Lessons learned

You can learn a lot when you take a few days to do something as simple as drive halfway across the country. For example, you can learn there is a whole lot of space between the Twin Cities and the West Coast, and not a lot of stuff to put on it.
Much of that empty space is contained in North Dakota and Montana, two states that exist primarily as a place for the United States to keep prairieland it has no use for now but feels it might need later. Crossing Montana alone takes long enough that a good typist has time to conceive, write and edit a novel, three short stories and a typical Michael Bay movie.
I learned that while the average Montana city has fewer residents than a good-sized high school each city seems to have enough casinos to serve all of Las Vegas and then some. There are casinos on every corner, although each is roughly the size of a convenience store and offers little more exciting than keno and video poker. They have names that make them sound like they belong in the Old West (Lucky Lil's) or in James Bond movies (Casino Royale) and lighted signs on their walls that tempt would-be gamblers with payouts as big as $800. As jackpots go, Montana casinos rank somewhere between a good day at the track and a decent meat raffle.
Thanks to a billboard along the highway near Helena — it featured a photo of a child pointing a firearm at me and the message along the lines of, "If he doesn't trust God, does he trust you?" — I learned that if I do not teach my children about God they are likely to shoot me in the face. It's the most terrified by a roadside display since I was driving through Mississippi on the way home from my first year of college and saw three handmade crosses along the road along with a sign that read, "Prepare to meet thy God!"
I learned that in Miles City, Mont. — population 9,000 people and 700 casinos — it is possible to buy a home for $15,000. I also learned I have no actual interest in living in Miles City, Mont. Despite what the city's web site touts as its famous annual bucking horse sale. Although I know where I'm going next time I need a horse with a bad attitude.
I learned that sneaking stuff into Canada is probably a whole lot easier than sneaking anything back. The border guard who checked our IDs as we crossed the border going north couldn't have seemed less interested in the questions she was asking. I suspect I could have told her I had a trunk full of nerve gas and she would have shrugged it off and waved me through.
Coming back into the U.S. was a different story. By the time I got over the border headed south I was half convinced I was up to something.
I learned that Vancouver, B.C. is a nuclear weapons free zone. There was a sign that said so. That might actually explain the lax attitude of the border guard, now that I think about it. There's no need to search anyone for weapons when the city has an ordinance to take care of things.
I learned that life would be a lot easier if Canada would stop using that silly metric system. I can't tell you how much trouble I almost got in after we crossed the border and the speed limits went up to 120. Stupid kilometers. And can you imagine what a letdown it was when I realized gas prices were by the liter rather than by the gallon?
You could hear my cries of frustration for meters.
I learned it's good to have a responsive insurance agent. While I was vacationing in Whistler, B.C., I learned someone had thrown a large rock through the rear window of my car, which was parked in front of my home nearly 2,000 miles away (roughly 70,000 kilometers, I think). It was frustrating to be so far away, but one call to my insurance agent got everything taken care of except the vacuuming up of the broken glass.