The first time I went to Canada was at age nine on Canada Day. In the morning my gerbil Steve bit my finger, and I fainted waiting for a band aid. After a plane change in Denver, and a drive from Calgary, I found myself in Banff. The mountains were superb -- I still gauge all mountains in how they compare with Canada's Rockies -- but I was looking for something else: a mountie.
Last week, at a Canadian Tourism Conference in New York, I finally met one from Saskatchewan, and he had a spare outfit.
Forgive the crappy quality of the photo. Sometimes the biggest hearts are a little fuzzy.
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