Darker Ways Blues Tour

Done Like Dinner

2011-01-09T17:29:00.006-05:00

Hey, I'm back alive and well! Thanks for following my National Steel "Darker Ways" Tour across Canada. As always it was a real thrill to visit so many parts of the country, to visit so many old friends, and to meet so many new ones.

The Lincoln performed wonderfully in her support role, as did the Long and McQuade, Yorkville Sound, PA system. The 1929 National lead the way again. Not a single broken string across nine provinces and nearly 100 back to back shows. I didn't change 'em either.

The final figures are in. By land I travelled just over 23,000 km, most of it on two lane highways, and at least half of it on snow covered roads. I burnt up 2800 litres of gasoline, 25 litres of oil. How many litres of red wine and scotch? How many quarts of bourbon?

Seven Canadian blues societies presented shows. Numerous local and regional radio and television stations helped to promote or sponsor, as did various Folk Societies, Guilds and Clubs, and Arts Councils. Mitch Podolok's Home Routes organization presented me in 12 house concerts. I played another 18 house concerts on my own. I also played numerous Legion Halls, theatres, cafes, churches, community halls, coffeehouses, bars, saloons... I played a benefit show for Vancouver Native Health on Hastings St. East, and a food-raiser for the Underground Gym in Thunder Bay. Nearly 5000 paid admissions were recorded. This Tour was, as always, organized and conducted by myself without any government funding. No grants. No agents. No record company. I would, by the way, sell my soul for any of these. Meanwhile, I continue as a proud indy blues artist...

CBC Radio recorded me for their Canada Live series, which will also be available on the digital, Concert on Demand. I also made my third appearance on Alberta's flagship radio station, CKUA, to help with their yearly fund raiser.

I did a show with the Chairman of the National Film Board. I hosted a government delegation from the Faroe Islands– including their Minister of Culture and some MPs. I drank all afternoon with a bunch of old Haida guys.

I presented a bunch of masterclasses in Long and McQuade locations from coast to coast. I also gave free guitar lessons to anybody under 16 who brought a guitar to a show. I left a genuine satin, white stripe Tour jacket behind at nearly every show.

This "big tour of small" was everything I had hoped it would be. I enjoyed every show, and these were all successful events. I think I made some strides as an artist, and I'm looking forward to recording the next project. I'm also looking forward to getting back on the road as soon as possible. That's my life. The first real tour of 2011 will take me to the Yukon, NWT, Alaska, with a possible stop in Alberta or British Columbia. That will be March, so still a little frosty! I'll be leaving the Lincoln at home for this one! Meanwhile, I'll be quite busy with performances, writing, recording, and the business end of this whole, crazy adventure.

The 2011 Maple Blues Award nominations and Blues Summit have been announced, and I'll be attending in Toronto next week at my own expense. It's always a treat to come in off Tour and hang out at the Maples. Sometimes a substantial amount of the next National Steel Tour is booked at the Maples. Did I mention that Big Dave McLean will be back for next year's National Steel? The "Bad Boy" Blues Tour is now booking September- November 2011. Don't miss this one!

It's a Wrap! Darker Ways Takes It Home

2010-12-31T16:30:00.037-05:00

Back. And now that the ground has stopped moving, the wrap. This is a really long Blog entry, kind of a ramble from start to finish. It doesn't begin to mention every show or adventure. It's just a blur, looking at some pictures, trying to summarize a few bits. For the day to day adventure and details you need to scroll through the dates on the Blog. There is an entry for nearly every show stop on this 90 plus date Tour. This is probably not where to join the Tour, rather it is a prelude to us leaving the Tour, finishing the books, the paperwork, the bills, the thank you notes, the long good-bye. On the other hand, if you are just discovering this Blog, perhaps this entry will actually prove to be a good intro to the whole adventure. It's a non-linear world now– except on the ground, on the Tour! I repeat, this is a long scroll, so if you'd rather have a shorter read, you can use the Archive in the right sidebar to skip back to the shorter, day by day entries. Otherwise...

Here's the office, above, as the Tour prepared to hit the road so many months ago. When I got into the Biz some forty years past I never would have imagined that my "office" would consist of anything more than a coffee pot, a turntable and a couple of guitars. Now it's monitors, maps, spreadsheets, graphics, WiFi, inventory... I take the guitars down to the kitchen table when I have a few moments to play and write. I'm not sure this is ideal– but I'm a one person organization, and if I want to work as a performing artist I need to wear all the hats from marketing to IT, from accounting to maintenance, from driving to set up, from booking to writing, from art direction to delivering over 200 shows a year. It's an Indy blues life, and it's my own– built one piece at a time.

Launch day seems so long ago. Here I am on my street with my Tour wheels ready to go. I'm alone on the road, but there is a great little team I assemble to help make this all go. Long and McQuade– Canada's biggest and best music retailer– provides much of my PA support. Their Canada wide network of locations means I am never more than a few hours away from bigger, smaller, or alternate equipment. I really like the way this company does business, and how it gets involved in it's communities. It's a family organization, and it makes a real difference. I did a bunch of in-store, master classes on this Tour– and they were all a real pleasure. I only wish I had been able to schedule more of these.

