The road sign read “Canada 4” next to an arrow pointing to the right. I’m not a seasoned distance cyclist, but a few miles effort to gawk at the U.S.-Canada border seemed within my ability. My youngest child and I were camping for the night in Derby, Vermont. While she attended a Tae Kwon Do summer camp, I had a few hours to myself to do whatever I liked. I could bike to Canada.
These picky, picky border crossing folks! At least they didn't ask you for your passport! (I always bring mine when visiting my sister in Toronto (and now, Quebec)...:-) !
I can't believe I had to read this story rather than hear about it ALL week!! It's a good check-in story my friend. And, in my opinion after many, many times crossing the border as a former resident of Canada and a citizen of the USA, it very much depends on the border agent.
The apple doesn’t fall… Reminds me of a couple of Mexico-US border crossings with illegal contraband during those Hippie wannabe days. Even at 10 I had fireworks. What a hoodlum I was!
Blond and Blue Salvation.
What a great story, Jeremy! Looking forward to hearing about it in oral form! 💙 🍁
“The excitement of an unexpected challenge, the lure of the road, and the fineness of the pastoral landscape of farm, forest, and lake compelled me onward. That feeling of “what’s around the corner? what’s beyond that summit?” overcame any apprehension.”
Thank you for putting in precise and compelling words the joy of rural cycling. Balancing on the blade of what’s next and what might happen is good for the soul.