There’s been a lot of talk the past year or so about our borders and building magical Christmas-land walls along them that will protect America from all harm and shower marshmallow rainbows on all of its citizens. Pretty much all of the border hullabaloo has been focused on our neighbor to the south, Mexico, but America’s largest border lies to the North, with a country you may or may not have heard of named Cananada … wait, sorry, Canada.
If you’ve never been to Canada, it’s awesome. Even though you may only know it as the butt of a lot of South Park jokes, it’s a beautiful place full of beautiful people. And beer. Glorious beer. Even the Coors Light in Canada will knock you on your ass. It’s true.
The Canada/U.S. border is more than 5,500 miles in length, 2,300 miles longer than our border with Mexico. And our border with Mexico already has 600 miles of fence constructed along it that went up during the Bush administration (at the cost of $2.8 million per mile, not paid for by Mexico). But these numbers I hastily culled from Wikipedia aren’t what’s important here. What’s important is that there’s a border showdown brewing between the United States and one of its neighbors, and it’s got to do with drugs and it’s not with Mexico.
Currently, Canadian citizens who have admitted to marijuana use are barred from traveling to the United States, and Canadian Public Safety Minister (probably the most Canadian-sounding government position ever) Ralph Goodale ain’t having it, according to an article on Theguardian.com.
“This does seem to be a ludicrous situation,” Goodale said, as 427 miles of Canada’s border rests with the state of Washington, where smoking pot for fun is a-OK. It’s also cool in Alaska to light up a blunt for the heck of it, and Alaska and Canada are all up in each other’s business for a whopping 1,538 miles, but I guess it’s like, why would a Canadian ever want to travel to Alaska because they’re practically the same thing, minus the universal health care. This coming election, five more states, including California, have recreational marijuana legislation on their ballots as well, with the Golden State suggesting marijuana use be legal for adults 21-and-over and carry a 15 percent sales tax, according to an article on International Business Times’ website.
As such, though, as is the case with our weird political system, smoking pot is still a no-no federally speaking, even though it’s OK in a growing number of states … or something. However, up in the great state … er, country … of Canada, marijuana is on the fast track to be legalized nationwide. The government plans to introduce legislation for recreational use by spring 2017. What could this mean for possible U.S.-Canada relations? Will the U.S. government bow down and allow Canadian stoners entry to our country to lounge on our beaches and camp in our national parks in a pot-fueled haze?
The only times I ever went to Canada was before I was 21, because the legal drinking age in Ontario was 19. When we were hanging out in the bars there getting wrecked off of Labatt Blue, no one gave us shit. Sure, it was a different time. This was almost 20 years ago now. You didn’t even need a passport to cross the border, just a valid driver’s license. Canadian officials didn’t threaten to kick us out for stumbling around their country and basically validating every stereotype foreign countries have of American tourists being loud, ignorant jack asses. They probably should have, but they didn’t.
Maybe that was because other countries are kind of afraid of America because we have all these missiles and bombs and soldiers and stuff. And satellites that watch everyone and everything all the time. Maybe they have to play it safe because if some self-righteous Canadian cop tried to give us a summons for jaywalking, it would create an international relations nightmare that might result in the ceding of Newfoundland or something. I’m not too hip to how diplomacy works, but it could have happened. Probably would have sucked for dudes in Newfoundland. Glad it didn’t turn out that way.
If it were up to me, I’d extend these Canadian dudes the same courtesy they extended me. Come here and blaze, guys. Just try not to eat all our hot wings.
Every Sacramento winter I’ve experienced has been tolerable. We don’t get snow, it rarely drops below 35 degrees and sometimes I feel like taking a walk in shorts and a T-shirt on an especially non-wintery day. This winter feels different. Pulling out of my driveway this morning, the thermometer read 23 degrees, and I couldn’t see my neighbors house because of all the fog. I love winter, but I hate being cold. I’m all about being cozy in a blizzard and looking like a marshmallow to stay warm. Here’s how I stay comfortable when the weather is not.
The sun begins to set and all of a sudden chilled winds at unfathomable speeds rush past my face as my nose begins to freeze. I’m setting up my tent in the Eastern Sierras, and it’s cold. I grab a borrowed puffy, my 5-year-old beanie and gloves without finger tips and start to realize why I live in Sacramento; usually, we can go through winter with jeans and a sweatshirt—no big deal. This is not a one time occurrence for me. I’ve experienced this same trip over a dozen times but have finally learned how to overcome freezing temperatures. Follow these guidelines for surviving in sub-Sacramento weather, and you’ll be a happy camper from here on out.
Hand warmers. If you didn’t already know that, good luck to you on all your outdoor adventures. Stick ‘em in the bottom of your sleeping bag when or before you go to sleep and you’ll be in heaven for the rest of the night … Or for the next eight hours at least. I always end up getting Grabber Warmers from REI, but I recently found out you can really get these anywhere—even at The Dollar Store.
Too cheap for hand warmers? Boil hot water in whatever nifty stove you have, be it a Jetboil, a 19-year-old MSR WhisperLite or a camper van stove because you like to go glamping. Put the hot water into your water bottle and throw that in the bottom of your sleeping bag. Works like a charm.
