agdmills

The following details an epic journey through snowy mountains, sunbaked deserts, and dense angular forests in 3 different nations. All with a Toyota Corolla, a compliance letter and a dream of one day saying, "why yes, our car does meet the required specifications to register in the United States."  
 
This story begins on a sad note. In January, 2021 my mother-in-law suddenly passed away. My partner and I are both Canadians living in California, and Canada was still very much in high restriction mode due to the pandemic. This made crossing the border to attend a funeral and settle an estate far more challenging than normal. Eventually, my partner was able to go. After several weeks - over two of which were spent in quarantine - my partner and her sibling settled the estate. This included a well-maintained 2015 Toyota Corolla. My partner decided to keep the car. A reliable vehicle with low mileage is something we would definitely make good use of. She does all the paperwork to change ownership, takes the car to a trusted mechanic for an oil change and inspection, and she's all set to return to California and carry on with life.
 
At this point, neither of us are aware that importing the vehicle at the border is something we need to do. I fly to Chicago to meet her because flying to Toronto would require a lengthy quarantine. She drives across the border as one normally would; present your passport and green card, answer a couple of questions, and on you go. We meet at O'Hare Airport, delighted to see one another after several difficult weeks apart, and settle into our hotel for some much needed rest before our cross-continental journey back to California. The trip was melancholy for obvious reasons, but also meditative and beautiful as we traversed through the ornate landscapes of Wyoming and Utah. 
 
This brings us to the first great hero in our story. At first glance, Yvonne appears to be a DMV employee like any other; a person trying to get through her day as she deals with an endless stream of people who would much rather be somewhere else. However, unbeknownst to her, Yvonne's elevated grace and professionalism allowed this experience to simply be frustrating, as opposed to the downward spiral into madness it otherwise could have been. It is through Yvonne that we learn the vehicle must first be imported before it can be registered in California. She tells us what we need to do - request a letter of compliance, drive to a port of entry, etc - and with much poise and empathy, issues us a temporary registration. 
 
Slightly perturbed at the inconvenience of having to drive all the way to a port of entry, my partner and I are otherwise optimistic that we can successfully complete this task. We decided to take advantage of the long American Thanksgiving weekend. We drive up the forested and mountainous section of I-5 through Oregon and Washington to Seattle, where we have friends with whom we stay with for Thanksgiving dinner. On Black Friday, negative PCR tests and a 60 second wait are all that's required to cross the border into Canada where we make our way to Vancouver and two delightful days with an old friend. 
 
Refreshed and ebullient, we gather our paperwork and prepare to head back to the U.S. Our compliance letter does note that the vehicle has no TPMS; we tell ourselves that it probably doesn't matter. Ignorance is bliss, until the merciless fist of reality pounds itself into your gut rendering your pitiful, helpless body onto the ground with no choice but to face it and move on. This came in the form of Officer Cook. With a stoic confidence, Officer Cook informed us that without a TPMS the car could not be imported. He suggested we drive back to California, request an extension on our temporary registration, have a TPMS installed, and try again. He also recommended going to the Mexican border next time, as it's a shorter drive. We cross back into the States, and after 3 fruitless hours of trying to obtain a TPMS in the small towns of northern Washington, we follow Officer Cook's advice and begin the drive back to California.
 
Re-enter Yvonne at the DMV, who my partner now has a personal relationship with. She issues an extension with no hassle and our next mission is finding a TPMS and someone to install it. I purchased a cigarette lighter unit on Amazon for around $40. It would be incredibly easy to put this on ourselves, but of course, we need a receipt saying it's been installed; this Temporary Part Mandated by States. After being turned away by two mechanics, we find one who will install it. He charges us $20 - the minimum his system will allow - and issues us a detailed receipt. 
 
The following weekend, we drove to San Diego with plans to cross the Mexican border, turn around, and import the vehicle upon re-entering the United States. Simple enough. Upon crossing the border, we are immediately thrust into a country where the line between pedestrian and car traffic is blurred into a singularity and the copious signage does not make it abundantly clear how exactly one returns to the border. After almost two hours of ineffectual trial and error, and unsuccessfully interpreting the body language directions of local police officers and citizens alike, we began to ask ourselves, "do we live in Tijuana now?" Then, it happened. Random chance; a miracle. Call it what you will, but when we made what seemed like just another U-turn in a long line of U-turns that day, there it was, bathed in a golden halo of angelic sunlight; "To I-5."
 
Never before had we been so delighted at the opportunity to wait in a lineup. It was slow moving and hot, but with each passing hour, we were inching closer to the border - TPMS receipt and other paperwork in hand - and finally completing this import process. After a 5 hour wait spent observing the many vendors for whom this was a typical day, and thinking to myself, "I wonder how that 6 foot golden portrait of the Virgin Mary would look in my living room", we finally reached the border. We present our passports and green cards, and my partner confidently says, "I'd like to import this vehicle please." 
 
