Bellingham, Washington is about 30 minutes away from Canada. And for as long as I’ve been visiting Craig and his family there, we almost always forget to bring our passports. “Let’s bring our passports this year,” Craig almost always says, “so we can go to Vancouver!” Then we get to Bellingham and hit ourselves in the heads: “D’oh, forgot them again.” This year, though, we finally remembered to bring our passports along and on the Tuesday after Christmas we hopped into his parents’ car and made the drive north.
Beware: when driving back from Cape Cod to New York, be wary of any Canadians or Yalies in your car. In our case, we had Dara (a Canadian) and Amir (a Yalie) both of whom were responsible for thousands of calories consumed against my innocent, food-shirking will. Why must food obsessives force me, a health-nut, to eat doughnuts and pizza when all I want are bags of trail mix and no-fat fruit smoothies? Are you buying any of this? No?
Ok, you’re right, the Canadian and the Yalie were certainly enablers, but I was the catalyst for all the fat we consumed on the drive back. The Canadian started it. Dara spied a sign for Tim Horton’s, which you see in the picture above. I’d recalled a Canadian reader e-mailing me once about Tim Horton’s, saying it’s the Canadian version of Dunkin’ Donuts only much, much better. Dara agreed. “We should go there,” either she said or I said; or maybe we both said it. We’d pulled off the highway anyway because we needed gas and there was Tim Horton’s, where, after the gas, we stopped for a bathroom and a doughnut.