World Vancouver

Many people dream of riding cross-country on a motorbike. Others plan a course heading south to Mexico. But Derek Lundy chose a different route. The Salt Spring Island resident set out to travel the length of two very important lines: the U.S.–Mexico border and the U.S.–Canada border.

“The U.S. border is so important to us as Canadians,” Lundy says, explaining why he chose the route. The Mexican border was a natural complement because “it’s just so much drama—the drugs, the illegals [trying to cross].”

On the line from Salt Spring, Lundy says that he shipped his Kawasaki KLR to San Antonio, Texas. In March, 2007, he rode from the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific, sticking as close to the 3,220-kilometre line as possible. Then he shipped the bike to Saint John, New Brunswick, and traced the more than 6,400 kilometres that separate the U.S. and Canada. (He didn’t ride the Alaskan portion of the border.) Each journey took about a month, as he stopped more often in the south.

Lundy chronicles his travels in Borderlands: Riding the Edge of America (Knopf, $32), released earlier this year. The book is part travelogue and part lesson on the continent’s history. But mostly, it’s a fascinating look at U.S. national security post–9/11 and the human consequences.

On the southern leg, Lundy examines the fence that the Americans have erected in a vain attempt to stop illegal immigration. “It’s a real physical barrier for about a third of the border’s length,” he says, noting that people find ways around and through it nonetheless.

The book details Lundy’s encounters with all sorts of right-wing Americans who live near the Mexican border. They feel that their country is under siege and are hostile toward their own government. They’re also hostile toward Canada, as many erroneously believe the 9/11 terrorists entered the U.S. from Canada.

Because the Mexican side of the border is notorious for violent crime, Lundy spent most of his southern journey on the American side, crossing into Mexico only three times.

Still, he had several hairy encounters in the “third country” area of the U.S. near the border. Both officials and civilians gave him plenty of ominous warnings that he shouldn’t be there. He was never exactly sure how much real danger he was in.

On his northern journey Lundy rode freely, crossing the border 15 or 20 times at official checkpoints. His frequent crossings were questioned by American guards. But he tells the Straight that the Canadian guards didn’t give him a second look. “I waited each time for them to come out [from scanning his passport] and say, ‘What the hell are you doing? You’ve crossed the border a dozen times in the last two weeks. What are you up to?’ And no one ever did. I have no idea why.”

Lundy affirms what the Americans fear. “When they say the northern border is porous, they’re absolutely right—it is.” He explains that outside of the checkpoints, there are countless places where people could cross the border by land or by water undetected. In parts of Saskatchewan, he recalls, the roads wove back and forth into the U.S., and “I never knew what country I was in hour by hour.” He adds that, since it would be so easy to avoid official crossings, “I do not understand how anyone ever gets caught smuggling drugs over the Canadian-American border.”

But he also emphasizes that the American obsession with security is changing both borders. The one with Canada is becoming better marked and policed. “In the future, they’ll use more and more virtual means: cameras, surveillance drones, in-ground sensors,” Lundy says.

Besides covering the political, the book gets personal, detailing Lundy’s struggles with his motorbike, painful injuries, and reflections on his own mortality. The joy of the ride runs through it all.