"Oh, we don't do that here", the officer replied. Deflated does not even begin to describe how we felt. If the U.S. Customs and Border Protection had a derisive sense of humour, each officer would be issued an official turntable so as to inflict a record scratch sound effect for such moments. It now felt like we were never going to get this done. We began considering what we would do should the car not be importable, but resolved to try again at the same Canadian border port of entry we were at weeks previously.
 
At the beginning of January, 2022 we'd planned a trip back to Toronto to visit our families. We decided to postpone that trip because of the recent restrictions imposed in Ontario. This decision had a silver lining though. It was our opportunity to use the time off we'd booked to drive to the border and finally import this vehicle. We booked a few nights at a nice hotel in Portland, Oregon. This being the 1-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing, we resolved to spend our time off celebrating life, and hopefully, the successful import of her car and finally closing out the last piece of her estate.
 
We took one day out of our Portland trip to make the 4 and half hour drive to the border in Blaine, Washington. With little fanfare, we crossed into Canada and immediately turned around to cross back. If there were a humourous adventure for me to outline here, I would. But, to be honest, it all went quite smoothly with no issues whatsoever. The only outlier in this part of the story is its second great hero; Officer Holt. We only spent about 20 minutes with him, but Officer Holt's kindness, professionalism, and sincerity were a massive breath of fresh air and appreciated to a level he will never know. We left Blaine, due south for Portland in our legally imported Toyota Corolla.
 
As I sit here in our California home having a restful Sunday and writing this story with my partner beside me, I can see she's quite relieved and eagerly looking forward to walking into the DMV this week and saying, "Yvonne, I'd like to register my vehicle please."  

The following details an epic journey through snowy mountains, sunbaked deserts, and dense angular forests in 3 different nations. All with a Toyota Corolla, a compliance letter and a dream of one day saying, "why yes, our car does meet the required specifications to register in the United States."  
 
This story begins on a sad note. In January, 2021 my mother-in-law suddenly passed away. My partner and I are both Canadians living in California, and Canada was still very much in high restriction mode due to the pandemic. This made crossing the border to attend a funeral and settle an estate far more challenging than normal. Eventually, my partner was able to go. After several weeks - over two of which were spent in quarantine - my partner and her sibling settled the estate. This included a well-maintained 2015 Toyota Corolla. My partner decided to keep the car. A reliable vehicle with low mileage is something we would definitely make good use of. She does all the paperwork to change ownership, takes the car to a trusted mechanic for an oil change and inspection, and she's all set to return to California and carry on with life.
 
At this point, neither of us are aware that importing the vehicle at the border is something we need to do. I fly to Chicago to meet her because flying to Toronto would require a lengthy quarantine. She drives across the border as one normally would; present your passport and green card, answer a couple of questions, and on you go. We meet at O'Hare Airport, delighted to see one another after several difficult weeks apart, and settle into our hotel for some much needed rest before our cross-continental journey back to California. The trip was melancholy for obvious reasons, but also meditative and beautiful as we traversed through the ornate landscapes of Wyoming and Utah. 
 
This brings us to the first great hero in our story. At first glance, Yvonne appears to be a DMV employee like any other; a person trying to get through her day as she deals with an endless stream of people who would much rather be somewhere else. However, unbeknownst to her, Yvonne's elevated grace and professionalism allowed this experience to simply be frustrating, as opposed to the downward spiral into madness it otherwise could have been. It is through Yvonne that we learn the vehicle must first be imported before it can be registered in California. She tells us what we need to do - request a letter of compliance, drive to a port of entry, etc - and with much poise and empathy, issues us a temporary registration. 
 
Slightly perturbed at the inconvenience of having to drive all the way to a port of entry, my partner and I are otherwise optimistic that we can successfully complete this task. We decided to take advantage of the long American Thanksgiving weekend. We drive up the forested and mountainous section of I-5 through Oregon and Washington to Seattle, where we have friends with whom we stay with for Thanksgiving dinner. On Black Friday, negative PCR tests and a 60 second wait are all that's required to cross the border into Canada where we make our way to Vancouver and two delightful days with an old friend. 
 
Refreshed and ebullient, we gather our paperwork and prepare to head back to the U.S. Our compliance letter does note that the vehicle has no TPMS; we tell ourselves that it probably doesn't matter. Ignorance is bliss, until the merciless fist of reality pounds itself into your gut rendering your pitiful, helpless body onto the ground with no choice but to face it and move on. This came in the form of Officer Cook. With a stoic confidence, Officer Cook informed us that without a TPMS the car could not be imported. He suggested we drive back to California, request an extension on our temporary registration, have a TPMS installed, and try again. He also recommended going to the Mexican border next time, as it's a shorter drive. We cross back into the States, and after 3 fruitless hours of trying to obtain a TPMS in the small towns of northern Washington, we follow Officer Cook's advice and begin the drive back to California.
 
