Today was the big test: my first venture forth onto American highways.
I left Montreal bright and early (and with a lighter car, having mailed myself a few boxes from Montreal.)(And unfortunately left one for Vinny and Tasha to mail on for me; sorry!) and headed off following my trusty instructions from Google.
I didn't, by the way, have any maps of any place I intended to go. I tried; I looked at bookstores in Sudbury, but nothing seemed terribly useful. So I asked the Google Map Gods and hoped for the best.
The suggested border crossing was in southeastern Quebec, heading in to New Hampshire. There were two border guards, plenty to deal with the guy in front of me, me, and the guy behind me. If you ever want to avoid a wait at the border, I can highly recommend this location. If, you know, I could ever find it again.
The guards asked me a few questions, asked to see inside my trunk, and started laughing their asses off at me when I popped the trunk, and half of its contents exploded onto them. They let me go on my merry way, and I began wending my way through New Hampshire and northern Maine, to Portland, where I was set to meet an imaginary friend for lunch.
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