CANADA BORDER BOOGIE

The Canada Border Boogie

I sat at the side of the road next to the on ramps of I-95, east of Millonocket, Maine.  My options were northeast to New Brunswick, or southwest straight to Quebec City.  My earlier attempt to split the distance was thwarted by my crass try at smuggling a bicycle into the North Maine woods.  I was at a crossroads. Do I go the short cheaper route to Quebec, save myself some time and money, or do I go northeast and venture bravely onward?  I decided to call Clint Cook. After all, there is no better way to make this kind of decision than to call someone who couldn’t care less.  I would have called my friend Dave but his apathy is so severe that he wouldn’t have even picked up the phone…  No, Clint was just the man for the job, completely unbiased, but with just the right level of give a damn to muster up an answer.

We chatted for awhile and Clint really wasn’t much help, but he did say that New Brunswick had a cool name.  That wasn’t much but the man was right.  New Brunswick has a nice ring to it. This was enough for me and the decision was made to head northeast.  I got to the border in better time than I expected and was optimistic about finding a good campsite before dark.  Canada and the U.S. are friends after all and this crossing should be a breeze, right? I pulled up a little nervous because I just realized I had never signed my passport.  The sawed-off little border patrol agent at the gate was all business and started rattling off questions…  This was already more than I had planned on and I looked like a deer in the headlights.  After he had sufficiently demeaned me enough to make him feel like a man of normal height he had me pull into gate 5.  A female border agent asked me politely to get out of my car and step to the front.  Then the typical questions I was expecting started: guns, bombs, nukes, piranhas, drugs, and alcohol.  I answered all of those with confidence and was starting to feel pretty good.  They had the dog come up to the car and the handler asked me if I owned any firearms and to list them…  Now, if you are ever crossing a border you want to try to keep this section down to under 5 minutes.  I did not.  After the first several minutes he asked me to just narrow it down to pistols.  After naming those he looked at me like, who in the HELL are you??  I know I don’t have to justify my armory to my readers as I am sure all of you are aware of the inevitability of the zombie apocalypse and the need for preparedness.  This Canadian agent however, was less than impressed.  Enjoy being zombie food buck-o.  

The slightly chubby yellow lab that the border lady kept calling a golden retriever was quick and satisfied with my car in less than a minute.  It was everything I could do not to yell, “It’s a BLEEPING yellow lab LADY!”  However, I restrained myself and probably deserve a gold star.  The dog was happy so I was given my passport, a piece of paper, and told to go inside and talk to the person at the desk.  Well... That wasn’t so bad I thought.  I went in, handed over my paper with a smile and the lovely lady behind the desk pointed to some chairs and asked me to have a seat until an agent comes to see me.  Damn…  There was already a couple people sitting down and they looked like they had been there for a minute or sixty.  One was a large friendly bear of a man and the other was his non-threatening slight built spectacled side kick.  I am not sure who started into conversation but our similar plight gave ample subject matter and the conversation came easy.    Zach was the large man’s name and he was a musician on tour and the little guy was Sam his friend/manager.  It was starting to get late and I was getting nervous about finding a place to spend the night.  I shared my plight and Zach said I should come to the show and just crash with them for the night.  At this point Zach told me his music was just a lot of “ishes” of different types of music…  Ya, he really didn’t sell it all that well but I did need a place to sleep and I couldn't turn down all the potential life points.  I finally made it through the border after a long interview with the agent about my financial situation and the fact that I did not have a travel plan.  Probably should have seen the how long and where are you going questions coming.  BUT…  Anyway, I finally headed off to Fredericton to meet the boys at Nicky Zee’s.  I was going to meet a band.  I couldn't help but feel like the coolest kid in school the entire drive.

I couldn’t help but fell a little awkward when I pulled up to Nicky Zee’s.  This entire trip I have been hearing the “One of these things is not like the other” song in my head and even though it was getting dimmer, I was certainly hearing it now.   The first member of the group I saw when I walked up the stairs was Kyle.  Kyle was a bearded redhead who I later found out was the merchandise salesman of the group.  I had only met Kyle very briefly at the border but I was most comfortable with him and Sam, so I was glad that I saw him first.  “Ohh, whats up man, you made it…”  In that slow relaxed tone that only hippies and surfers possess.   I answered with an awkward , what kinda handshake we going to do here? type handshake.  You know the ones where you don’t know if you’re going to bring it in or do a transfer to a knuckle and so each person just kinda wiggles their arm and body awkwardly?  Ya, that’s what we did.  It was awesome.  After that start I did the surest thing I could think of to win their good graces.  I asked if they needed any help.   They were pretty much all done with what looked like a very complicated set up and I was only able to help set up the merchandise desk and pick a few things up.  After that I just kind of hung out with Sam and Kyle and we pretty much beat the border crossing conversation too death.  At this point luckily the beers I was getting for cheap because the bar tender thought I was with the band were doing what they are supposed to do and I began to loosen up.  People were just starting to pile in and immediately “One of these things is not like the other” began playing louder.  The crowd was all hippies.  I am not talking about those wanna be hippy hipsters we have in Utah, I am talking about the real deal.  Dreads, beads, marijuana, possible LSD, and body odor filled the dance floor.  After having camped for the last week and hiking around 20 miles, biking about 15, and only having bathed in Creeks, I at least probably fit one of the criteria.  So I had that going for me, which is nice.  I also had a nasty beard which has its own story and is magic to help me out. I will tell that story later.  Anyway, about this time Zach started doing his thing…  I was instantly blown away.  His description of a lot of “ishes” really undersold his talent.  It was music I would have never listened to on my own but his gift was undeniable.  He mixed everything live and did all his own percussion and beats with beat boxing and a keyboard type drum set up, all the while singing and playing the guitar.  It was amazing to watch.  Best of all it was funky music even a white person can dance too.  I wish I was more musically inclined so my description could better do it justice, but sadly I am not and I will just sum it up as being an incredible live experience. 

