Fips Struts His Stuff in Canada

It was my thought and plan to depart Bellingham and cross into Canada early in the morning, rested, showered and shaved. I could get my business done by noon and then explore Vancouver at leisure and either stay the night there or return to Bellingham, whichever worked out best.

But the truck's continued malfunctioning made that plan too problematic. The last thing I wanted was a break-down in a traffic line at the border. So, with a sigh, I took the truck to the local Ford dealership. Their courtesy shuttle then drove us back to the Motel where we all sat on the bed and waited.

At 11.30, the dealership called back. They couldn't find anything wrong with the truck. I spoke to the mechanic, Daryl, who said that he suspected I had a defective air pressure sensor, but without being able to confirm that he was reluctant to have me pay for a $200.00 replacement. We walked over to the truck and talked a bit more. Daryl showed me where the sensor was. "It's really easy to replace. You just unplug it from this wire here. If you don't have tools you can just drape the new one over this thing here..."

Wink Wink

"You can also try tapping it... Sometimes the switch inside gets stuck...."

As far as I could see, he was going out of his way to save me $300.00. I thanked him sincerely, checked out of the motel and headed up for Blaine. Needless to say, with or without tapping, the truck was still not working right. So once we got to Blaine, instead of going north, I drove East to Linden where I picked up a third party air pressure sensor for $37.89

Unlike the southern border which is a third world slum on both sides of the line, the road from Blaine to Linden is everyone's dream of what America was or ought to be. It is a place of green fields and small farms and simple, well kept, well framed houses, hugged by flower bushes, set back on green lawns bordering tree shaded streets or country roads. I thought back many years to what Stockbridge was like before it was invaded by trendy and acquisitive yuppies. The amazing thing was how quiet it all was. This was a border on a major route between two moderately large cities and it was nothing short of serene.

Needless to say, the new sensor didn't make a bean's worth of difference. Back at Blaine, I parked at a four way stop at the crest of a hill, overlooking the ocean straight ahead and "the line" to the right. I paused. I pondered. I plunged.

Fortunately, the line was not too long, and I with a certain amount of foot-play was able to keep the idle fairly even as we inched our way to the immigration check point where I handed the custom's agent my newly minted passport.

"Are you carrying any knives, weapons or guns?"

"No"

"Do you own any firearms?"

"Nah, nah.. I'm not into any of that."

"What are you coming for?"

"Just for a day on personal business"

"Okay, you can go"

"Do you want to see the dogs' papers?"

"Nah"

And so we stuttered up route 99 straight into Vancouver, 40 miles away. It was now past dusk and my sole concern was to find a place to spend the night. I couldn't find the list of dog-friendly inns I had printed out before leaving and unlike the US, the area was devoid of roadside motels. We ended up stalling and lurching around a strange city at night looking for a place that looked like it would accept doggies. In fact, I couldn't find a hotel at all.

At one point, on a dark street away from all phones, the truck locked up altogether. Miraculously it un-froze itself and I headed back for the border. This was simply no place to break down entirely without even a cell phone that would work out of area.

However, as I got back to Route 99 I ran across was a Quality Suites hotel on the corner. Fortunately they accepted doggies, albeit at $20.00 per pup per night. We signed in.

The View from Vancouver

As there would be no mid night pee abouts here, I decided to take the dogs for a longish walk. It was getting chill, so I walked back to the truck for my coat, before continuing on. Close to the airport, docks and industrial shops, this was not what one would call an upscale part of town. But a block back from the main thoroughfare (Marine Drive), the neighbourhood of small townhouses and three storey apartments on streets flanked by grass borders and thick trunked trees was surprisingly quiet.

It was perfect Fipsie Weather and the dogs were in their element. They trotted about eagerly happy to do what doggies like to do. Their behaviour confirmed a thought that I have been having about dogs, which is that they are neither moved nor impressed by the same sights as we. We humans are completely sight-oriented, and so when I think of taking the dogs to Vancouver, I think of showing them bay, the mountains, the rolling greens of the city's lovely parks. But the pups are basically indifferent to all of that. What interests them is terra -- sniffing humus, bushes and the bases of trees. I do not mean that dogs don't appreciate other things... Rosco loves warm sunlight and Fips has always loved swimming in water. Earth is not the only element they appreciate and I am sure they enjoy a general sense of environments and environmental changes. But the visual majesty of mountains, the impressive expanse of sea and the awe of far off lights in a dark sky are far less important to them than to us. This thought is of comfort to me because it means that our trip to Vancouver will be less of a disappointment to them than it has been for me.

We walk far down the road before returning to the hotel -- in part so that the dogs fully unload (although Rosco doesn't) and in part because the poor pups deserve a long sniff-about after their super-canine patience. On the way back, Fips decides he wants to walk down the middle of the road, just like he does at home. I watch him trot along briskly and laugh. Why does he do this? He is clearly taking command of the road and strutting his stuff.

My job is to keep an eye out for cars; and, as it happens, one comes careening around a corner. As I pull the pups out of the way, I take note of the driver's astonished and perturbed look. Fips returns to the center and with Rosco trotting behind we return to the hotel and to bed.

In the morning, we check out early and then wait in the truck until 9 o'clock when the rush hour traffic will have subsided. We then start off back in the direction of city center and a Service Canada office on Fraser off King Edward Street. Fortuitously enough, there is a parking space right smack in front of the office. Even more serendipitously, I have the bureaucracy all to myself and in very short order, from a very polite and nice agent, I get my paperwork done.

I had planned to swing by the credit union, a mile away, on the way back, but as there was only underground parking I decided to forgo that stop and instead headed back to Route 99 and the border. It was already getting warm at 10.30 and to my dismay the road advisories alerted to a two hour wait at the border. I was dismayed. How was that possible at mid-morning on a Thursday?

Fortunately I took the "Peace Portal" crossing which is lined with graceful parks. As British Columbia forbids idling, cars turn off their engines and move forward in groups. This Very Sensible Idea, allows us to stretch our legs and in the doggies' case to lie in some shade. In this manner we while away the time before re-entering The Homeland.

The border agents asks me if I am bringing anything back -- any drugs, fruits or perishables. I tell him no. He asks what I went to Canada for. He tell him.

"You got two pups, I see"

"You want to see their papers?"

"No"

And so on to the shoreline park at Blaine. Fips is wobbley on his legs and doesn't want to walk, so we end up resting under a shaded gazebo. As helicopters buzz back and forth overhead, I chat for an hour with a young man who had travelled to Chile and Argentina.

It is a lovely day, but it is still getting warm. Fips is obviously tuckered out, not by the heatso much as by this endless and tedious shuffling between car cabin and motel rooms. It is time to go home.

Because the engine is running rich, I decide to have an oil change before beginning the long trip back. So, back in Bellingham, I pull into a "Complete Car Care" center where I ended up talking to mechanic Jeff about my engine troubles. He's convinced he can fix it. Because the symptoms never occur in shop he will wire the car to diagnostic lap tops and drive the truck until they occur.

Back to Motel 6 / Bellingham.
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