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You will probably laugh. This is my story of that.

I travelled up to Canada in the late Winter, just by myself, going on a road trip. I had vacation time and was going to lose it because I had so much of it, a nice “First World Problem”. But it was early in March, and my wife could not take any time off. So I just picked it out of a hat, so to speak, and thought it might be interesting scenery if nothing else.

I was a middle aged, white, short hair, glasses, wearing a military Navy veteran hat.

I had been driving for several hours straight (through northern Maine) when I hit the border. I figured I would stop and use a men’s room at the border crossing facility, which was good, because at that point, I had to go pretty badly.

When I got there, they asked me questions at the window, then told me to pull my car to the side and come inside the building. When I came in (this was around 20:00) there was one person in this big room with benches, and when I asked him if I could use the men’s room, he said no. I had to wait.

I had to urinate pretty badly at this time, but felt like I had no option, so I paced back and forth, getting more and more uncomfortable.

After about five minutes, two border guards came out (male and female) and walked me to my car, asking me questions about whether I owned guns, etc. and then proceeded to take the entire car apart. Took my luggage out and completely emptied it, pulled out floor mats, emptied my glove compartment, emptied my trunk, searched the engine compartment, etc

The female Canadian border guard pulls my container of prescription pills out (to save space when going on short trips, I just take what I need and throw them all into one container) and asks what they were, so I explain each one, and she admonishes me and says “You shouldn’t put them together in one container” which starts to REALLY piss me off. They are pulling other stuff out saying “What’s this? Why do you have this?”, etc.

Then, they pull my secured gun safe from under my seat, and ask if I had a gun in it. I said no, I already told them about a half dozen times I did not have a gun with me. They asked me to open it, and for some reason, the key didn’t work. At this point, I had to go so badly I said “Look. Why don’t you get a crowbar and force it open, I really have to go to the men’s room!” But I did finally get the blamed thing open.

All this took about 30-45 minutes, and by the end of it, as anyone who has ever had to go that badly knows, you almost begin to salivate from the discomfort.

I was pretty pissed, and not from the “chipping of the porcelain” that took place when I got to go, either.

Anyway, I found a hotel, and stayed there the night. The next day, I drove up to Prince Edward Island, and it was pretty dead, as anyone who travels up there in the winter knows. But I was just driving around smoking my pipe, and listening to music. No agenda. No destination. I went to the “Ann of Green Gables” house, but it was closed. It was at this time, as I was leaving the closed grounds, that I got the notice that I my phone was being inactivated due to non-payment or something stupid like that. So I called ATT, and found that somehow, I had roaming on. I ended up only paying a few hundred dollars instead of a few thousand, and was glad for it.

I stopped that evening at a Chinese restaurant in PEI, and it was the most gawd-awful, worst Chinese food swill I ever had in my life, and I had ordered a lot of it because I was really hungry. I usually have a wide latitude for what I will eat and even enjoy for Chinese food, and this fell outside those boundaries. I ate very little of it, it was that bad.

I found out that to serve Chinese food up there, you have to have some kind of “special” license. Figures.

So I stayed overnight and drove back the next day. I was still steaming about the Border crossing the day before, and as I drove South past St. John, Nova Scotia, it was a beautiful, sunny day. There was absolutely NOBODY on this major (for them) highway, but I was tooling along, listening to music.

I passed a police car parked off the road, it was sitting there facing the road, and as I went by, I reflexively looked down at my speedometer, spot on the speed limit as I was using cruise control when driving through localities I am unfamiliar with. I absolutely do not speed in those areas.

I looked in my rearview mirror, and to my surprise, saw the police vehicle pull onto the road and accelerate after me, turning on its lights. Puzzled, I pulled over.

The police officer approached my car as I watched him in the side mirror, and asked to see my license and registration. I am past the point in my life where I ask “Why am I being stopped?” I figure at this point, I should just let them do their thing, and go passively along, so I handed them over. The Canadian police officer asked if I had any firearms in the vehicle, and when I gritted my teeth, I forced myself to answer politely in the negative.

He walked back to his vehicle.

As I sat there on the side of this wide, sunny, deserted highway waiting for them to run my plate or whatever it is they do up in Canada when they stop someone, I saw another police car come zooming up, lights on, and pull up behind the first police car.

Great. Now I have two police cars behind me, as I sat on the side of this deserted highway.

The female Canadian cop saw fit to walk up to my car, and asked if I had any weapons in the vehicle. Now, I am really starting to get pissed, but again, politely answered negatively. I almost blurted out “What the Hell is it with you people up here and guns?” but the vision of having a cavity search performed in a cold cell by an enthusiastic non-binary police officer compelled me to just shut my mouth.

The other cop eventually comes back and says “Do you know why we pulled you over?” I answered no, and he said “We got a call from a gas station about forty miles north of here who said you filled your car with gas but didn’t pay for it.”

I am sure I arched my eyebrows at this, as I am not the stealing type, and said “Yes, I filled up, but I definitely went inside and paid for it. Look, I would have no problem driving back and squaring it away with the gas station. There must be some kind of mistake, because I know I paid for it.”

The cop handed me back my documents, and suggested I go straight back and not take any detours. I agreed, and drove forty miles back.

When I parked and walked inside, the guy at the counter saw me, and his face exploded with all signs of happy familiar recognition, and before I could say anything, he said in a breathless torrent “I’m sorry-I told the police what happened, and that I was sure it was a complete misunderstanding and asked them to go easy on you...”

I turned out I had stopped for gas, filled up and gone inside to pay manually. The pump didn’t like my card for some reason, but told me I had to pay inside after I pumped, which I did. When I went inside, I grabbed a soda, and went up and paid for it with my credit card, which it happily accepted. However, I assumed I was paying for the gas as well, and as the guy behind the counter and I chatted amiably about the weather, non-Canadian credit car rejections, and the empty road, I did not get a receipt (Didn’t need one!) and jumped back in my car to drive away.

Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling any love from North of the Border. Don’t feel like going back up to Canada again. I probably never will.