Adventures as an International Outlaw.

I remember like it was yesterday. Excited. Hyper. Nervous.
Not the like where you pee your pants and struggle with speaking nervous.
Not like striking up a convo with that pretty girl who you later decide wasn't
pretty at all after you stutter over your words and walk away defeated nervous.
Not like when we our car spun out and 360'd off both walls of the on ramp in the rain.
Nah, this was pure adrenaline. Kicking my senses into high gear and making me appear twice as suave.



This was the beginning of my Canadian adventure:

The border guard was so smooth.
Kindness mixed with intimidation.
Controlled. And he knew it.
I looked in his eyes.
Not left, not right.
Dead in his eyes.
And I lied.

I lied to his face. What I'm doing, who I'm meeting, where I'm going, how I met my companions. All lies.
I probably went a bit overboard. But, extremism is in our nature, us international smugglers.
Us outlaws.

"Do you have any meat or dairy products?"
"No."

But I did. More than a pound of them.
Beef jerky galore.
Tucked in right under my dirty underwear.
That was still early on in the tour.
That was before No Shave November.
I looked innocent enough.
Would you want to search through my undies?
Me neither, and that's the trick.

And thus began my international travels as an outlaw.
My phone became inoperable. My money was useless.
Toting  illegal substances from city to city.
The government knows nothing.