Ruffling feathers on both sides of the Border

Stealth Camping, where one camps for free on public or private land simply involves a quiet place where no one is sure to find you in the middle of the night, blowing your cover, and potentially exposing you to safety risk, theft, police presence, or just a pissed off land owner. I’m failing miserably at this tonight, as I’ve realized I’ve been noticed 3 times by cars pulling into the Public Boat launch in Winn, Maine. It also helps if you setup at dusk, as opposed to 5pm. Fingers crossed i don’t have too many more visitors and can go away without any trace in the morning.
I don’t feel like moving at this point as there is a bit of rain coming down and the sun will set in 40 minutes.

I’ve not only crossed over into another province, but to top that I’m in a brand new country now, the United States in the far north east corner of Maine. When I last made an entry I had become frustrated from the dreary weather which insisted on drenching me and dirt roads sapping the majority of any energy that I had to spare. It’s been good since then – I awoke early in the morning and made a run for the Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia at 6am, wanting to make it to the ferry 80km with more than enough time. I already had 20km in by the time I made my first stop before 8am screaming down a hill at 65km/h and feeling great. Better is that I found day old Raisin Loaf and a bunch of Nanaimo Bars for $1.00 so used that as a treat while riding for the remainder of the day. It was sunny and after a few off and on’s from the Highway I found some side roads and eventually made it to Digby by 12:45pm. I was just to turn down the road where the ferry terminal was and spied a liquor store, opting to stop for a celebratory beer to be drunk on the boat. That stop lasted an hour, where the staff were very welcoming to me, asking lots of questions, and inviting me into their back room for some home made turkey soup. Great folks! The last 10km to the ferry was quite tough as there was a serious headwind, but I knew I had the time and perseverance to push through for the final stretch and used the leftover time to maintain the bike, fiddle around with where my mirror should go (it’s back where I originally put it now), greased the chain and other minor bits.

Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have bought the 750ml beer as it completely floored me during the ferry and I was walking around in a daze after my tolerance is quite low at this stage in the game. The ferry was neat, reminded me of the ones that were in BC in the 80′s, small and old with crappy seats and reasonably priced food in the cafeteria. I had a scallop burger and fries for under $5. Getting off the boat was a wonderful moment, as I noticed someone standing at the entrance with a camera taking a photo of me, soon to be followed by loud yells and receiving a big hug. My friend France, who I met last year in Edmundston, New Brunswick came down to Saint John to see me, as I didn’t think I was cut out for dealing with a 450km northern trek, and then the resulting 450km back down when crossing into Maine to meet a deadline in time. I’ve marveled about her before, and this experience was no different, we quickly reconnected and hung out like old pals discussing what has gone on in our lives in the past 6 months. She surprised me by getting a hotel right on the water at a posh hotel in the entertainment district and we sat drinking wine and wandering around the city into the wee hours. I decided that I wasn’t done spending time with her, and after hearing that she was to be back in Saint John on Tuesday I went back up to her house in Edmundston and spent 2 days resting and relaxing. I will flat out say this – I have not met anyone as caring, friendly, and positive as this woman – Along the way home we stopped at her Uncles, Daughters and another relatives house to hang out – That’s just how she is, great. I spent most of Monday to myself trying to cancel out the headline news of a certain terrorist being murdered and dumped in the sea and at 5pm France came back from work and we decided to go vote.

As I mentioned before, I’ve never voted in a federal election but wanted to do this as my duty to my country which I’m proud of. We don’t know how lucky we are to be able to have the opportunity to vote, as thousands of people lose their lives each year fighting their oppressive rulers in other countries. I figured this would be a piece of cake, and brought my passport down to the voting station, and was promptly turned away because I did not reside in the area. I escalated the issue and spoke to the head in charge in the area, providing my email address for details on how I was able to vote. We had dinner and after 1.5 hours of waiting with no response, headed back up to the polling station with a printout from the Elections Canada website with instructions on how persons with no home are able to vote. I should probably add that France is a member of the press as well, and this was very interesting information that the people in charge of the voting stations were denying my right to vote, not answering questions, and refusing to research any further. The Canadian Charter of Rights states that anyone who does not have a fixed address must either provide a piece of ID (this could even be a library card), proof of address – it could even be from a soup kitchen or shelter – and if not, have someone vouch for them that they are indeed the person they say they are.

Blurred Intentionally

I was denied again, and started to get pissed off reciting the act and about to make a big stink that they were not helping me out, when we decided to head down to the Head Office. Paperwork in hand, eyes glaring we stormed into the office and requested the person in charge with only 10 minutes to spare before the polls closed. He still didn’t believe us based on the paperwork that we brought and had to call Elections Canada in Montreal to verify. This was eating away at the time for my opportunity to vote. Finally they figured it out and said I would have to return to the polling stations to cast a ballot. It was 8:28pm and the polls were closing at 8:30. We arrived at 8:35pm and they unlocked the door for me to vote even though technically they weren’t supposed to allow me too.

I’m frustrated at the process, as when we were leaving after my vote cast, another staff member pulled out the rules and regulations book and confirmed what we were saying all along. Even the sign on the wall in the entryway stated this as well. The ones in charge at the Head Office, and the Manager on duty at the polling station did not want to help, did not care to help, and were uneducated about the voting process. At the end their excuse was to say that there were no homeless people in their city so they have never dealt with it before – a far cry from what they said 2 hours earlier stating that I needed to “follow the rules”, and “you can’t vote unless it is in your riding”. Names have been reported to Elections Canada head office.

