Leaving Glacier and heading toward the North Cascades in northern Washington felt like the start of a long, beautiful day — but also a long drive. Too long for one push, honestly. So I decided to break it up with a quick overnight in Sandpoint, Idaho. It wasn’t the exact halfway point, but it was a town I’d been curious about: its name, its history, its location. A little mystery goes a long way in my travel planning.
U.S. Route 2 carried me west and the scenery was…fine. Fir trees, rolling hills, things that passed for mountains, but nothing that made me pull over and gasp. Just a pleasant, steady drive.
As I crossed Montana into Idaho, a river appeared off to my right. The sign read Kootenai River — K‑O‑O‑T‑E‑N‑A‑I — and I thought, Wait a minute… isn’t that the same name as Kootenay National Park in Canada? Same river system, different spelling depending on which side of the border you’re on.
I followed the river, took a few photos, and admired the water’s quiet beauty. Then I saw a sign for Kootenai Falls, one of the largest undammed waterfalls in the Northwest. That got my attention. I pulled off, started down the trail… and quickly realized it was far longer than my time or my legs were willing to commit. So I turned back.
At the trailhead, I ran into two women hiking out, phones in hand. I asked if they’d gotten good pictures. They had — and one showed me a gorgeous panorama of the falls. I took a couple of my own (not great, but proof of life), and we ended up chatting. Names exchanged, numbers exchanged, one of those easy, unexpected conversations that makes the road feel friendly.
A Note About the Kootenai Tribe
The river and the falls carry the name of the Kootenai Tribe, one of the indigenous peoples whose homeland spans what is now Montana, Idaho, and southeastern British Columbia. The Kootenai people have lived along this river for thousands of years, relying on its salmon runs, cedar forests, and mountain valleys. Their Idaho community — the Kootenai Tribe of Idaho — is centered near Bonners Ferry, not far from where I turned north toward Canada. The tribe is known for its stewardship of the river and for the creation of the Kootenai River Habitat Restoration Project, which has helped revive native fish populations and restore the river’s natural flow. Driving through their homeland adds a layer of meaning to the landscape: it’s not just scenic — it’s storied.
Back on Route 2, I reached the intersection with U.S. Route 95. The sign said Sandpoint left, Canada right. Canada was only about 15 miles away. Fifteen miles to Canadian candy.
I turned right.
The Idaho Panhandle National Forests stretched on forever, but eventually I reached the Porthill border crossing. Two lanes open — semis in one, cars in the other. I waited while seven vehicles cleared the truck lane before my car lane moved. When I finally reached the customs booth, the agent asked how long I’d be in Canada.
“Long enough to buy candy,” I said.
He laughed. I explained that we don’t have Mr. Big bars or Smarties in the U.S. He looked genuinely surprised. I assured him it was true. He handed back my passport with a smile and a shake of his head.
First stop: duty‑free. No luck — just fancy French chocolates.
So I headed north to Yank’s General Store, passing a couple of convenience stores because I’d been told Yank’s “has everything.” It did — sort of. It’s a tiny, jam‑packed store with tons of variety, but not much depth. They were almost out of Smarties. I grabbed two boxes, stocked up on Mr. Big bars, a couple of Oh Henry’s, some new‑to‑me candies like Root Beer Float Mike & Ikes, and — jackpot — Necco Wafers.
Did I need all this candy? Absolutely not.
Did I buy it anyway? Absolutely yes.
Canadian candy is guilt‑free candy. It’s a rule.
The woman behind the counter was delightful. She was shocked to learn Americans don’t have Smarties or Mr. Big bars. She lives 10 miles from the border — why would she ever look for candy somewhere else? We chatted until another customer appeared, and she wished me well as I left.
Back to the U.S.
At the U.S. border, the agent asked why I had gone to Canada. I held up the box of candy and the receipt.
“To buy this.”
He shook his head, asked the obligatory questions, and waved me through. I know. I get it. But it’s a thing.
Sandpoint turned out to be a beautiful little town, named for — you guessed it — a sandy point on the shore of Lake Pend Oreille, one of the largest and deepest lakes in the United States. I checked into the city RV park, which has about 40 sites and was nearly full. Thankfully, I had a reservation.
As I backed in, a couple came out to help. We got to talking, and the man, Tom, mentioned he’d been a city council member in Cape Coral, Florida for eight years. He started into a story about city government, and when I nodded knowingly, he paused.
“You’ve heard this before.”
“I was a city manager for 40 years.”
Instant bond. We spent the next hour and a half swapping stories — travel, history, government, the Gulf War, Arab Spring, kids, life. I realized afterward that I’d skipped dinner entirely. The conversation was that good.
And no, I did not eat Canadian chocolate for dinner.
❤️ The Best Part of Traveling
As I settled in for the night, I realized — again — that the best part of my adventures isn’t the scenery or the candy or the detours. It’s the people.
My kids. My grandkids. Friends I’ve known forever. Cousins I see along the way. And strangers who become friends for an hour or a day or forever because we share a love of travel, photography (Hi, Cheryl), or simply being human.
Every interaction reminds me how fortunate I am to travel, to meet people, to share experiences, and to witness the humanness and goodness in others. It makes me want to keep going — not just on the road, but in my walk upon this Earth.