Bring something to cover your face. Balaclava, buff, scarf, towel, I don’t care, but cover your face. Last New Year’s Eve I was rock climbing in Red Rock, near Las Vegas and it was cold. I wanted to cry because it was so cold, but I didn’t want my tears freezing onto my face. I was offered a buff (pretty much just a hat for your face) and it changed my life. All that warm breath I was expelling now stayed right next to my face. I even had to take it off a few times because it got too warm. Buff … go get one.
When in doubt, sake. Grab a bottle of sake from the store and light up that stove you used earlier. Hot sake on a snowy night will make you the happiest and most popular camper around.
Camp somewhere you can have a fire. Unless you’re a hardcore alpinist, it’s not worth it to sit in a circle with your friends around a bunch of rocks and no fire. Figure out where you’re allowed to build a fire pit and go there.
Get your snuggle on. If you have a significant other, cuddle buddy, friend or even a pet who you’re camping with, zip the two sleeping bags together and get some body heat going—this will change your world.
Tire chains. On my most recent adventure, my adventure partner, Katherine and I were driving back to Sacramento from Bishop, California. It was snowy, and I drive a Prius. Everyone in front of us seemed to be taking the Mammoth Lakes exit but as a first-time snow driver and having belief in my abilities to drive well, we continued on the desolate highway. After getting about 10 feet past the exit, we quickly began to lose control and came to a stop in the middle of the road. By this point I was losing all composure, but we took the snow-plowed exit: Mammoth Lakes. We got to town, bought chains and spent about an hour figuring out how to put them on with our numb fingers. If there was one thing I learned from that trip it’s that you should always carry tire chains, or be prepared to be stranded somewhere (in the cold) for a couple days. They’re worth the investment. Just do it.
Soup. Canned soup. Crack it open, place it in the coals in your fire, sip your hot sake for five minutes and then drink your soup right out of the can. It’s warm, cozy and simple.
Coffee. This should be obvious.
There you have it. I’m frugal. I don’t like to spend $800 on a sleeping bag or the newest, sleekest puffy. I can enjoy the outdoors with some $5 booze, a best friend to snuggle with and a can of soup. Use these tips or don’t, but be prepared when leaving the Sacramento area, for you never know what kind of treacherous weather you might encounter.
Originally published in issue 204: Jan 4 – 18, 2016
I used to be like you. “Canada” was a word that brought forth images of draft dodgers, hockey and Howie Mandel. It shared brain space with such phrases as “take off, hoser,” and “beauty, eh.” To me, Canada was little more than America’s hat; and not a cool hat, but a red flannel hat with earflaps and a chinstrap. Sure they had universal health care and the Trailer Park Boys, but what about the rest? After visiting, I have realized that if America is the land of opportunity, then Canada must be the land of guarantees.
For starters, that bitch is clean! When I say clean, I don’t mean the streets are free from trash; the shit is spotless. I can’t prove it, but I think Canadian citizens may have to do a mandatory tour of duty as garbage men. Part of the cleanliness may be due to all the trees. They seem to force all the crap air from the States back across the border, which explains the smell of Idaho (that ain’t potatoes, people). The Canadians must have also figured out that dumping all their shit, urine, vomit, condoms and tampons into the water supply is a bad idea because the ocean there is cool, clear and crisp. Even the homeless wear tuxedos and are given free toothbrushes. OK, so I made that last part up, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened.
Not only is the terrain beautiful, but the women are as well. I gawked so hard in Vancouver that my eyes almost fell out of my head. Everywhere I looked, there was another honey to holla at. I was like a kid in a candy store, which was good since many of the women I met were in the 18-20 range. Yeah I’m 28, but the age of consent in Canada is only 14; so really, I was going after the MILFs. As if the odds weren’t already good, the legal drinking age is 18. That’s right high schoolers”¦ you have a new spring break destination and it’s Montezuma’s Revenge free! Unfortunately, for the ladies, the Great White North has less to offer. The attractive men I saw were all gay, but don’t fret”¦ Mexico is still plush with Latin lovers.
If clean cities and drunken beezies aren’t your thing, perhaps Canada has something else to offer. What’s that you say”¦ plain old weed just isn’t doing it for you anymore? Go to Vancouver where your sack might come with complimentary crack rocks! You won’t even have to suck dick or give up your cheeseburger to relive your favorite scene from Menace II Society. Don’t want to be a base head? Maybe coin collecting is your thing. You are in luck my friend because the lowest denomination of paper money in Canada is a five; so expect pockets full of change! “But Bocephus, I drank away all my spare cash.” Rejoice, alcoholics! Even the crappy beer in Canada tastes pretty damn good. Granted, it will cost you an arm and a leg, but universal health care means free artificial limbs for all!
Looking for adventure? How about taking an 8 a.m. boat ride with a skipper that stopped drinking four hours ago? That’s right, your very own Captain Canuck can take you cod poaching around the Pacific Ocean and if you are lucky, he will get shit-housed off your beer and tequila. As a bonus, he might repeatedly yell, “Too many mutha ‘uckas ‘uckin with my shit!” over the boat’s loudspeaker. When it’s time to go home, just dangle a baseball bat-sized joint in front of his eyes. You might get annoyed, but you will get to watch him fall face first on the dock when you land. Canada just keeps paying off!
Neighbors to the north, America laughs at you and makes you the subject of ridicule. We guzzle your maple syrup and eat all your Canadian bacon. We look at you like your only purpose was to keep our heads warm, but we have it all wrong. Canada, you were never our hat, we were your toilet. Consider this my courtesy flush.
