Washington/BC - Day 1 - The Border

8/9/14

En route, I-5, Washington

I tried so heard to avoid a Munich Run.  We are now in the midst of a Munich Run.  If the border takes more than an hour, we’re effed.  If it takes less than half an hour (and there is no new traffic), we’re good.  Our GPS is showing a 7:48 PM arrival at the ferry terminal, which means we have an hour of Dutch Time.  It’s looking tight.  Anyway, I fell asleep almost as soon as I closed, publishing my entry and drafting my Facebook post for the morning.  I then realized that perhaps posting on Facebook that 170 of my Facebook friends could go fuck themselves was not the smartest thing to say, so I edited the post to say that I honestly don’t give a shit about them.  Then I said that they could go fuck themselves.  Only two people Liked the post, including the friend from the Israel trip.  Said person is a save the world type, so I didn’t think that she would take kindly to me telling the rest of the world to go fuck themselves.  I was wrong.  She Liked the post.

As I was driving, I started singing along to the Taylor Swift album I had been playing.  It’s funny how singing along to a specific song can remind you of a specific drive that you took in Germany or how a bite of Jarlsberg can remind you of the Norwegian fjords.  Whenever I hear “Holy Ground,” I remember the drive to the Wolfhotel.  This morning, it was “The Lucky One,” and it reminded me of the original Munich Run.  Even though I was behind schedule, I figured that I could make up some time on the road, and I was going strong with my Davidoff Nic Toro, which is always the first cigar of the first long drive.

After I was done with the cigar, I stopped at a roadside espresso stand that had a great view of a mountain.  The view wasn’t quite the same as the ones in Alaska, but it was dirt cheap.  The only problem was it tasted like dirt, as well.  I supplemented the espresso with a Quest bar as breakfast and lit up an Aurora.  My first stop of the day was at the Wilderness Information Center, where I procured my official brochure, stamps, and pin.  The thing was, the three units (North Cascades NP, Ross Lake NRA, and Lake Chelan NRA) are managed as one unit, so there was just one brochure.

I proceeded to the Ross Lake NRA unit, where I got my shirt and went on my first official hike of the complex as they call it.  I lit up the Special My Father, one of the free cigars I got with my box, and it was indeed a very special cigar, as good as any Cuban.  The hike and the cigar lasted exactly the same amount of time, and I realized that no one had commented on or questioned my suit and cigar hiking style?  Had the world as a whole gotten used to it?  That hardly seemed likely.  I was proved wrong a few hours later.

I stopped for brunch, getting country fried steak and eggs at a roadside diner before making my way into the official National Park land.  It would be a slow going gravel road and any hope of making up the time and getting to Stuart before 4 PM seemed lost.  It was okay.  4 PM still gave us two hours of Dutch Time, and I was liking those odds.  It just meant I would need to do the smaller Cuban and a shorter hike.  I was quite exhausted and knew that all this hiking was not good for my foot, so I was fine with that.

It was pretty much 10 miles of a narrow, steep, winding gravel road before I got to the official entrance sign.  I said to myself at that point that I could have taken my official U at the sign, light up my Cuban, and walk around right there.  That would make the NP official.  Instead, I drove another 5 miles, even steeper and narrower to the base camp.  I did not expect to see a base camp.  Apparently, this spot was a very happening place, and I couldn’t find a parking spot, but the views were breathtaking.  A kid kept asking my mother why I was dressed like this.  She had no answer for him.  I had to park a bit away, but I was still looking good on time.  I got on the mountain, it was a switchback trail straight up.  I think the trail went to the top and then continued across for like 30 miles.  I was only going to do a mile before I turned around.

It was very crowded, and the official U looked like a pipe dream.  I lit up my Fonseca, and I saw a little deer on the trail.  After about 15 minutes, I came to the perfect spot for my official U, waited until it was quiet and empty, took the official U, and pronounced the NP official.  I made my way back to pick up Stuart, and, when I got cell service again, I heard my phone chirp 17 times immediately.  In those 90 minutes, Stuart had texted me 17 times.  That is not an exaggeration.  I called him telling him I’d pick him up at 4 PM.  Then came the traffic on I-5 S.  It was at a standstill for 8 miles, which was going to add an hour to my drive.  I was crushed.  My GPS claimed to be able to save about 40 minutes, but it entailed going through city streets.  It saved maybe 10 minutes, and it just added to my stress level.  Even the Gurkha I had lit did not help.  Eventually, I got to Stuart, and we gassed up before turning around and heading to the border.  After I uploaded my photos, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can go back to stressing over this pending Munich Run and what may happen at the border.

Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal, British Columbia

I don’t believe in god.  I don’t believe in miracles.  It was not a miracle that I am able to write that dateline.  It was pure bravado.  The wait at the border was an hour.  That was before we even saw an agent.  We were effed.  The only way we would make our ferry was if they waved us through.  If we had a secondary, there was no way we were making our ferry.  I have a beautiful, prepaid, five-star hotel room in Victoria.  I did not want to spend the night at a motel in Tsawwassen.  I got the usual questions, and they did a thorough search of our belongings, including our electronics.  It took over an hour.  I had allowed two hours of Dutch Time.  I had an hour of traffic going to pick up Stuart, there was an hour wait to cross the border, and our secondary lasted an hour.  If any one of those three things did not happen, we would have made our ferry.  If I had woken up an hour earlier, we would have made our ferry.  We were effed.  I told Stuart that the plan was to just drive to the ferry terminal and see if, by some miracle, there was a later ferry.  There was not.  However, when we got there, there was a boat to northern point on the island, and then it was a 90 minute drive from there to Victoria.  We will not get to the hotel until 2:30 AM, but we will get to the hotel.  I can get the 4.5 hours of sleep I need to function.  That’s all that matters.  I will include the philosophical portion from Victoria as Stuart is being too annoying for me to properly focus on it now.