Re-enter Yvonne at the DMV, who my partner now has a personal relationship with. She issues an extension with no hassle and our next mission is finding a TPMS and someone to install it. I purchased a cigarette lighter unit on Amazon for around $40. It would be incredibly easy to put this on ourselves, but of course, we need a receipt saying it's been installed; this Temporary Part Mandated by States. After being turned away by two mechanics, we find one who will install it. He charges us $20 - the minimum his system will allow - and issues us a detailed receipt. 
 
The following weekend, we drove to San Diego with plans to cross the Mexican border, turn around, and import the vehicle upon re-entering the United States. Simple enough. Upon crossing the border, we are immediately thrust into a country where the line between pedestrian and car traffic is blurred into a singularity and the copious signage does not make it abundantly clear how exactly one returns to the border. After almost two hours of ineffectual trial and error, and unsuccessfully interpreting the body language directions of local police officers and citizens alike, we began to ask ourselves, "do we live in Tijuana now?" Then, it happened. Random chance; a miracle. Call it what you will, but when we made what seemed like just another U-turn in a long line of U-turns that day, there it was, bathed in a golden halo of angelic sunlight; "To I-5."
 
Never before had we been so delighted at the opportunity to wait in a lineup. It was slow moving and hot, but with each passing hour, we were inching closer to the border - TPMS receipt and other paperwork in hand - and finally completing this import process. After a 5 hour wait spent observing the many vendors for whom this was a typical day, and thinking to myself, "I wonder how that 6 foot golden portrait of the Virgin Mary would look in my living room", we finally reached the border. We present our passports and green cards, and my partner confidently says, "I'd like to import this vehicle please." 
 
"Oh, we don't do that here", the officer replied. Deflated does not even begin to describe how we felt. If the U.S. Customs and Border Protection had a derisive sense of humour, each officer would be issued an official turntable so as to inflict a record scratch sound effect for such moments. It now felt like we were never going to get this done. We began considering what we would do should the car not be importable, but resolved to try again at the same Canadian border port of entry we were at weeks previously.
 
At the beginning of January, 2022 we'd planned a trip back to Toronto to visit our families. We decided to postpone that trip because of the recent restrictions imposed in Ontario. This decision had a silver lining though. It was our opportunity to use the time off we'd booked to drive to the border and finally import this vehicle. We booked a few nights at a nice hotel in Portland, Oregon. This being the 1-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing, we resolved to spend our time off celebrating life, and hopefully, the successful import of her car and finally closing out the last piece of her estate.
 
We took one day out of our Portland trip to make the 4 and half hour drive to the border in Blaine, Washington. With little fanfare, we crossed into Canada and immediately turned around to cross back. If there were a humourous adventure for me to outline here, I would. But, to be honest, it all went quite smoothly with no issues whatsoever. The only outlier in this part of the story is its second great hero; Officer Holt. We only spent about 20 minutes with him, but Officer Holt's kindness, professionalism, and sincerity were a massive breath of fresh air and appreciated to a level he will never know. We left Blaine, due south for Portland in our legally imported Toyota Corolla.
 
As I sit here in our California home having a restful Sunday and writing this story with my partner beside me, I can see she's quite relieved and eagerly looking forward to walking into the DMV this week and saying, "Yvonne, I'd like to register my vehicle please."  

The following details an epic journey through snowy mountains, sunbaked deserts, and dense angular forests in 3 different nations. All with a Toyota Corolla, a compliance letter and a dream of one day saying, "why yes, our car does meet the required specifications to register in the United States."  
 
This story begins on a sad note. In January, 2021 my mother-in-law suddenly passed away. My partner and I are both Canadians living in California, and Canada was still very much in high restriction mode due to the pandemic. This made crossing the border to attend a funeral and settle an estate far more challenging than normal. Eventually, my partner was able to go. After several weeks - over two of which were spent in quarantine - my partner and her sibling settled the estate. This included a well-maintained 2015 Toyota Corolla. My partner decided to keep the car. A reliable vehicle with low mileage is something we would definitely make good use of. She does all the paperwork to change ownership, takes the car to a trusted mechanic for an oil change and inspection, and she's all set to return to California and carry on with life.
 
At this point, neither of us are aware that importing the vehicle at the border is something we need to do. I fly to Chicago to meet her because flying to Toronto would require a lengthy quarantine. She drives across the border as one normally would; present your passport and green card, answer a couple of questions, and on you go. We meet at O'Hare Airport, delighted to see one another after several difficult weeks apart, and settle into our hotel for some much needed rest before our cross-continental journey back to California. The trip was melancholy for obvious reasons, but also meditative and beautiful as we traversed through the ornate landscapes of Wyoming and Utah. 
 
