To The Chic-Chocs, We Don't Stop (March 2016)

"What have I done?"  Cowering the backseat of Justin’s truck, I lay my head against the cool window as Justin, Silas, Kirk and I rumbled through the Quebec countryside in the wee hours of the morning.  I was ten hours deep into my thirteen hour journey from Boston to the Chic-Choc mountains on the Gaspé peninsula in Eastern Quebec and seriously questioning whether I should have made the trip. 

Mt. Tremblant: Our Fun Loving Aunt of the Nord

Officer:  “Do you have any alcohol, tobacco or firearms?” 

Justin: “No Sir.”

Officer: “Okay.  Have a good stay.”

I know for a fact that Justin had to pause and consider this question given his propensity to have one- if not all three- in his possession at any given moment.  But he was telling truth.  He knew the rules.  You don’t fuck with immigration.  Even friendly Canadian immigration.