Driving Seattle to the Canadian border

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I’ve gone and lost my photos of the drive between Seattle and Vancouver, B.C. Gone are the images of Chuckanut Drive, a coast-hugging road that occasionally opens up to panoramas of Bellingham Bay. The day and everything in it – the sky, the water, the sand and the road – were nearly the same shade of gray. The water receded back some couple hundred feet; low tide, I supposed.

I lost the photos of Bellingham, a low key college town that Western Washingtonians love for its farmer-hipster vibe. I’d intended to post photos of my visit to Boulevard Park and make snarky comments about the swarm of moms pushing strollers and wearing in dull-colored North Face jackets. Still I suppose you can imagine that.

Most awful is that I have no images of the North Cascades. There’s a national park up there, and anyone knows that any area cool enough to get a national park must be worth photographing. Google “North Cascades” and ye shall see. These mountains are rugged – a foreshadowing of what lies even further north in British Columbia.

The earliest photos I now have from this trip were taken once already across the border – a complete beast to cross, not for the wait time but for the border patrol who decided that I was a criminal. I admit driving a custom Mercedes-Benz convertible into Canada and being unemployed doesn’t look swell, but does that mean I must look middle class to travel through more than my own country? I thought you’re only supposed to feign poverty when you go to Mexico, and so you can imagine that I have never gone to Mexico, and you would be correct.

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