Who calls their town F'ing Ham?

OK, it's probably not the first time someone has made a bad joke of that. We're actually in Effingham, and so far as I can tell, they have nothing against pigs.

The big enchilada today was crossing the U.S. border, and it was sweet. It's impossible to say so as a rule of course, but the U.S. border dudes at Sarnia's Bluewater Bridge are both professional and polite. Detail oriented, yes. Rude and threatening? Not today.

Confused was more like it. I pulled up and turned off the truck. Right away he asked, almost mischievously, "What's in the trailer?" We talked about that and Mexico for a while before he even asked for passports.

It threw me off when he asked, "Why Mexico?" The way he said it was like, why Mexico as opposed to some other country? I was disarmed. I could have said, well why not, no winter, no snow, cheaper to live, have friends there, but no. All I could think of was "I fell in love with the country when I lived there before." That's when he said, I just have to check a few things, and slid closed the door.

We weren't terribly worried, because I knew he was checking us out and seeing all the notes about what happened to us in April. When he finally slid open the door he had a supervisor standing behind him. The seated officer asked, "So when did you live in Mexico?" I thought this was funny because I didn't think they would actually be worried about that. I said when I was 19 or 20. He asked, "What were you doing there?" Going to school in Cuernavaca. I wanted to share with him the courses I took but thought better of it. "And where did you grow up?" In Toronto said I.

This seemed to satisfy him. Seemingly still puzzled though, he asked again, "Why Mexico." I finally said, "We have friends there" His supervisor asked the perfunctory guns and fresh produce questions, and then they both smiled and said, "Have a save trip."

It was effing awesome.   

Go-Day

Today we hit the dusty trail.

The days of re-weighing and balancing have finally paid off in a combined gross weight that meets spec, and my new weight distribution hitch almost makes it feel like there's nothing behind me. Almost. But we're dead rock-solid cruising at 102 km, and passing at 110.

Kind of funny that our last meal in Fergus was sitting in the truck at the Zehrs parking lot. You just can't start a road trip without the proper beverages chilling in your cooler, and by this time it was 4 pm and well past lunch, so Home Meal Replacement it was.

Tonight we are in Sarnia, and our Just Married sign on the back of the trailer has already got us a few smiles and breaks on lane changes. The small print below reads: Elora to Ajijic.

Tomorrow: The Border. We'll see if their sense of humour has improved.

Trailer Trash

The nicest benefit of having your departure continually and involuntarily delayed is that you get to see and say goodbye to family over and over and over. I don't think they're getting completely annoyed about this yet. But they do seem a little surprised that we keep showing up at their door.

Self-trailering your furniture and personal belongings to anywhere is not for the feint of heart, and I cannot recommend it to anyone. It only matters a little that the distance is enormous. Even if the distances were smaller, the calculations are the same.

I was so happy last Saturday when I found the drive-on scale in Mississauga, and confirmed that both truck and trailer were well under their maximum spec. Good to go! Unfortunately, I had not fully considered the gross maximum combined weight of truck, trailer, all passengers, all payload, and a full tank of gas.

I did know all along what that number is. I had just never fully considered it.

So, trailer trash, as it turns out, is all the stuff you thought you could never live without but now will do so anyway. On the whole, the stuff is not all that important, with a couple of exceptions, which we invariably discovered were packed into the same boxes as all the less important stuff. The saving grace is we have a manifest, so we know where stuff is in two languages.

When you have to pack under pressure, this is the point at which you start unpacking those selected boxes on the front lawn of your Mother's house, as passersby ask whether Mother is moving. I just say no, it's us. Trailer trash.

But we are done with that now. (Probably.) I have graduated to looking at alternate routes, with stops at motels that have big really parking lots. Wednesday is Go-Day. Maybe.

Weighing in

That's what they do before a competitive fight. Check weight. This is ostensibly to ensure the fighters are evenly matched. I am feeling a little over-matched by my trailer.