This brings us to the first great hero in our story. At first glance, Yvonne appears to be a DMV employee like any other; a person trying to get through her day as she deals with an endless stream of people who would much rather be somewhere else. However, unbeknownst to her, Yvonne's elevated grace and professionalism allowed this experience to simply be frustrating, as opposed to the downward spiral into madness it otherwise could have been. It is through Yvonne that we learn the vehicle must first be imported before it can be registered in California. She tells us what we need to do - request a letter of compliance, drive to a port of entry, etc - and with much poise and empathy, issues us a temporary registration. 
 
Slightly perturbed at the inconvenience of having to drive all the way to a port of entry, my partner and I are otherwise optimistic that we can successfully complete this task. We decided to take advantage of the long American Thanksgiving weekend. We drive up the forested and mountainous section of I-5 through Oregon and Washington to Seattle, where we have friends with whom we stay with for Thanksgiving dinner. On Black Friday, negative PCR tests and a 60 second wait are all that's required to cross the border into Canada where we make our way to Vancouver and two delightful days with an old friend. 
 
Refreshed and ebullient, we gather our paperwork and prepare to head back to the U.S. Our compliance letter does note that the vehicle has no TPMS; we tell ourselves that it probably doesn't matter. Ignorance is bliss, until the merciless fist of reality pounds itself into your gut rendering your pitiful, helpless body onto the ground with no choice but to face it and move on. This came in the form of Officer Cook. With a stoic confidence, Officer Cook informed us that without a TPMS the car could not be imported. He suggested we drive back to California, request an extension on our temporary registration, have a TPMS installed, and try again. He also recommended going to the Mexican border next time, as it's a shorter drive. We cross back into the States, and after 3 fruitless hours of trying to obtain a TPMS in the small towns of northern Washington, we follow Officer Cook's advice and begin the drive back to California.
 
Re-enter Yvonne at the DMV, who my partner now has a personal relationship with. She issues an extension with no hassle and our next mission is finding a TPMS and someone to install it. I purchased a cigarette lighter unit on Amazon for around $40. It would be incredibly easy to put this on ourselves, but of course, we need a receipt saying it's been installed; this Temporary Part Mandated by States. After being turned away by two mechanics, we find one who will install it. He charges us $20 - the minimum his system will allow - and issues us a detailed receipt. 
 
The following weekend, we drove to San Diego with plans to cross the Mexican border, turn around, and import the vehicle upon re-entering the United States. Simple enough. Upon crossing the border, we are immediately thrust into a country where the line between pedestrian and car traffic is blurred into a singularity and the copious signage does not make it abundantly clear how exactly one returns to the border. After almost two hours of ineffectual trial and error, and unsuccessfully interpreting the body language directions of local police officers and citizens alike, we began to ask ourselves, "do we live in Tijuana now?" Then, it happened. Random chance; a miracle. Call it what you will, but when we made what seemed like just another U-turn in a long line of U-turns that day, there it was, bathed in a golden halo of angelic sunlight; "To I-5."
 
Never before had we been so delighted at the opportunity to wait in a lineup. It was slow moving and hot, but with each passing hour, we were inching closer to the border - TPMS receipt and other paperwork in hand - and finally completing this import process. After a 5 hour wait spent observing the many vendors for whom this was a typical day, and thinking to myself, "I wonder how that 6 foot golden portrait of the Virgin Mary would look in my living room", we finally reached the border. We present our passports and green cards, and my partner confidently says, "I'd like to import this vehicle please." 
 
"Oh, we don't do that here", the officer replied. Deflated does not even begin to describe how we felt. If the U.S. Customs and Border Protection had a derisive sense of humour, each officer would be issued an official turntable so as to inflict a record scratch sound effect for such moments. It now felt like we were never going to get this done. We began considering what we would do should the car not be importable, but resolved to try again at the same Canadian border port of entry we were at weeks previously.
 
At the beginning of January, 2022 we'd planned a trip back to Toronto to visit our families. We decided to postpone that trip because of the recent restrictions imposed in Ontario. This decision had a silver lining though. It was our opportunity to use the time off we'd booked to drive to the border and finally import this vehicle. We booked a few nights at a nice hotel in Portland, Oregon. This being the 1-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing, we resolved to spend our time off celebrating life, and hopefully, the successful import of her car and finally closing out the last piece of her estate.
 
We took one day out of our Portland trip to make the 4 and half hour drive to the border in Blaine, Washington. With little fanfare, we crossed into Canada and immediately turned around to cross back. If there were a humourous adventure for me to outline here, I would. But, to be honest, it all went quite smoothly with no issues whatsoever. The only outlier in this part of the story is its second great hero; Officer Holt. We only spent about 20 minutes with him, but Officer Holt's kindness, professionalism, and sincerity were a massive breath of fresh air and appreciated to a level he will never know. We left Blaine, due south for Portland in our legally imported Toyota Corolla.
 
As I sit here in our California home having a restful Sunday and writing this story with my partner beside me, I can see she's quite relieved and eagerly looking forward to walking into the DMV this week and saying, "Yvonne, I'd like to register my vehicle please."  

