We were lost.

Not just a little lost, but way lost. My fellow intrepid band of travelers– Carrie Rapp, Lauren David, and Debbie Kuhn–were doing fine on our trek from Indianapolis to Toronto, but we had to stop in Detroit to pick up Chesya Burke. Unfortunately, we were once again reminded about why I really ought to invest in a GPS rather than depend on Mapquest so much.

“Carrie, why are we getting off at 8 Mile?” I asked, with only a mild tremor of panic in my voice, no matter what anyone else may tell you.

“You said ‘Let’s stop and ask for directions at the next exit.’”

“I’m sorry. Let me clarify: ‘Let’s stop and ask for directions at any other spot than 8 Mile.’ Did no one else see the movie?”

Here’s a tip you might not otherwise get, but it’s exactly the type of practical information you’ve come to expect from me: polluted Detroit air still smells better than crackhead breath. Seriously, how bad off were we when we’re taking directions from a crackhead with jazz hands? Don’t get me wrong, the man knew his city, had us back on the right track better than Mapquest or the AAA trip tik we had. Unfortunately, we then learned of our next problem.

“Chesya, do you have your passport?” I asked, ever so innocently as we neared the Canadian border.

“I don’t need a passport.”

“Do you have a birth certificate?”

“I’m here ain’t I? What’s a piece of paper gonna tell you that your eyes can’t already see.”

“How are you planning on getting into Canada?”
“I’m going to kill them with kindness. Then I’m gonna flash them my brilliant …”

“Oh, Lord. My eyes.” I screamed, fearing that she was going to bend over.

“… smile. Jackass.”

“Make no mistake, I will leave your behind at the border and go on without you.”

I knew how this was going to go. The border patrol was going to ask for our ID. She was going to go into her “do you know who I am?” routine and I was just going to assume the position and be toted off to detention, because somehow this was going to be my fault.

“Where are you from?” Indiana.

“What for?” Writer’s convention.

“Any alcohol?” No.

“Welcome to Canada.”

We didn’t even have to pull out any ID. Yes, I did lose a $50 bet about whether or not she’d get in.

On to WHC.