On weigh-in day, Hildegard tipped the Toledos at 4140 kg. In my weight class, that's a mite more than I'm regularly accustomed to. So today I purchased something called a weight distribution hitch, which 24 hours heretofore had been totally unbeknownst to me. It pays to ask questions.

A good result will be even better. And I will know the result for sure on Monday morning, when my newly installed and stabilized hitch hits the pavement for the 4200 km ride to pay dirt. I think any reasonable person would have run like hell some time ago. I have to admit I never felt a strong need to be accused of that. (Yes, this makes me an idiot.)

Tomorrow, I hope to weigh the truck. It has a new cap, which gives me some added headroom. Mother almost didn't recognize me when I pulled in her driveway. Then I rolled down the window.

"Oh. You again?"

I'm totally kidding. She really does love me.

Pressure Drop

Today is the first day of relative normalcy in almost two months. It is Sunday. We are in Toronto and heading out for brunch with the Mums. The apartment never felt so good.

What I hope was The Final Deadline came yesterday. I had thought The Final Deadline would be June 29, the day the house closed. But it was July 4, when a small seasoned group of very smart friends helped to reason through and reload the trailer, which Guelph Super Movers had completely screwed up the week before.

A truck and trailer combo like mine has a maximum tongue weight of about 1000 lbs. When I checked our portable scale and it read 2100, I cried "Halt". The movers truly had no idea how to balance a trailer, and when I told them they had to start over they were a little peeved because they wanted to go tubing. Consequently, a number of things were broken, and will not be making the trip to Mexico.

So, last week, we unloaded, weighed every box and sorted them into three piles, then estimated the weight of the remaining furniture. After weighing in at Belwood at 4040 kg, we are right where we want to be -- about 1000 lbs underweight, and smooth sailing at 100 kph.

There is still some mopping up to do at our temporary Riverwood B&B headquarters, but it looks like we will be on our way in about a week. Fingers crossed. At least we are done with deadlines.

So long, and thanks for all the fish...

Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has long been a favourite book of mine, the fourth of the trilogy. And right now I am feeling a little like Arthur Dent. And I appear to have lost my towel. Knowing that the meaning of Life the Universe and Everything is 42, is not very helpful right now. However, God's final words to His creation... "Sorry for the inconvenience"... do ring appropriate.

Melanie and I are the long distance runners. It's the last mile of our Marathon, and the struggle now is not to win, but to finish. The online auction has started, and of all the things I am annoyed about, one of the biggest is not having had time to write about it. It's a journey to relish, and to share. I just really wish we could get on the road already.

Three days until load-the-trailer day. Two days until China Syndrome. So happy we have fond donkey memories!

20 Days

"Cleaning is the least of our problems." This is what I said to Melanie when she just exclaimed, "look at all this dust."

There is no time like the immediate past, because this is where all my recent memories are stored -- the ones I haven't have time to write about and never want to forget. People came to our home to buy stuff this weekend. Friends and family came from the city to help us prepare. Ron and I picked up the trailer on Monday. She is sweet -- I have to give her a name.

Melanie and I are discussing this naming of the trailer. I want to call it Pricsilla. It needs a girl's name. She wants to call it Butch. As in Butchart, which is the name of my future dog, but I digress. Melanie thinks the trailer is a boy-toy. OK, yes, but...

It has to be a girl's name. You can't call a trailer Butch. I'm thinking, Lola (after my ex-Mother-in-Law, and I mean that in a good way). So I am open to suggestions.

Twenty days. That's all we have left until the whatever-happens-next thing. The trailer looks really big on the outside but somewhat little on the inside. After this weekend's Estate Sale (George Loney keeps asking me, Who died?), we have decided on the online auction option, so stand by your device and share with all your friends.

So much to declare, so little time. As I was photographing the trailer between edits tonight, her name came into my mind. I will call her Hildegard, in honour of an old friend. She will bring us blessings on our journey South, I am sure of it.