This is a good one:
Time: 1993
Place: Canada/US border at Michigan
Culprit: formerly owned '67 bus
I was leaving a little visit to Canada to continue my road trip in my home country. I pulled up to the border crossing - with all the booths and officials. I waited in the line. Didn't take too long, but I had been driving for a while. When it was my turn to pull up to the little guard booth, my bus died. The guard was frantically waving me forward. I yelled out the window I was stalled. (At a naive 19 years old, I was afraid to get out of my vehicle, for fear of being searched or shot or some other mysterious invasion of privacy) :lol:
Anyway, turned out, they had to get one of their official vehicles to push me across the border back into the US. So I sat there, safely in my home country by a margin of 20 feet and waited. Bet ya'll know what I waited for. It finally cooled down, cranked up, and on I went. They were pretty cool about it, but they did question why I had a 3-foot realistic-looking doll with me. What was I supposed to do? - Trash her? She was a family heirloom, and after all, I was living in my van. It's not like I had an attic to store her. :lol:
This is the short version.
That day was chock full of crazy antics with a handfull of VWers going back and forth across the border, forgetting keys, running out of gas, having the wrong currency, trying to avoid attention, getting the best mix of Canadian/US citizens in the right vehicles, etc.
FUN! FUN!
Wouldn't trade that escapade for anything.
