I made it!  And quite easily at that!  Emptying the RV sewage tank at a Sani-Dump for the first time was 10 times more terrifying than the US border.

Canada's in the rearview telescope, time to focus

First guy at the drive-up window asked maybe two questions before I told him I wanted to travel for six months and was looking for a B2 Tourist Visa.  He said they didn’t issue those at the border and I’d need to go back to the consulate, I told him I phoned the consulate 1-900 number and they told me to get it there at the Peace Arch (a B2 Visa is in my pocket right now).  One of the requirements to get the Visa is proving you can support yourself, so when I answered him how much money I had saved up for the trip, he said surprised “who saves that much?!”  The only question after this was about the bunny rabbit that says Pil hanging from my rear view mirror.  No, it’s not a gang sign…well, it kind of is, but just for Canadian beer.

Foreground: Blaine, WA, USA. Background: White Rock, BC, CAN.

They get me to pull into the inspection area, I kill the ignition and take the keys out of Bessie, but she’s dieseling right now so coughs and sputters and shoots smoke everywhere and the customs guys asks me “this thing isn’t going to blow up, is it?”

I go inside and give my form to an agent whose job it is to give out B2 Visas.  He asks where I’m going in general, or just this evening and I tell him I’m not really sure, but south, winding up in San Diego in a few months.  He asks if I’m transporting any ecstasy, cocaine or marijuana, I look him straight in the eye and say no.  He asks if I have any seeds, I ask if rice counts.  Apparently it does not.

Nice lighthouse shot in Blaine

Satisfied with my story, he says he’s going to take a look through Bessie.  In my head this is where it comes off the rails, they could easily empty everything on the side of the road, find nothing and tell me to repack my entire life.  But no, instead the agent returns in 3 minutes flat, from all I can tell he moved one arm rest and that’s it.  Good thing I knew not to put the heroin under the arm rest, too obvious.

Getting out of Border Control in 20 minutes flat with no hard questions or grilling at all, back on the highway I’m very pleased with myself until I’m taken by how fast people in the US drive.  For such a really nice paved interstate, the speed limit is only 60 and everyone’s ripping past….ohhh wait, 60 MILES per hour.  D’oh.  And why did I buy a full tank of gas in downtown Vancouver before taking a look at the prices in Washington State.  Double d’oh.

Blaine Harbour...wait, does it change to a harbor in the US?

All things considered though, a few d’ohs is a pretty small price to pay to have Bessie running fine, me in the US with the proper documentation and most importantly all my music (and movies, ebooks, software, samples, etc.), which I was foolishly somehow afraid Big Brother would take.  No, Big Brother wants you to shake your money maker, or sing along with Peter Gabriel in celebration as I’m doing right now.

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