"I thought we weren't doing this."
That's what my sister-in-law said, shortly after my brother clicked the 'purchase tickets' button for a concert in Auburn, Wash.
I was also initially annoyed he did this, but loud music is a pretty big deal for him. So, when he saw that it was rocker Maynor James Keenan's 61st birthday and there would be an on-stage, musical birthday bash for him (dubbed Sessanta 2.0), his otherwise politically astute, Canadian elbow went down.
It wasn't long before I got the invite by text: "You'll hate the music, but it will be a fun road trip." But would it? Like his wife, I really thought we weren't doing this. And I probably would hate seeing Primus, Puscifer, and A Perfect Circle.
Still, I had a lot of burning questions about the current state of our southern neighbours, and how we'd be treated, and what the border was really like these days. Journalists are built with an insatiable curiosity and many, like me, also have a low-aversion to risk. This means I do dumb stuff frequently, especially if it will make an interesting story to share. So naturally, I chose to go, to know, and to share with you.
And so here we are. After a whirlwind trip across the line, down the I-5 to the White River Amphitheatre and then driving directly north again, I'm back home in Canada.
I've been thinking about how to write about this experience while finding a perfect journalistic balance. I'm not here to encourage you to travel to the U.S., and I hope I don't lose friends over the fact I went south for something as trivial as a concert.
But I did it. And so, here is the story. The borders were truly easier than some drive-thrus. We crossed at 10:30 a.m. Saturday with maybe three other vehicles, into two open lanes. It all took about five minutes. The American border guard just chuckled and said "Primus? They're still around? Have fun."
On our return trip, the Canadian border guard just smirked at the two of us, road weary at 3:30 a.m. on Sunday. My brother decided to declare he bought a loaf of sourdough.
"Drive safe," the guard told us, shaking his head with a smile.
In between those two crossings, I saw just two B.C. licence plates.
Of note, we had a semblance of a political discussion in a store in Bellingham, when the shop-keep told us he's heard some anti-Canadian sentiment from people glad we've stopped coming. He wasn't one of them, he assured us. We chatted with him about the jaw-dropping exchange rate, and the pointlessness of shopping across the line anymore.
Traffic in and around Seattle was lighter than I've ever experienced. I aimed to spend only enough money to keep my body alive, and came pretty close. We gave our money to a digital parking meter, and my brother splurged on a burger joint we don't have in Canada. He bought Pride sprinkles for my milkshake, and we reminded each other to leave the mall, before buying anything else.
I was still anxious about the concert itself. So many people, so few gun laws. Such a turbulent time. And not being a fan of the bands on stage, I did not know what to expect from the crowd. My brother assured me that "heavy metal fans are, like, the nicest people."
He wasn't wrong. Two big burly men ahead of us in a lineup kissed lovingly, and not one person budged. A man to our right wore a t-shirt with a Nazi symbol slashed out of it on the back, and nobody was bothering him. There was not one person who looked like the other. No stereotypical fan. Just a lot of people enjoying really loud music.
"Stay in the moment here with us, be here with us," Maynor told the swaying, smiling crowd between songs. "Life is short."
He instructed us to put our phones away, and I laughed at the reality that I was more at risk from having my phone confiscated here than I had been at the border.
Now, I won't be making this kind of lollygagging trip often. Mostly, I'm just too old for 18-hour travel days. So, I looked all around the open-air venue and breathed it in. I took in the sea of people swaying to the music, and felt more connected to Americans than I may ever have been before. Or at the very least, Washingtonians.
I etched the moment on my heart, and when one of the few songs came on that I actually knew, I threw my hands up and danced with them.
"We're doing this. We're here," I thought. "Might as well enjoy it."