Wendy Walker was the hands on genius behind the Tour posters, banners, and Tour jackets. I nominally art direct the process, but the "wow" factor is her creative work and her continued determination to consistently brand both my National Steel Blues Tour franchise and the component Tours such as Darker Ways, Century, National, Big Road, and next year's Bad Boy.

Gayle Pretty and Diva Graphics of Seaforth, Ontario, do the sourcing of the Tour jackets and the amazing set-up and execution of the embroidery every year. The high quality work makes a huge difference. Really, it's one of the factors that have helped lift this indy operation into a consistently successful, viable national touring act. Six years running, and nearly 600 shows under the National Steel brand and package. Genuine, satin, white stripe tour jackets.

DPI Graphics of Mississauga, Ontario, do the print jobs on the posters and were instrumental in introducing the Tour banners and backdrops. They did a one-off for me a few years ago, and we've never looked back. Now it's part of the package. Everything they touch is treated with care and consideration. Their work looks really good for a reason. Our colours are always bang on, the paper as requested or suggested, the trim excellent, the packaging good. You can't run a Tour without this stuff.

There's no banner in this snap because I'm busking! That's right, this Tour works every day somewhere. I usually make more busking a major festival than I do when I'm hired to play at it! Weird, eh? I've noticed this with Johnny Winter shows as well. Nonetheless, I am very thankful for every festival that invites me to be part of it. Usually they have great, listening crowds, and they provide musicians like myself with a sense of community. I only wish there were more opportunities for those of our ilk to meet. Or maybe I just don't do enough of these? I am always flattered to be invited. There are a lot of performers out there, so it's a great compliment when you get to be one of the few. So, chances are if you don't see me at a particular festival, it's because I haven't been asked! I should add that most of Canada's music festivals seek to provide varied programming— this is to say that they rotate their invited artists from year to year. Also, some festivals with grant funding are obliged to fill particular slots in particular ways.

I could go on about a few, deviant festivals that actually charge the artists money to be considered for inclusion. Weird, eh? And then they use the money collected to pay the artists that they do hire! Like making starving rats eat themselves. Does the electric company get paid? Do the guys who deliver the water get paid? Does the potty company get paid? When do the losing companies in a bidding process pay the winning company? You won't see me playing any artist-pay festivals.

Meanwhile, I've got friends all up and down the line. Here's Andy and Dale meeting up with me in Fredericton, New Brunswick, for Canada's best blues and jazz festival, the Harvest. These boys hail from Nova Scotia, and they know their blues. Always a pleasure to meet up with these guys, and with other blues fans across Canada. I can't describe what a boost their enthusiasm brings to the artists.

Over the Confederation Bridge here! It's a great ride in from New Brunswick, and I love playing Prince Edward Island. Getting here in good weather is always part of the fun for me. In the early fall it is still green, with little flashes of colour here and there. It is surprisingly cosmopolitan, and you never know who will turn up at your shows. I guess if there is one thing I've noticed over the past few years it is that nobody is isolated anymore. It's a small world now, and smart, informed people are everywhere.

Red dirt roads leading to a show. What a set up for me. What a great life. I'll go out and run these roads before leaving the Island. Great air. The crunch of your feet on the ground. Ten or twenty km will roll by before I know it. I didn't get as many runs in this year as I have in the past. It's partially the fatigue factor, and then access to shower facilities as well. I need to deliver a show every day– and sometimes there is just too much driving. Also the Hotel Lincoln doesn't have running water, so on Lincoln days there is no running. I think I ran something like 85 communities across Canada last year. This year it was just harder to fit it in.

Speaking of people showing up at shows— here's a parliamentary delegation from the Faroe Islands doing a guest set at my Breadalbane, PEI show. That's the Minister of Culture playing guitar. I gave him a Tour jacket and he promised to wear it "once" in Parliament! They were in Charlottetown for a conference, and their driver brought them out to the country for their last night in Canada. They had a blast! And so did everyone else, including myself.

Catherine MacLellan kindly rescheduled her show at the Dunk to accommodate my tour schedule. While we didn't end up doing the split bill I had hoped (hey, not so strange), we did end up swapping new songs at the Dunk until the wee hours. PEI is like that. I spent a few hours stacking firewood for our host the next day. I love that wood heat! Outside of the big cities, Canada has a whole lot of wood heat. It's got a certain smell, a certain warmth, a rich comfort in its embers. When I'm not around it, I miss it.

It's a clear sky, in the picture, but the winds are wailing. As it happens, I am the last car to get over the Confederation Bridge before it is shut down. Hurricane! Newfoundland gets hit hard. In this business you never know what the weather is going to deliver. I build these big Canadian tours to go out in the autumn months, as these are the safest for travel. Leaving in summer weather, I arrive back in winter— so I guess it's really a three season Tour. I travel as equipped as I can be, with good winter tires, shovel, flares, candles, car blankets, and a hand winch. Still, you can't be too careful, and every year I know I will have bad weather periods on the Tour. This year was no exception, but I did miss the worst of the weather in the Maritimes. Hurricane in the fall, and flooding in the early winter. The thing about playing as many places as I do is that I have friends in every region, so I worry over every severe weather report.

