trans-can

Here are a few shots out the bus on my trip through Western Canada last July. Better late than never—I always am. I greased up my favorite pants dismantling my bike and boxing it tight and sliced open my knee on my clipboard. Bloody greasy groggy I’s a Greyhound success, stopped at the border by my country and interrogated, threatened, berated and bag searched. Welcome to America! You must be a criminal. I’ve told the full story a few times but had to stop, traumatized and furious even months later.

Ugh and guh are anagrams, at least that makes me smile.

I hoped for interesting reflections on this long trip. I got them.

The boy behind me looked like my youngest brother.

I was charmed by Cut Knife, Sask. No surprises here.

Why have cops when you can have C.O.P.S.?

 

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