Reposted from Automobiles de Luxe

By Gunnar Heinrich

So we're on the road to Canada. It's dark and the road through the vastness of upstate New York is long. The green dials from the instrument panel are reflecting off the faux-chrome surrounds and the spacious cabin has taken on its own glow.

I'm glowing too, with newfound admiration for a car I was busy hating for the first two hours of my trip. It took one sudden turn in Massachusetts to surface all these qualities that had been successfully disguised by in-your-face drawbacks.

Cruising quietly on, now, I could appreciate the benefits of American engineering at work.

You see, around town the Mustang is a burbling boulevardier, making all those sweet noises you'd expect from a big-bloc V8 (though remember this is coming from a V6 which makes the phonics all the more impressive).

But once on the highway, let off the throttle and the engine and the (single) exhaust noise simply go away. At cruise, be it 70 mph or some other higher rate, the most intrusive noise (if it could be called that) came from where the rubber met the road. The car's BF Goodriches might've had something to do with that...

What's more was the car's composure. Speed was very well disguised - in fact - there are few cars that I've driven that have managed to make you feel that you are crawling while at 70 mph. That speed feels molasses-in-January slow, which could cause trouble for an impatient driver and in fact did.

But we'll come to that later.

After counting the miles between Utica, Syracuse, Rochester...and finally Buffalo and two tanks of gas that accepted 13 gallons of regular and $12+ in Empire State tolls, I decided to settle in for the night at what I thought would be reasonably priced accommodation on the outskirts of the last American city before the Canadian border.

So, I pulled into the Holiday Inn just off rte 190. It's 1AM and sleepy clerk mans a lonely front desk of a lobby that reeked of carpet cleaner.

Could he give me a room for the night?

"Sure, it'll be $159 before taxes," the man said unblinkingly.

That's highway robbery, I joked, silently appalled at the price considering this joint on the ass end of Buffalo was essentially a motel. Could he point to a less expensive establishment?

"Let me look," said he.

A fellow, sullen eyed straggler from the hard road came crawling in. He stood by silently; listening expectantly for the answers to the questions I was asking.

"Nope. Everyone else is booked," the matter-of-fact answer came.

Hmm, said I.

"So will that be smoking or non? I'll give you a moment to consider," he said disappearing behind some doorless cavity.

Fellow straggler had already scurried out through the sliding doors. And I was hot on his heels.

I'd just as soon sleep in the car than pay $159 for a room at some glorified motel in the middle of Westwatchakatella* (*Seussian ref.). I pondered for a second and thought - wait a minute - this is Labor Day Weekend, Canadians don't celebrate the holiday like us Yanks. And half of New York is probably parked in Buffalo just to see Niagara Falls.

No, my bargain would not be found Stateside that night. It was straight to the Canadian border. So back on 190 the Mustang roared, the green neon-lit skyline of Buffalo flew by and then a sharp left onto "Peace Bridge" that straddles the river that feeds into Lake Erie.

America fell behind in my rearview mirror and I gave pause as I always do to reflect on leaving. Canada loomed before me as did a giant, ominous border control complex that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.

The maple leaf flags were flying by the force of the cool summer breeze while blinding flood lights made for an almost shadow-less illumination over the passport check lanes. I'm motioned to pull forward.

Border guards. Gotta love 'em.

Grabbed my passport. Slid it through the machine. Peered at the computer screen.

And then,

(Almost scolding tone) "What's the purpose of your journey?"

Vacation.

"You ever been here?"

No, but I've been to Québec.

-silence- he studies the 'Stang.

"This car yours?"

No, rental.

He walks 'round to the back and then to the front. Keep in mind, cameras on either side have already captured the car's license plates.

"How long are you staying?"

A few days.

-more silence-

"Bye."

My passport back in hand, the one-touch, fast sliding window came in handy for a quick and suitably flippant departure from my (un)welcome committee.

First exit, after paying another US $3 toll, was Fort Erie, Ontario. This was the ragged end of Ontario and from the weedy vacant lots to the questionable sushi restaurants to shady gambling parlors, the town looked like it needed to be run over with a power hose.

I pulled into lot of a classic roadside motel -called "Haven" >>> on Garrison Road.

Ghastly looking, it's a mostly one story U-shaped building from 1960 something that wraps a parking lot. The doors to the bedrooms lead directly out in front of the parking space where your car goes. It's all very yesterday's motoring-world-of-tomorrow - forty years on.

I tap on the window of the florescent lamped front office. A Korean man - the owner - smiles despite the hour and lets me in. Brief but pleasant conversation leads to discovering that the price for the night is CAD $65. That's less than half what Jack from across the river wanted to charge me.

Gleefully having saved more than half off what I might've paid, though mindful that the cost was probably CAD $50 for anyone other than Americans, I signed the paperwork.

One of the lines asked for the license plate number. I didn't know it off hand and my car was parked outside and I was tired.

"S'ok," he disarmingly laughed, "You probably don't have a license plate on the front of your car, right?" he was amused at the fact that in many states having no front plates is kosher where in Canada it's an offense.

I wonder how many American motorists get stopped driving through with no front plates. There's got to be figures on that.

Park the 'Stang in front of my room. Said I silent prayer that my ride would remain intact and in-place 'till dawn. Stepped inside to spartan but very clean quarters -key - and I was down for the count.

Tomorrow, I'd be fresh and ready to move on to Canada's largest city.

Part Four >>> Toronto At Last