The following details an epic journey through snowy mountains, sunbaked deserts, and dense angular forests in 3 different nations. All with a Toyota Corolla, a compliance letter and a dream of one day saying, "why yes, our car does meet the required specifications to register in the United States."  
 
This story begins on a sad note. In January, 2021 my mother-in-law suddenly passed away. My partner and I are both Canadians living in California, and Canada was still very much in high restriction mode due to the pandemic. This made crossing the border to attend a funeral and settle an estate far more challenging than normal. Eventually, my partner was able to go. After several weeks - over two of which were spent in quarantine - my partner and her sibling settled the estate. This included a well-maintained 2015 Toyota Corolla. My partner decided to keep the car. A reliable vehicle with low mileage is something we would definitely make good use of. She does all the paperwork to change ownership, takes the car to a trusted mechanic for an oil change and inspection, and she's all set to return to California and carry on with life.
 
At this point, neither of us are aware that importing the vehicle at the border is something we need to do. I fly to Chicago to meet her because flying to Toronto would require a lengthy quarantine. She drives across the border as one normally would; present your passport and green card, answer a couple of questions, and on you go. We meet at O'Hare Airport, delighted to see one another after several difficult weeks apart, and settle into our hotel for some much needed rest before our cross-continental journey back to California. The trip was melancholy for obvious reasons, but also meditative and beautiful as we traversed through the ornate landscapes of Wyoming and Utah. 
 
This brings us to the first great hero in our story. At first glance, Yvonne appears to be a DMV employee like any other; a person trying to get through her day as she deals with an endless stream of people who would much rather be somewhere else. However, unbeknownst to her, Yvonne's elevated grace and professionalism allowed this experience to simply be frustrating, as opposed to the downward spiral into madness it otherwise could have been. It is through Yvonne that we learn the vehicle must first be imported before it can be registered in California. She tells us what we need to do - request a letter of compliance, drive to a port of entry, etc - and with much poise and empathy, issues us a temporary registration. 
 
Slightly perturbed at the inconvenience of having to drive all the way to a port of entry, my partner and I are otherwise optimistic that we can successfully complete this task. We decided to take advantage of the long American Thanksgiving weekend. We drive up the forested and mountainous section of I-5 through Oregon and Washington to Seattle, where we have friends with whom we stay with for Thanksgiving dinner. On Black Friday, negative PCR tests and a 60 second wait are all that's required to cross the border into Canada where we make our way to Vancouver and two delightful days with an old friend. 
 
Refreshed and ebullient, we gather our paperwork and prepare to head back to the U.S. Our compliance letter does note that the vehicle has no TPMS; we tell ourselves that it probably doesn't matter. Ignorance is bliss, until the merciless fist of reality pounds itself into your gut rendering your pitiful, helpless body onto the ground with no choice but to face it and move on. This came in the form of Officer Cook. With a stoic confidence, Officer Cook informed us that without a TPMS the car could not be imported. He suggested we drive back to California, request an extension on our temporary registration, have a TPMS installed, and try again. He also recommended going to the Mexican border next time, as it's a shorter drive. We cross back into the States, and after 3 fruitless hours of trying to obtain a TPMS in the small towns of northern Washington, we follow Officer Cook's advice and begin the drive back to California.
 
Re-enter Yvonne at the DMV, who my partner now has a personal relationship with. She issues an extension with no hassle and our next mission is finding a TPMS and someone to install it. I purchased a cigarette lighter unit on Amazon for around $40. It would be incredibly easy to put this on ourselves, but of course, we need a receipt saying it's been installed; this Temporary Part Mandated by States. After being turned away by two mechanics, we find one who will install it. He charges us $20 - the minimum his system will allow - and issues us a detailed receipt. 
 
The following weekend, we drove to San Diego with plans to cross the Mexican border, turn around, and import the vehicle upon re-entering the United States. Simple enough. Upon crossing the border, we are immediately thrust into a country where the line between pedestrian and car traffic is blurred into a singularity and the copious signage does not make it abundantly clear how exactly one returns to the border. After almost two hours of ineffectual trial and error, and unsuccessfully interpreting the body language directions of local police officers and citizens alike, we began to ask ourselves, "do we live in Tijuana now?" Then, it happened. Random chance; a miracle. Call it what you will, but when we made what seemed like just another U-turn in a long line of U-turns that day, there it was, bathed in a golden halo of angelic sunlight; "To I-5."
 
Never before had we been so delighted at the opportunity to wait in a lineup. It was slow moving and hot, but with each passing hour, we were inching closer to the border - TPMS receipt and other paperwork in hand - and finally completing this import process. After a 5 hour wait spent observing the many vendors for whom this was a typical day, and thinking to myself, "I wonder how that 6 foot golden portrait of the Virgin Mary would look in my living room", we finally reached the border. We present our passports and green cards, and my partner confidently says, "I'd like to import this vehicle please." 
 
