I was very excited last Saturday when I awoke. I got my bike ready and headed towards Hwy 99 Southbound and after 45 minutes I was there, waiting . . .
(Peace Arch Border Crossing, Canadian Side)
I didn't want to be late so I arrived early, sat down, played with my camera, walked into the tourist information booth, headed back to my bench and waited. I kept looking at my watch and eyeing all the vehicles passing by. Waiting for the unmistakable sound of a large V-twin engine. I didn't have a good view of the border lanes as the road curves a little to the left, where the cars were sort of out of sight. I wasn't sure what I was waiting for so I had no choice but to wear my colourful Pink Crocs to make myself more recognizeable. This was "D" day, the moment had arrived and any minute my dream would come true.
I fidgetted a bit longer, got a bit impatient so I moved further away from the curb and sat on the cement lane divider to obtain a better view of the vehicles exiting customs clearance
I realize that this is not the safest place to have a seat for this is where the cars accelerate to freeway speeds. I wonder to myself why this is taking so long. We had been in contact for hours anticipating my brother's ETA.
I later find out that HE has stuttered some misleading words to the CBSA: Canadian Border Security Officer and was subjected to further questioning. You can read about it HERE <----
After a few more minutes I hear the rumble of a V-twin engine and this is my first view of my Brother, whom I have never met
It's not the Leading Ladies but I recognize the helmet
It was like meeting an old friend. We talked a bit and decided to go for a compressed ride around the area and end up someplace for lunch. I never would have believed that he made special arrangements, rent a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and ride up to Canada just to meet me.
Gary France has arrived in Canada. I'm still rubbing my eyes in disbelief. We had a great time and I hope he did too. I am grateful for the chance to meet a legend.
to be continued . . .