Any of you Lord Of The Rings fans will remember Gandalf’s last stand on the bridge of Khazad-dum where he slams his staff into the ground shouting “You shall not pass!” at the Balrog during their epic battle.

Last week I encountered my own version of this scene returning to the States from a meeting in Vancouver, B.C. Only I wasn’t playing the part of the wizard –I was cast as the Balrog and the US border wasn’t about to let me through…or at least that’s how it felt. I may be being a tad overdramatic, but I’ll leave it for you to judge.

At 3pm the sun was shining and traffic was light. I was anticipating a quick crossing back to Washington and (after a bit more time at the office) dinner with the fam back at my folks place - they’ve been in town for a two-month visit and are renting a house. Making great time, I was nibbling on snacks and the ipod was shuffling my favorite tunes - all in all, a good trip. Then I saw the estimated border waits – 60 minutes at BOTH crossings. Were they kidding? We’re talking about the middle of a Wednesday afternoon people!!

Ok – so 60 minutes for a chore that usually takes 15 minutes SUCKS but I have music, air conditioning, food, and figure I can do some writing as the line crawls along. I eek forward in what could practically be described as a standstill while the ice cream vendors make their way up and down the line avoiding heatstroke by wearing little, striped umbrella hats (seriously - umbrella hats). An hour later and I’m still a good 50 minutes away from the crossing. The snacks are gone and I’m getting cranky from being stuck in a small space with sun beating down on me. At least it’s a solo trip without the added bonus of kids to entertain. Are we there yet??

Then the unthinkable happens…my foot slips on the clutch stalling the car. I turn the key… NOTHING HAPPENS! My car has just died in the middle of the line! This is a nightmare. Perhaps not quite as bad as showing up for work naked but certainly a close second. The line continues to crawl as I pray for a miracle. People start to honk and glare. I roll the window down and ask the girl next to me in line for a jump. I’m reasonably sure the battery has died. Looking uncomfortable, she says “no” and crawls a bit further ahead. I cast around for help thinking, “what would MacGyver do?” Not having chewing gum and a paperclip handy, I roll down the other window and flag down the crossing guard for the Duty Free Store.

Him, “what’s the problem?”

Me, “my battery just died”

Him, “ok, just pull over against the orange barricade”

Me, “you don’t understand, the battery died, I can’t pull anywhere”

Him, “ok, just pull over against the orange barricade”

This went on until it computed that the car wasn’t moving on its own and he called the other guard over to help push me out of the line against said orange barricade.

Finally, having a moment to think, I weighed my options; I could (as the guard happily suggested) call a tow truck to tow me across the border, I could get a jump and pray the battery held the charge as I waited in the never moving line, I could call a cab – find a parts store – and assuming they have the battery I need - buy one to swap out and drive home. None of those options was particularly appealing so I braved the roaming charges on my cell and called for reinforcements.

Since most of them were still at work and my sweetie would inevitably have kid duty, I called the first knight in shining armor I ever knew – my Dad. He was thankfully at home and like any great rescuer, had the right tool for the job – a battery that would fit my car. Since the border wait coming into Canada was a solid 90 minutes by this time, we decided that he would wait until the work rush was over and start up around 7pm.

I passed the time by roaming the Duty Free Store, avoiding oversized perfumes, buying an enormous bottle of gin for a huge discount, and finally attempting to meditate on the benches in the parking lot. This did not go well as everyone coming or going at this store is a chain smoker and meditating while being accosted by second hand smoke isn’t something I’m great at.

We would have been better off having Dad leave right away. It took him a half hour to get to the border and by that time, the wait into Canada was 2 hours! (No I don’t know why, my guess is that the construction at the Truck Crossing was to blame) He finally rolled up around 9:30 (My Hero!) and after a quick battery swap, my car was back on the road.

20 minutes later and I was back in the US. I finally made it home around 10:30, poured a gin and tonic, and collapsed on my own couch. Everyone was already asleep and needles to say, dinner with the folks was postponed to another day. The border didn’t win this time, but who knows what will happen when I have to make another trip up there next week!

Photo copyright New Line Cinema