On a Dark Forest Road One Night

I was followed. By a bear, I think. I had been riding my bicycle on a dark road in Canada in 1973, and I was exhausted after riding all day. I was walking my bike, looking for a place to bed down. Highways were very dark and very empty in Canada then. After some time, I had the feeling I was being followed. I heard a noise that persisted. I stopped, it stopped. I tried that a few times and realized it didn’t always stop when I did. I was so tired I didn’t know what to do. I came to a bridge over a stream, and before I started to cross, there was a tremendous splash in the stream below and to my immediate left. Whatever it had been, it sure was big. I couldn’t think of anything else that could make a splash like that. Bears were known to be in the area according to a park ranger I spoke with. I suddenly had the energy to get on my bicycle and ride hell-bent away from there. When I found the entrance to a national park, the solitary Ranger there said it was closed for the night, so I couldn’t go in, but he let me sleep on a picnic table outside. Before I got there, I had looked for anything I could use as a weapon, but all I had was a small X-Acto hobby knife, which I had hung on a string around my neck. The ranger laughed at that.

I didn’t tell him that I had been turned away from one border crossing because I had a knife with me then – it was a rifle bayonet I’d picked up from a surplus store before I started my trip, for protection while camping in wilderness areas. Since the knife was over six inches long, it was considered a deadly weapon, which is illegal to carry across the border. I guess it’s a good thing my penis wasn’t over six inches long. They also found a small film canister full of marijuana seeds that I imagined I’d plant along the way somewhere as if I was Johnny Appleseed. I’d be Johnny Potseed. I had forgotten all about it. My roommates had been collecting them. The penalty for smuggling the knife and what they called a “narcotic” would have been seven years. However, after a full search, including a cavity search, they informed me that I could go. They kept the knife and the seeds and denied me entry to Canada, which is why I currently had no protection against an animal attack.

Before I had left, a very kind older guard told me to ride to the next border crossing site further west. He said he would hold up the paperwork for a few days, so they wouldn’t be on the lookout for me. I thanked him and crossed back into the USA. However, by then it was late in the day, and I did not want to start riding so late. I was thinking about my options, riding my bike around in a little circle in a parking lot near the Michigan-Canadian border. I had a lot of energy still, but no map of the area ahead. I would have to follow the road, hoping to see the next border crossing. I was pissed that my knife had been confiscated since they didn’t allow me to enter anyway. But, I hadn’t been arrested, so that was a good thing. And the kindness of the old guard softened my anger.

A young dude approached me and asked me how I was doing. Did I need help? he asked. I said I was fine and told him about my trip and how I needed to ride to the next crossing.

He invited me to his house for dinner. I don’t recall what we ate. His girlfriend had made the dinner and was happy to share. We talked. I enjoyed having a nice homemade dinner, and people to hang out with. They had the TV on the whole time. The Watergate hearings to determine if President Nixon should be impeached were on. My new friends were fascinated by the hearings. Apparently, it was a big deal all over the US. I hadn’t been paying any attention to it since I was on the road. We talked about that. I was surprised to find out that they wondered if he was guilty. I assumed he was since his conduct of the Vietnam war had been reckless. My opposition to that war left me hating anyone connected with running it. They were quite surprised to find that I didn’t like Nixon and that I hoped he’d go to jail.

It was odd, but I could swear the girlfriend was flirting with me – her smile was big and sincere every time she looked at me. I wasn’t sure if the man noticed, but he turned to me at one point and said he thought I was much older. That was why he’d invited me, and I got the impression he regretted doing so. I realized I had been tired and stressed, and the food and company had revived me. I was 22 years old. But they let me take a shower and sleep on their couch. I left early before they woke up – I was always up at first light.

They had given me directions to that next border crossing, which was about 100 miles away. I did find it, and the border guards there were only concerned with how much money I had. I lost $50 changing clothes in a gas station along the way – I had no wallet. I only had a bit less than $50 left, and I needed to show proof I could support myself. They didn’t want any more draft-dodging refugees on welfare. I wasn’t a draft dodger. I was 1-A, but the draft picks by lottery had insured I wouldn’t be called up. The border guys did ask for ID – I had no driver’s license – I didn’t drive. I had no draft card – I’d burned it and sent the ashes to my draft board, and I told the Canadian border agents that. However, I did find a way to enter Canada. I had to take a train directly to Toronto, where I knew someone who had vouched for me. And after visiting him for a couple of days, I rode off for my Canadian adventure, camping, battling mosquitos by the lakes, being followed by something big and noisy, and then chased by something small: blood-sucking black flies. I also found new friends, on the road, in Sudbury, and in Sioux Ste. Marie, but that’s another story.