Aboard Coastal Inspiration, En Route Tsawwassen-Mikimaio

A key aspect of the Friendship Quotient is that it is based on your actual feelings.  Doing something so that your “friend” doesn’t bitch about it or because you don’t want him to mope around all day is not the same as the FQ.  If his actions will affect your happiness, that is separate from the FQ.  That was the reason I agreed to do Stuart’s thing first tomorrow.  I will more properly expand on why our friendship works from Victoria, but, suffice it say, he complains a lot, and it has the ability to sour the air, to steal my joy.  As I was trying to write my celebratory entry at the ferry terminal, he kept complaining about the Wi-Fi and his shitty phone.  I have long since learned that complaining about things out of your control and beyond your influence can serve no good purpose.  I just don’t do it.  Stuart kept doing it, and I had to focus on his negativity rather than my positive entry.  That said, he will be doing the driving once we get to Vancouver Island.  If I had to do the drive, I would be dead by the time I got to the hotel.  It’s a trade.  On the whole, I like travelling with him.

As we were waiting for the boat to board, I took a U, texting Sokol to ask him if he thought it would be official, seeing as it was at ferry terminal.  If not, I would only have counted two official Us in the 30+ hours since I had left the office.  It was nothing like the count I had amassed in Alaska, but you win some, and you lose some.  It was beautiful weather to sit outside and smoke, but Stuart of course, still wearing his bathing suit, had to complain about the cold.  However, we would rather be cold than alone, so he joined me.  I lit up my Cuesta Rey and proceeded to write the proceeding entry, which I closed when it looked like it was time to board.

I kept my cigar with me until we got to the smoking deck.  I prepared my entry thus far for publishing and chose my photos while Stuart scoped out the food situation.  They had food but nothing fancy.  I was just hungry.  I put down the cigar, planning to finish it after we ate.  Stuart was convinced it would be gone.  He was wrong.  After picking up a keychain from the souvenir shop, I got a double bacon cheeseburger and a coffee.  Even though it was an unofficial meal, it was really good.  You don’t expect to get coffee that good on a boat.  While I was waiting for my food, I felt my backpack bump into something, so I instinctively apologized.  I then heard a sweet Canadian accent tell me it was okay.  I looked and saw a beautiful girl with the Northern look.  Oh, Canada!  I went back for my cigar after the meal and relit it with some difficulty.  I then proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Victoria, British Columbia

Ah, that magic dateline, the most important one of the trip.  We arrived at our hotel only 3 hours behind schedule.  It’s not the end of the world.  Without Stuart, it never would have happened.  I could not have driven the 90 minutes from the ferry to the hotel without falling asleep.  It would have effed everything up.  Granted, without Stuart, I would have been on a much earlier schedule and would have made the right boat regardless.  Stuart was very annoying during the drive, but it stopped me from falling asleep when I rested my eyes, a good thing since I didn’t want to have to change the date on this entry.  It also stopped him from falling asleep at the wheel, also a good thing.  It was a fair trade.  My friendship with Stuart has never been a true friendship.  It has been a series of trades.  From the very beginning when we traded autographs tips for autographs to now when we plan vacations together.  As long as he gets to do his basic requirements, he will go along with whatever crazy agenda I set and is willing to split all costs 50/50.  It works out well for both of us, and I look forward to doing an annual weekend trip with him.  He understands my craziness because he is just as crazy.  For all of his flaws, that is what matters the most in any relationship.

I wrote in WIJG how I was starting to feel attracted to someone for the sole reason that she understood me on a fundamental level.  It is impossible to underestimate the value of that.  Beauty fades, and the same conversations eventually grow old, but you will always be attracted to someone who gets you on a fundamental level.  It is the same with friendship.  Stuart gets me, even participating in his own version of what I have come to call “checklist travel.”  Sure, he has different boxes, but the idea is the same.  That is why we have always gotten along so well.  That is why we travel well together, even if we drive each other crazy.  In the end, he usually lets me do whatever I want, even if he complains about it.  I also trust him not to be dishonest with me, for the most part.  I hate night driving.  Stuart loves it.  We work well together.  He is irrational and indecisive and nervous.  I am rational and decisive and calm.  I can provide the missing pieces to that puzzle to balance out his travel needs where he falls short.  In exchange, I get to do the bulk of the trip planning, and we have an enjoyable trip (for the most part) that meets all of my travel needs.  With Sokol, it is a different dynamic, with my brother another entirely, and with Pablo even different, just as the friendship with each has a different dynamic.  Friendship is such a vague word that can cover so many types of relationships that to try to assign one type of meaning, one type of philosophy to it would be pointless.

Anyway, the hotel room had a balcony with a view of Parliament.  There was a sign that said no smoking on the balcony.  Reader, if you know me, you know exactly how tonight played out and how it will end.  I lit up my Ardor, proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, and then I will move my mattress out to the balcony to sleep outside.