Carrot Coffeehouse, Edmonton, AB

It's not too hefty a journey from Saskatoon to Edmonton. I've been up early, after staying up late with Gord. My early task has been to install the replacement parking light housing and lens on the Lincoln. Not a big job, really. Gord loans me a few tools from his garage, and I soon have it installed. Better than the one that got smashed. Works like a charm. I check all the vital fluids, clean up. Coffee and eggs and I'm a Road King!

It's some wild and barren prairie up around the Battlefords. I stop off here to check on another old family grave. A lonesome spot.

My great grandfather, Judge James Forsythe MacLean. All alone on the prairie, his family scattered like the wind. Don't let me die in the cold. Don't let me lie in such a lonesome place.

Then, it's back to business. Out on the highway. It is one windy, windy day. The car is just sucking gas, heaving it's big frame through the push of the air. Here, quick gas stop to get supplies for my Edmonton gig...

This is the provincial boundry, in the middle of Lloydminster. The town is in Saskatchewan and Alberta. Hey, a classic, border town. Plenty of sprawl here.

Now the race to Edmonton. I'm a little behind, but I've got the GPS on, and I'm pretty sure I can find the venue without any trouble. Hammer down on these Alberta highways!

It says "Edmonton" up on one of these signs.

The Carrot Coffeehouse is even smaller than I had imagined it to be. But it's fairly comfortable. It has a good little PA, and I have it up and running pretty quickly. The road outside is closed and the heavy machines are shaking the room. There is no parking. This does not look good. There is no hospitality— I've got to buy my coffee and muffin from the venue. Mmmm.

By showtime the room is still fairly empty. My sister, kath MacLean, a local poet/teacher/editor, has brought out a few people— but other than these the audience is sparse. My sets go well, and I'm half way through my second one when the manager steps forward and says "one more song, Doc." I haven't heard that call except on a festival stage. But there's nobody following me here— the place is closing. For the first time on the Tour I don't make costs on the day. But I am here in time for the CKUA radio show I came to do. That's noon tomorrow!

I head over to Rusty Reed's House of Blues, where— who else?— Big Dave McLean is playing with his Edmonton band. Now this place is packed and groovin.' I should of come straight over here. The listings said I was playing here anyway. Stupid, eh? Actually, I had a good time playing at the Carrot to all those who were there— but it was a little lean for even this Tour. I catch a set of Dave and the band. Dave and I chat. Johnny Toronado and Rusty Reed sit in. Rusty is a monster player! It's a great room, but I've got a full day coming up and need to get my rest. Good night, Dave. See you soon. I grab a slice of pizza, park the Lincoln near the airport, and settle in for the night. The Lincoln Hotel ain't bad. Edmonton is never straight up or easy on this Tour.