"Oh, we don't do that here", the officer replied. Deflated does not even begin to describe how we felt. If the U.S. Customs and Border Protection had a derisive sense of humour, each officer would be issued an official turntable so as to inflict a record scratch sound effect for such moments. It now felt like we were never going to get this done. We began considering what we would do should the car not be importable, but resolved to try again at the same Canadian border port of entry we were at weeks previously.
 
At the beginning of January, 2022 we'd planned a trip back to Toronto to visit our families. We decided to postpone that trip because of the recent restrictions imposed in Ontario. This decision had a silver lining though. It was our opportunity to use the time off we'd booked to drive to the border and finally import this vehicle. We booked a few nights at a nice hotel in Portland, Oregon. This being the 1-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing, we resolved to spend our time off celebrating life, and hopefully, the successful import of her car and finally closing out the last piece of her estate.
 
We took one day out of our Portland trip to make the 4 and half hour drive to the border in Blaine, Washington. With little fanfare, we crossed into Canada and immediately turned around to cross back. If there were a humourous adventure for me to outline here, I would. But, to be honest, it all went quite smoothly with no issues whatsoever. The only outlier in this part of the story is its second great hero; Officer Holt. We only spent about 20 minutes with him, but Officer Holt's kindness, professionalism, and sincerity were a massive breath of fresh air and appreciated to a level he will never know. We left Blaine, due south for Portland in our legally imported Toyota Corolla.
 
As I sit here in our California home having a restful Sunday and writing this story with my partner beside me, I can see she's quite relieved and eagerly looking forward to walking into the DMV this week and saying, "Yvonne, I'd like to register my vehicle please."  

The following details an epic journey through snowy mountains, sunbaked deserts, and dense angular forests in 3 different nations. All with a Toyota Corolla, a compliance letter and a dream of one day saying, "why yes, our car does meet the required specifications to register in the United States."  
 
This story begins on a sad note. In January, 2021 my mother-in-law suddenly passed away. My partner and I are both Canadians living in California, and Canada was still very much in high restriction mode due to the pandemic. This made crossing the border to attend a funeral and settle an estate far more challenging than normal. Eventually, my partner was able to go. After several weeks - over two of which were spent in quarantine - my partner and her sibling settled the estate. This included a well-maintained 2015 Toyota Corolla. My partner decided to keep the car. A reliable vehicle with low mileage is something we would definitely make good use of. She does all the paperwork to change ownership, takes the car to a trusted mechanic for an oil change and inspection, and she's all set to return to California and carry on with life.
 
At this point, neither of us are aware that importing the vehicle at the border is something we need to do. I fly to Chicago to meet her because flying to Toronto would require a lengthy quarantine. She drives across the border as one normally would; present your passport and green card, answer a couple of questions, and on you go. We meet at O'Hare Airport, delighted to see one another after several difficult weeks apart, and settle into our hotel for some much needed rest before our cross-continental journey back to California. The trip was melancholy for obvious reasons, but also meditative and beautiful as we traversed through the ornate landscapes of Wyoming and Utah. 
 
This brings us to the first great hero in our story. At first glance, Yvonne appears to be a DMV employee like any other; a person trying to get through her day as she deals with an endless stream of people who would much rather be somewhere else. However, unbeknownst to her, Yvonne's elevated grace and professionalism allowed this experience to simply be frustrating, as opposed to the downward spiral into madness it otherwise could have been. It is through Yvonne that we learn the vehicle must first be imported before it can be registered in California. She tells us what we need to do - request a letter of compliance, drive to a port of entry, etc - and with much poise and empathy, issues us a temporary registration. 
 
Slightly perturbed at the inconvenience of having to drive all the way to a port of entry, my partner and I are otherwise optimistic that we can successfully complete this task. We decided to take advantage of the long American Thanksgiving weekend. We drive up the forested and mountainous section of I-5 through Oregon and Washington to Seattle, where we have friends with whom we stay with for Thanksgiving dinner. On Black Friday, negative PCR tests and a 60 second wait are all that's required to cross the border into Canada where we make our way to Vancouver and two delightful days with an old friend. 
 
Refreshed and ebullient, we gather our paperwork and prepare to head back to the U.S. Our compliance letter does note that the vehicle has no TPMS; we tell ourselves that it probably doesn't matter. Ignorance is bliss, until the merciless fist of reality pounds itself into your gut rendering your pitiful, helpless body onto the ground with no choice but to face it and move on. This came in the form of Officer Cook. With a stoic confidence, Officer Cook informed us that without a TPMS the car could not be imported. He suggested we drive back to California, request an extension on our temporary registration, have a TPMS installed, and try again. He also recommended going to the Mexican border next time, as it's a shorter drive. We cross back into the States, and after 3 fruitless hours of trying to obtain a TPMS in the small towns of northern Washington, we follow Officer Cook's advice and begin the drive back to California.
 