By this time I had noticed a few surprisingly attractive hippy to hippyish girls in the place.  I debated whether to approach but decided against it. After all I was completely unfamiliar with hippy mating and courtship rituals.  The queen of the girls on the floor went up to Kyle and whispered something in his ear.  He simply nodded yes.  I had to investigate.  I went over to Kyle and without asking he told me she invited us to party with her and her friends after the show.  The way he said it made it clear that I was part of “us” meaning the band crew, and Zach Deputy, and I.   I felt pretty badass at this moment.  After the amazing show it was my time to do my part to earn whatever was in store for the night.  I didn’t know anything about the set up, what was what, what went where, but if there is one thing I can do its pick things up and put them down.  So I picked things up and put them down like a pro.  The crew was grateful and I scored a cd and a sticker.  When it was time to go to the after party I was waved over with them.  Score.  We were escorted by a lovely yet over-pierced woman of about my age to a hip little closed juice shop called Nirvana in downtown Fredericton, NB and ushered inside.

I would love to say that I got crazy, hurricaned, stole the show, or even just got drunk enough to be my mildly extroverted alter ego.   But, that would be a lie.  I was tired and by this point sober.  I had just hiked Maine’s highest peak the day prior and had been waking up at 5 or earlier and going to bed at dark.  It was about 3 AM at this point and it was way past my bedtime. I didn’t pull a Bryan and fall asleep on a stool or anything but I was definitely in chill mode and just kinda sat back and enjoyed reflecting on the moments as they came.  Here, I was first night in Canada and I am in a closed juice shop partying with people I had never met.  It was the definition of surreal. 

I tried the organic gluten free treats and made casual conversation with people who our only thing in common was our disinterest in the other.  I couldn’t make myself care about gluten, pottery, and opening up organic juice shops, any more then they could overlook that I was ex-corporate, and travelling in my bought and paid for car.  So lamestream, I guess I should have hitched?  Somehow though it was still pleasant and I just relished in being in a closed shop downtown nursing a beer, surrounded with people I would never meet otherwise.  I did manage getting one collective laugh out of the bunch when I asked for the Wi-Fi password and she said, “wellness” and I looked around at the environment and sarcastically said “Oh, of course it is.”  It was a timing joke and I don’t expect it to translate.  The exception to all of this was Sam.  Sam genuinely was interested in my stories and had interesting road stories of his own to share.  Sam wasn’t too cool for school so to speak. 

The time to go finally arrived and our little juice shop friend invited us over to her place to crash for the night.  I followed them to her nice little apartment grabbed my bed roll and bag and occupied the last available piece of empty floor.  My plot was on the kitchen floor and this place was pretty gross.  She had a couple cats and they pretty much had the run of the place.  Regardless, I was thankful for a roof over my head; at this point it had begun to rain heavily and I was glad I wasn’t camping.  A few winks and sneezes caused by the damn cats and I was fast asleep.

I slept all the way until 9 AM.  I got three and half hours.  Yay!!! I hopped up on the couch in the pseudo green room and just sat and watched the rain come pouring down.  The pitter-patter put me back to sleep and I stole another hour until Jen (the pierced girl) came in and said something about going to grab some coffee.  I said, “sure, coffee sounds great thanks!”  When she kind of just sat there expectantly, I realized I was the one who was really going to grab coffee.  She didn’t have a car.  I should have seen that coming.  We gathered up some cash and by that I mean 2 dollar coins called loonies or are those ones the toonies?  Anyway it is of no matter, we went out to the car in the pouring rain to go pick up the coffee.  Taylor Swift came on just before she got in the car and I hurried and turned it off hoping she hadn’t heard a note of it…  I didn’t know too much about hippies but one thing I did suspect is that they are, how should I put it? Snobs?  They seem very particular about food, beer, style, lifestyle, and especially the arts.  Not too mention my fondness for Taylor Swift is slightly embarrassing in every crowd.  So not wanting to risk playing bad music I played nothing at all and allowed the awkward silence to fill the car.  Jen didn’t seem too keen on me so the awkwardness counted double.

In the coffee shop I half successfully pretended to know something about coffee, and we made it back to a hero’s welcome. The ordeal was entirely worth it when I got to sit back, sip on some joe, and watch Zach pick up a banjo, an instrument he didn’t really know if he could play, and whip out song after song.  The one about a lesbian Russian who certainly didn’t sound too lesbian, was probably the funniest song I had ever heard and the the heavy rain accented the banjo perfectly.  I may never be that relaxed in an uncomfortable setting again and I made sure to savor it. 

The impromptu show ended and I was beginning to feel more at ease but I knew it was time for me to be moving on.  Jen made us a great breakfast after asking if we all ate eggs....  You kidding me?  I was about five minutes away from grilling up the squirrel outside the window.  Of course I eat eggs!?  In the immortal words of  Tracy Morgan, "Who da hell don't!?"  Sam and Kyle said that I should just follow them and finish the tour but I, paranoid about overstaying my welcome and wanting to fish, said I would just catch them later.  I didn’t really mean it at the time but it turned out to be prophetic and what happened in between my second adventure with Zach Deputy and Co. is its own equally unique story.  To be continued.... :)  Wow...  This is a long post I am probably the only one to see the bottom of it.  But I had to get it down before it was forgot.