Car Trippin' up the I-15, Part le Deux

DAY THREE:

As we're leaving the room, rolling a luggage cart that is packed right up to the top bar with my stuff (Mum rolling her two tiny bags along behind her), we pass an old man who looks at my tower 'o' stuff and comments, "Wow, you could give my wife a run for her money."  Thanks, old man.  Mum set him straight (kindly) but I still felt like a dork.

We made it back to the interstate with only a brief, unplanned detour, which gave us a chance to see the famous falls of Idaho Falls.  I was....underwhelmed.  But I'd kind of suspected that, given we were in a flat area with no nearby mountains, the falls themselves would be less than epic.  Pretty?  Yes.  Epic?  No.

Back on the interstate, the scenery is still beautiful, but there is a lot of open space between one city and the next.  I mean, I'm used to driving along the freeway through five different cities without a break in civilization, but Idaho is not like that.  Neither is Montana, which is where we headed next - Great Falls.  Actually, we tried to set our sights on Shelby, which is only 35 miles from the Canadian border, but gosh darn it, Shelby only has two hotels, a Best Western and a Super 8.  Well, after the Quality (lies!) Inn, Mum was having none of the Super 8 (neither was I, but I didn't have to be a brat about it, because it wasn't even an option), and the Best Western had no available rooms.  I'm just curious about what goes on in Shelby - a small town, at least from what I could see - that fills up an entire Best Western hotel.  Anybody?

Montana was, I think, my favorite state to drive through, which is weird because I had no such feelings after our last road trip to Canada, back in 2008.  But I think it depends on which side you're driving through - the western side has gorgeous mountain roads, the east side...buttes.  And fields.  And more buttes.  And more fields....you get the idea.  Not that the buttes and fields weren't on the west side, too, but there was plenty of mountain driving through the Rockies that I got to enjoy fully because Mum was driving at the time.  It helped break up the monotony.

Stopping in Great Falls for the night landed us in town around 5:30 pm, so Mum and I decided to poke around a bit.  The hotel was across the street from a mall, so we headed on over, only to discover that it was a small mall after all.  No fun.  Chili's for dinner became our next goal - ours and everyone else's.  The place was packed, apparently because some sporting event was being aired, and all the local sports fans had chosen Chili's as their preferred viewing spot.  I happened to be seated next to a window looking through to the bar area, and noticed it was baseball.  I have less than no interest in baseball, so I didn't pay much attention, until I noticed that the pitcher they showed looked really young.  And so did the batter, and those outfielders seemed...scrawny.  It was the Little League playoffs - Montana vs. California.  I was grateful when Montana won, because from the sounds of those sportsfans, if they'd lost, I didn't want to think about what my CA plates would have incited some of the more rabid fans to do.

(No, I don't really think anyone would have done anything.)

DAY FOUR:

The last day of the trip gave me mixed feelings.  On the one hand, the drive was almost over, and with any luck, would not have to be repeated until I was finished with my studies.  On the other hand, I'd had a recurring nightmare the previous night that began with me showing my paperwork to the border agent, and ended with me being thrown in Canadian jail because I'd tried to bring my little pink pocket knife into the country with me, which they found in its secret hidden compartment in the bottom of my car when they brought the sniffer dogs out after searching it.  As we got closer and closer to the border crossing, it got harder and harder to breathe.  Not that I actually thought I'd get the sniffer dog treatment, or thrown in jail (back across the border, maybe, but not jail), but I WAS afraid there would be something wrong with the paperwork I had, making it impossible for me to get my study permit, and throwing all of my life plans out of whack.

Moment of truth: I pulled up to the window, handed the Hot Border Agent (yowza!) my passport and Mum's, and answered his questions.  I even told him about the pink pocket knife, which he wrote down, but did not call in the dogs.  He told us to pull around and find the immigration agent inside, and I regretfully took a last long look at Hot Border Agent before parking.

Inside, at the immigration desk, is where things got interesting.  After showing our passports to the (not hot, and a girl) agent, she asked to see our birth certificates (which I had), then told us to have a seat.  After a brief confab with her superior, she called us back up to talk to him.  Hey, guess what?  I'm a Canadian citizen!  As far as the border patrol is concerned, I don't need a study permit, I can come to Canada all I want!  Neat!  After advising me to get a Canadian passport ASAP and teasing Mum about being from Winnipeg ("Yeah, it's a really nice place...to be from"), the border agent wished us well, and sent us on up the road.

Now, I'd heard that Canadians generally drive slower than Americans, and that they're really good at moving over and letting faster cars go around.  While the second is true, the first is a dirty, filthy lie.  As I pulled onto the highway and saw the sign (110 kph), I figured out that if I went about 80 (125-ish) I should be okay, and hopefully that wouldn't be too fast.  The Albertans who screamed by me at Mach 1 were all laughing their heads off at the silly American car, I'm sure of it.

About a mile further on fate decided, now my border crossing fears were gone, that I needed another adrenaline boost to keep me awake and alert.  Fate sent a livestock truck screeching onto the highway from a cross street - right in front of me.  A quick, unannounced, unplanned lane change kept Mum and me from becoming a smear on the rump of the cattle car, and gave me the energy buzz I needed.  After various unpleasantries were hurled in the direction of the truck, Mum observed "Bienvenue a Canada", which made me wish I'd had a welcome beaver there to greet me.

Five hours and one wrong turn (and attendant detour) later, and we pulled up in front of Aunt Cathie's house.  We'd made it!