A border crossing

"The forecast is for only 2 to 3 inches of snow," my host in Detroit told me, "so this is probably the worst it's going to get."

This was in response to my question on whether it was worth visiting Windsor, Ontario. There's something about borders and bridges ... I always get this urge to cross them.

So, off I went. The traffic was at a crawl, what with the falling snow. Still, I did make it to Windsor, through the Detroit-Windsor tunnel.

"How long do you plan to be in Canada?," barked the Canadian border agent.

"A couple of hours," I replied and was waved through.

The snow got worse and worse. From Riverside Dr. in Windsor, the view of downtown Detroit was of buildings like ghosts behind a haze of snow. An interesting view, but definitely not the one you see in all the postcards. I made it to the main shopping district, and walked around. There was an art-gallery gathering with some talk going on, but Windsor was pretty much shut down with all the snow.

When I crossed back into the US, the agent at the border crossing was amused. He was in his 20s and obviously bored. Mine was the only car at the crossing and there were no cars behind me.

"Where do you live," he asked.

"Oklahoma," I told him.

"And what are you doing in Detroit?"

I told him.

"And what took you to Windsor?"

"Just wanted to see the sights."

He seemed lost for words. "Just so you could go to Canada? Have you been to Canada before?"

"Sure, to Toronto and Vancouver."

"You mean you picked this day of all days ... in this weather ... to go to Canada ... to Windsor of all places ... Well, did you see anything?" He was cracking up at this point.

"Not much of a view what with all the snow," I admitted.

He shook his head with mock sadness and waved me through.