the cheap Sleep Motel (I think it was the word "cheap" that attracted her), but they were already full of other cheapskates. We decided against any place that had the word "lodge" in it's name (sounds expensive), and so we ended up at the Chalet Motel. Free wifi, lots of pretty flowers, and some kitschy carved animals in front. Also, they had rooms available. Perfect!
While we'd been trolling for a place to stay, we saw the perfect place to eat. The Shak - southern-fried chicken and pork. The owner of the Chalet Motel noted that "Canadians always want to eat there." Why buck a trend? I had some southern-style fried chicken, while Bernadette opted for the ribs. Yum! One of these days, I have to get to the "real" down South and try out their food there. In the meantime, this'll do.
As of now, 11 p.m., we're not sure where we're going tomorrow. We'll figure it out.
Today, I encountered that most elusive and most mythical of all creatures... the friendly border guard! Now, I know you are shaking your head. "No, Catherine, that can't be - they don't exist!" It's true, they are rare. But it's like seeing a ghost - if you're looking for one, if you're expecting to find one, they won't appear. But if you approach the border expecting the worst, and you're prepared to be yelled at, - well, most of the time they will yell at you anyway. But 1 time out of 1000, you'll meet a Billy Goat Gruff Border Guard on a good day.
It didn't seem to start out as a good day. We'd left Calgary late, because Bernadette is congenitally slow. Right before leaving on a cross-border road trip is a good time to clean the fish tank and change the water, apparently. After the fish was taken care of, we went to the bank to pick up some US$ and were on the road by 11 a.m. That's crazy late.
However, that could be my Saskatchewan-brain talking, since it takes about 7 hours to get out of our province (and even when you do, you find out you're still nowhere). Calgary's a little further south, so you can get away with leaving later, and we were getting close to the border around 1:30-ish. Some lovely hills as you get close to the border - on the Canadian side, you have Waterton National Park, and on the American side is Glacier National Park (which has hardly any glaciers so far as I could tell, but not the point).
However, before you get to the park, you must cross the border. We rolled up to the border and found ourselves in a very slow non-moving line. What the hell? Why does it take so long to get into America? Look, there's virtually no line-up to get into Canada (we are not so popular, I guess). I counted at least 10 cars behind me about three minutes after I pulled up. We thought there were about 12 cars ahead of us. Then we realized, the rest of them were hidden behind the curve. S-l-o-w. Eventually, I think the US border guards realized their line-up was getting crazy out of control, so they opened another lane of guard-action. (Meanwhile, the Canadians cracked open another beer, cause they had nothing to do but watch everyone lining up to leave Canada. "We'll get you for duty violations when you come back!" they yelled. Jerks.)
Fortunately, I picked the fast-moving non-criminal car line. Woot! After only 40 minutes of waiting in the middle of almost nowhere, I was finally face-to-face with my border-guard interrogator. I was anxious when I pulled up, prepared to answer all of his questions, but he was actually friendly. Asked how we were doing, where we were going, our jobs, and he even made a Saskatchewan joke about the 13th man (which brought tears to my eyes and I told him we don't joke about that). Then he told us to have a nice vacation and let us in.
(Why didn't I take a picture of this magical friendly border guard? Bad idea. First of all, the border guard union might hunt him down and take him out. Second, it's like dealing with wild animals - you never can tell. One moment, you're feeding a bear marshmallows, the next minute, it's eating your arm. Same thing with border guards! If you even lay a finger on your camera, you might get an hour-long lecture of how you can get thrown in jail for photographing federal facilities. Better safe than sorry.)
Anyway. Back in America once again. I clapped my hands with giddy joy. I love you, America! You're like a giant playground of fun!
We stopped at the elegantly-named town of Babb, filled up on gasoline, and I immediately bought some magnets. That's what you do in the States: You climb things, you miss trail markers, you eat cheap food, buy cheap gas, and buy magnets.
We drove into Glacier National Park on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. "Park pass me!" I demanded of the ranger. Now I'm good for a year's worth of free parks in the US. (And even if I don't use it as much as in past road trips, I'm sure they'll put the money to good use.)
The Going-to-the-Sun road goes up into the mountains, so you can only drive it in summer, and only during daylight hours - last admittance is 6 p.m. I think. Bernadette seemed anxious as the road wound its way up into the mountains. Whenever I pulled up to a viewpoint, she would gasp, grab the 'holy-shit handle' and start grinding her foot into my car mats. "There are no brakes over there," I told her.
There's some road construction being done on the road, so it was slow and bumpy at times, but the views were spectacular. We spent a little time wandering around a lovely waterfall and creek at Sunrift Gorge. The visitor center at Logan Pass was in the midst of some absolutely gorgeous scenery - it's at 6646 ft (2025m) with mountains all around, some of them with wee little glaciers, too. (I'm just saying, it's no Columbia Icefields, that's all. Oh wait, I looked on the map, and some of the glaciers are in the park interior, so they're hidden.)
Bernadette was interested in the cheap Sleep Motel (I think it was the word "cheap" that attracted her), but they were already full of other cheapskates. We decided against any place that had the word "lodge" in it's name (sounds expensive), and so we ended up at the Chalet Motel. Free wifi, lots of pretty flowers, and some kitschy carved animals in front. Also, they had rooms available. Perfect!
While we'd been trolling for a place to stay, we saw the perfect place to eat. The Shak - southern-fried chicken and pork. The owner of the Chalet Motel noted that "Canadians always want to eat there." Why buck a trend? I had some southern-style fried chicken, while Bernadette opted for the ribs. Yum! One of these days, I have to get to the "real" down South and try out their food there. In the meantime, this'll do.
As of now, 11 p.m., we're not sure where we're going tomorrow. We'll figure it out.
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