France and I laughed all the way for a celebratory beer, while we watched in horror at the elections results come through, not what we had expected. I couldn’t watch it anymore and retired to the guest room for a sleep knowing that the next day was going to be tough. We were back at it at 6:30am packing and ready to leave, and France took me 2 hours down the road to Woodstock, NB so that I could have a shorter distance to the border, as the one next to Edmundston wasn’t really recommended for crossing. It’s not cheating, as I’ve already been here – I didn’t say I was out to torture myself all the time did I? I needed the rest, had to make adjustments to my saddle and wanted to wash my bike, clothes, and pack making sure I had no contraband or anything to raise eyebrows crossing into the border. Last time we left, there were tears – this time just hugs for good luck and an uncertainty when we’d see each other again – I know we will, I need people like this in my life, hell – we all do.

It was an easy 18km to the US border, as I pedaled listening to some quirky techno in the chilly morning, with moderately clear skies. I arrived at the border in time for 10am and was walking up to the office when one of the attendants yelled at me to “GET BACK IN LINE” – yup, with the cars. I knew this was going to be a weird one, they obviously don’t get cyclists through or walkthroughs this out the way. As I handed over paperwork to the attendant the 10 questions came at me fast and hard, and I had to listen and replay them in my mind before answering, knowing that sometimes they can be loaded. Another border guard found some interest in a little tube in my handlebar bag fiddling with it, before he found out it was toilet paper and snot tissue paper – He let it go. But we’re not done – Because I was so far away from home, have had issues with the border in the past, and didn’t own property anymore in Canada (?) they wanted to speak to me inside. *Gulp* – this is why I’ve had weak knees and a scattered stomach for the past day or so. I filled out the customary form, checked yes on the fact I was bringing meat and fruit into the country and was told to SIT DOWN.

I’m not entirely sure what sort of data appears when you run my passport, but it was obviously enough for them to take me into private room, strip search me based on my disclosure I was carrying knives and had hypodermic needles in my possession. and then fire all sorts of random questions at me pertaining to why I had spent the winter in St. John’s Newfoundland (umm, snow!), what I did for work (I don’t work anymore), Had I ever been arrested (Yes and Yes and Yes), For what (We’ll just leave it at I knew a bit too much about computers), What does my Dad do (Tower Crane Construction), When was the last time I did any illegal drugs (I ate a pot brownie to offset the pain of my testicle a few months back), What sort of trouble was I in when I was in Mexico (I’m afraid you have the wrong Dave, sir), and a whole other series of questions intent on frustrating me, making me slip up to show that I’m dishonest, and attempting to get me to proclaim that I was planning on working here. 1 hour went by which is better than I expected, and I was handed back my Passport, my two knives and other ID back. My bicycle looked untouched, however I spent the morning backing up all the contents of my electronic devices onto encrypted partitions, so didn’t bother even using them until I was able to recover with safe and known copies of my data. I’ve got nothing to hide, but obviously threw them in a loop for such a sleepy border crossing. The best part about the crossing is that when I was back on the road I hadn’t really lost any time, as I’m now back in Eastern Time Zone – 3 hours ahead of Pacific time where my family is so now it’s starting to be no excuse for me not to make contact with them as I’m usually up until 9pm daily.

When that was done, it was a great ride out ending the day with 114.92km in total. My saddle has been positioned a bit further away from the handlebars, and while I have a bit of knee pain I don’t feel so compressed while riding again and can climb hills without stopping at the side of the road and wanting to throw up. Mind you this could also be that I did have 2 days rest, my muscles are getting used to this again, and the fact that the hills aren’t as crazy in Maine as they were in Nova Scotia. All of the above I suppose. The scenery was more of the same similar to the wooded areas of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, but with much nicer roads, and less traffic. Many summer cabins and some real interesting houses with piles of junk offered places to stop and wonder at people can collect so much crap in their lives. I rode the 2A route which is less busier than 95 South, yet I have a feeling this won’t last long as the East Coast is very densely populated. I was unsure where I was to stop for the night phone in hand snagging free Wi-Fi signals – I’m without a cellular plan now and unsure if I am going to go through the hassle and expense of picking up a new card for it – My Cross Canada excursion with a cell phone for data purposes didn’t work out as planned, and I’m sure I can find enough free Wi-Fi out there to do what I need to do on a regular basis, and will just have to get in the habit of writing any emails/doing any work ahead of time to be sent as a batch job when I do find proper access – Besides, aren’t I supposed to be removing myself from that concept anyways?

As it stands, I have no idea as to which route I am going to be taking as of yet and what days I will arrive, but have Boston, New York City, and Philadelphia on the list to be visited in the near future. Once I get to the south coast of Maine I should have a better idea, and then can either start following the Adventure Cycling Atlantic Coast route, or the Eastern Greenbelt.

It’s strange, today is the first day that when I stopped for the day I felt quite depressed and lonely. I’ve said so many goodbyes to good people in the past 2 weeks that I’m feeling a bit vulnerable at this stage – I know next to no one in the United States, and while this feeling will pass, it was an unexpected wave of emotion to hit me at once.

Everything will be A-OK though!

• Day 30 – Making a run for the border..