Re-enter Yvonne at the DMV, who my partner now has a personal relationship with. She issues an extension with no hassle and our next mission is finding a TPMS and someone to install it. I purchased a cigarette lighter unit on Amazon for around $40. It would be incredibly easy to put this on ourselves, but of course, we need a receipt saying it's been installed; this Temporary Part Mandated by States. After being turned away by two mechanics, we find one who will install it. He charges us $20 - the minimum his system will allow - and issues us a detailed receipt. 
 
The following weekend, we drove to San Diego with plans to cross the Mexican border, turn around, and import the vehicle upon re-entering the United States. Simple enough. Upon crossing the border, we are immediately thrust into a country where the line between pedestrian and car traffic is blurred into a singularity and the copious signage does not make it abundantly clear how exactly one returns to the border. After almost two hours of ineffectual trial and error, and unsuccessfully interpreting the body language directions of local police officers and citizens alike, we began to ask ourselves, "do we live in Tijuana now?" Then, it happened. Random chance; a miracle. Call it what you will, but when we made what seemed like just another U-turn in a long line of U-turns that day, there it was, bathed in a golden halo of angelic sunlight; "To I-5."
 
Never before had we been so delighted at the opportunity to wait in a lineup. It was slow moving and hot, but with each passing hour, we were inching closer to the border - TPMS receipt and other paperwork in hand - and finally completing this import process. After a 5 hour wait spent observing the many vendors for whom this was a typical day, and thinking to myself, "I wonder how that 6 foot golden portrait of the Virgin Mary would look in my living room", we finally reached the border. We present our passports and green cards, and my partner confidently says, "I'd like to import this vehicle please." 
 
"Oh, we don't do that here", the officer replied. Deflated does not even begin to describe how we felt. If the U.S. Customs and Border Protection had a derisive sense of humour, each officer would be issued an official turntable so as to inflict a record scratch sound effect for such moments. It now felt like we were never going to get this done. We began considering what we would do should the car not be importable, but resolved to try again at the same Canadian border port of entry we were at weeks previously.
 
At the beginning of January, 2022 we'd planned a trip back to Toronto to visit our families. We decided to postpone that trip because of the recent restrictions imposed in Ontario. This decision had a silver lining though. It was our opportunity to use the time off we'd booked to drive to the border and finally import this vehicle. We booked a few nights at a nice hotel in Portland, Oregon. This being the 1-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing, we resolved to spend our time off celebrating life, and hopefully, the successful import of her car and finally closing out the last piece of her estate.
 
We took one day out of our Portland trip to make the 4 and half hour drive to the border in Blaine, Washington. With little fanfare, we crossed into Canada and immediately turned around to cross back. If there were a humourous adventure for me to outline here, I would. But, to be honest, it all went quite smoothly with no issues whatsoever. The only outlier in this part of the story is its second great hero; Officer Holt. We only spent about 20 minutes with him, but Officer Holt's kindness, professionalism, and sincerity were a massive breath of fresh air and appreciated to a level he will never know. We left Blaine, due south for Portland in our legally imported Toyota Corolla.
 
As I sit here in our California home having a restful Sunday and writing this story with my partner beside me, I can see she's quite relieved and eagerly looking forward to walking into the DMV this week and saying, "Yvonne, I'd like to register my vehicle please."  

The following details an epic journey through snowy mountains, sunbaked deserts, and dense angular forests in 3 different nations. All with a Toyota Corolla, a compliance letter and a dream of one day saying, "why yes, our car does meet the required specifications to register in the United States."  
 
This story begins on a sad note. In January, 2021 my mother-in-law suddenly passed away. My partner and I are both Canadians living in California, and Canada was still very much in high restriction mode due to the pandemic. This made crossing the border to attend a funeral and settle an estate far more challenging than normal. Eventually, my partner was able to go. After several weeks - over two of which were spent in quarantine - my partner and her sibling settled the estate. This included a well-maintained 2015 Toyota Corolla. My partner decided to keep the car. A reliable vehicle with low mileage is something we would definitely make good use of. She does all the paperwork to change ownership, takes the car to a trusted mechanic for an oil change and inspection, and she's all set to return to California and carry on with life.
 
At this point, neither of us are aware that importing the vehicle at the border is something we need to do. I fly to Chicago to meet her because flying to Toronto would require a lengthy quarantine. She drives across the border as one normally would; present your passport and green card, answer a couple of questions, and on you go. We meet at O'Hare Airport, delighted to see one another after several difficult weeks apart, and settle into our hotel for some much needed rest before our cross-continental journey back to California. The trip was melancholy for obvious reasons, but also meditative and beautiful as we traversed through the ornate landscapes of Wyoming and Utah. 
 
