Finally, Saturday came and we were ready to depart. My detailed plans were designed to ensure we would have a smooth entrance into the U.S. (the last thing I wanted was to give a U.S. Customs officer a reason to screw with me). The movers came and loaded our furniture in a smooth operation the day before. All we needed to do was to cross the border. Something, as a person who grew up in a border town, had done a million times.
Things did not go as smoothly as planned. First, I asked Lindsey to verify that we had our passports and completed paperwork to cross the border. The documents should have been in my meticulous cared for folder, but Lindsey discovered that my passport went missing. As a person who thrives on planning and control, I was shocked to discover that I did not take this news very well (I think my face went ghost white and I started hyperventalating). After ruling out somewhere in my briefcase, when I thought about were it could be, I thought of two options: 1) the movers had stolen it; or 2) it had fallen into the crack of my leather chair (which was with my mover, well beyond the U.S. border). Either option was not very attractive. Oh Shit...
Thankfully, I am a white Canadian. I was able to get across the border with replacement documentation using only my drivers license and a birth certificate. So, Lindsey and I headed out to the border. The border was only about 100 km away. Driving a route that I have driven at least 50 times, for a weird set off circumstances that is not worth getting into, I missed the first critical exit to get on to the proper highway. Worse it took us 30 minutes to discover we had missed the exit and another 60 minutes to get back on the proper highway (two strikes)
We got across the border, but the wait was long. Surprisingly, the customs officers seemed more concerned that we had corn beef sandwiches in our cooler than the fact that I lost my passport. For the sake of national safety, they confiscated our sandwiches and reprocessed my paperwork. We had planned to be beyond the border by 7:30am, we had crossed it by 12pm (a little off schedule).
Well, we are in the U.S.; everything should be great right? We would you believe, driving on a highway that I have driven over 50 times, I missed the next critical exit? Strike 3, luckily this detour only set us back 20 minutes. I am happy to say for the remainder of our trip (no less on roads I rarely or never have traveled) we did not miss another critical exit.
Some times you just want to go back to bed and start over. This was one of those. Amazingly, thanks to some open roads and Lindsey being able to drive for quite a few hours we were able to make it to where I had planned to stop on our first day. Sure a few hours late, but we were back on schedule and I could stop hyperventalating.
As a post script to this fiasco, we found my passport with the I-94 card in the crack of our leather chair. What are the chances?!!
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