This brings us to the first great hero in our story. At first glance, Yvonne appears to be a DMV employee like any other; a person trying to get through her day as she deals with an endless stream of people who would much rather be somewhere else. However, unbeknownst to her, Yvonne's elevated grace and professionalism allowed this experience to simply be frustrating, as opposed to the downward spiral into madness it otherwise could have been. It is through Yvonne that we learn the vehicle must first be imported before it can be registered in California. She tells us what we need to do - request a letter of compliance, drive to a port of entry, etc - and with much poise and empathy, issues us a temporary registration. 
 
Slightly perturbed at the inconvenience of having to drive all the way to a port of entry, my partner and I are otherwise optimistic that we can successfully complete this task. We decided to take advantage of the long American Thanksgiving weekend. We drive up the forested and mountainous section of I-5 through Oregon and Washington to Seattle, where we have friends with whom we stay with for Thanksgiving dinner. On Black Friday, negative PCR tests and a 60 second wait are all that's required to cross the border into Canada where we make our way to Vancouver and two delightful days with an old friend. 
 
Refreshed and ebullient, we gather our paperwork and prepare to head back to the U.S. Our compliance letter does note that the vehicle has no TPMS; we tell ourselves that it probably doesn't matter. Ignorance is bliss, until the merciless fist of reality pounds itself into your gut rendering your pitiful, helpless body onto the ground with no choice but to face it and move on. This came in the form of Officer Cook. With a stoic confidence, Officer Cook informed us that without a TPMS the car could not be imported. He suggested we drive back to California, request an extension on our temporary registration, have a TPMS installed, and try again. He also recommended going to the Mexican border next time, as it's a shorter drive. We cross back into the States, and after 3 fruitless hours of trying to obtain a TPMS in the small towns of northern Washington, we follow Officer Cook's advice and begin the drive back to California.
 
Re-enter Yvonne at the DMV, who my partner now has a personal relationship with. She issues an extension with no hassle and our next mission is finding a TPMS and someone to install it. I purchased a cigarette lighter unit on Amazon for around $40. It would be incredibly easy to put this on ourselves, but of course, we need a receipt saying it's been installed; this Temporary Part Mandated by States. After being turned away by two mechanics, we find one who will install it. He charges us $20 - the minimum his system will allow - and issues us a detailed receipt. 
 
The following weekend, we drove to San Diego with plans to cross the Mexican border, turn around, and import the vehicle upon re-entering the United States. Simple enough. Upon crossing the border, we are immediately thrust into a country where the line between pedestrian and car traffic is blurred into a singularity and the copious signage does not make it abundantly clear how exactly one returns to the border. After almost two hours of ineffectual trial and error, and unsuccessfully interpreting the body language directions of local police officers and citizens alike, we began to ask ourselves, "do we live in Tijuana now?" Then, it happened. Random chance; a miracle. Call it what you will, but when we made what seemed like just another U-turn in a long line of U-turns that day, there it was, bathed in a golden halo of angelic sunlight; "To I-5."
 
Never before had we been so delighted at the opportunity to wait in a lineup. It was slow moving and hot, but with each passing hour, we were inching closer to the border - TPMS receipt and other paperwork in hand - and finally completing this import process. After a 5 hour wait spent observing the many vendors for whom this was a typical day, and thinking to myself, "I wonder how that 6 foot golden portrait of the Virgin Mary would look in my living room", we finally reached the border. We present our passports and green cards, and my partner confidently says, "I'd like to import this vehicle please." 
 
"Oh, we don't do that here", the officer replied. Deflated does not even begin to describe how we felt. If the U.S. Customs and Border Protection had a derisive sense of humour, each officer would be issued an official turntable so as to inflict a record scratch sound effect for such moments. It now felt like we were never going to get this done. We began considering what we would do should the car not be importable, but resolved to try again at the same Canadian border port of entry we were at weeks previously.
 
At the beginning of January, 2022 we'd planned a trip back to Toronto to visit our families. We decided to postpone that trip because of the recent restrictions imposed in Ontario. This decision had a silver lining though. It was our opportunity to use the time off we'd booked to drive to the border and finally import this vehicle. We booked a few nights at a nice hotel in Portland, Oregon. This being the 1-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing, we resolved to spend our time off celebrating life, and hopefully, the successful import of her car and finally closing out the last piece of her estate.
 
We took one day out of our Portland trip to make the 4 and half hour drive to the border in Blaine, Washington. With little fanfare, we crossed into Canada and immediately turned around to cross back. If there were a humourous adventure for me to outline here, I would. But, to be honest, it all went quite smoothly with no issues whatsoever. The only outlier in this part of the story is its second great hero; Officer Holt. We only spent about 20 minutes with him, but Officer Holt's kindness, professionalism, and sincerity were a massive breath of fresh air and appreciated to a level he will never know. We left Blaine, due south for Portland in our legally imported Toyota Corolla.
 
As I sit here in our California home having a restful Sunday and writing this story with my partner beside me, I can see she's quite relieved and eagerly looking forward to walking into the DMV this week and saying, "Yvonne, I'd like to register my vehicle please."