I got to Tatamogouche, Nova Scotia, to find that I had a new opening act– the National Film Board of Canada. We had an interesting time, and I pitched my ideas to the Chairman in person. In short, I asked them to consider funding incentives for film makers which could serve to encourage the commission of local composers for soundtracks. Canadian films should properly have Canadian soundtracks, unless there is a creative reason for doing otherwise. The NFB prides itself on funding films in and about Canada's many communities. My point is that the accompanying musical soundtracks should also be, where possible, drawn from the communities where the filming takes place.

Gordon Lightfoot is a great songwriter, but the boys and girls back on the Rock can provide their own accompaniment nicely...

I went for a run before leaving Tat. It's the best way to see a place– and the best way for me to keep from gaining weekly layers of fat. When I'm not on the road I train hard. It's my pension plan. Life. I'm going to have to keep working until I die, and illness would certainly spell poverty and destitution for me. So I run. I may get struck by lightening, or some cancer may take me, but I'm determined not to have a stroke or a heart attack! Seriously, as I always tell other musicians– you've worked all your life to get where you are, you've been through years of hard times– now you owe it to yourself and your family to enjoy the fruits of your labours for as long as you can.

Now, that's better! On this Tour I enjoyed fantastic and thoughtful hospitality from coast to coast. The gift of space, conversation, a place to relax, reflect, a good cup of coffee, a breakfast to fuel me for the rest of the day... I need to thank all of my hosts for being part of the team that has again made this Tour possible. Without host support along the way I would surely fade. Sometimes I enjoy the seclusion of a hotel, but more often than not it is the time spent with my hosts that is the most cherished and most valuable. You will never know just how much I have appreciated your concern for me, and how much it may have helped the next show in the next town!

Back at it! I don't have as many performance pictures on the Darker Ways blog as I have in the past. I've had a lot of stuff on my mind, and I simply haven't remembered to hand the camera out as often. And, as some people have mentioned to me, I am aware there's not necessarily much about the actual shows on the Blog. To re-state, it's not my place to review my own shows. I have reported various facts about the performances– sold out, or encored, or whatever– and sometimes I have expressed my own level of enjoyment of particular shows. The rest is up to the actual audiences. This is– after all– a Blog, and people can post to it pretty much whatever they want. My hope has been that people who have attended shows might write them up here. The real shortcoming, I've come to understand, is that my demographic generally does not Blog. You are reading this– but most of my audience is not. And of those who do, very, very few are comfortable participating or contributing to the Blog. Most folks have computers now and use them, but not everyone uses them as an interactive media. For some of my people, just turning on their computers and finding the Blog is a pretty substantial achievement. I do thank all of you for reading and following along– whether or not you have chosen to post. Every time I get to a show I am surprised at the numbers of people who say they have been following the Tour as it crosses Canada. It's a real pleasure to share what I can of this remarkable adventure.

Sudbury, Ontario, was put together by this great young band, Sulfur City. Without their efforts I would not of stopped here. I want to mention just what a pleasure it is to meet as many local artists as I do. It is almost always wonderful to have a local show on the bill. This is a way in which touring artists can give back, and help local artists get a leg up. Sometimes a little more exposure and recognition in their own communities goes a long way. It still works that way for me when I'm invited to open for various international shows. Usually the agencies, the managers, and the record companies get in the way with their own, side deals– but that's the biz, and another story. I'm an indy guy, and at my level I really enjoy being able to help promote local artists. Chances are I've occupied a prime venue on a prime night, so it's often fairly easy to do something for the local scene. This stuff all comes around. When I was in my teens and twenties I'd often get to open for John Hammond– and I'm not the only one, there's guys in every town that will tell you the same story. Muddy Waters, same. Willie Dixon. Sonny and Brownie. I don't forget, and I'm not special.

My Man!! Big Dave McLean and I made a rusty but cool night of it at Times Changed in Winnipeg, Manitoba. It was our only show of the Tour together, but great fun as always. I had really torn my voice to bits at a bar show in Kenora, Ontario, the night before, so I was really glad not to have to sing as much, and the next night I took off altogether. I rarely let my voice get buggered up– I can't when I do so many shows back to back! In this instance I borrowed a little recovery time courtesy of Big Dave. The rest of my Tour was much better for it! I had one other "bad voice" incident in Smithers, British Columbia, about 50 shows later. Five songs into my set I felt something strange happen in my throat, after which my range collapsed over the remainder of the evening. I got through, but had to refuse a second encore– not a note left! I thought about trying to re-schedule or cancel the next evening's performance, but it was late and I elected to wait until morning. Breakfast time was hot honey tea. I sang a few bars and thought "go for it, crazy man." NeoCiteron, hot honey tea, ginger, vitamin C. Got the job done. I sounded better the following night in New Hazelton, and was pretty much recovered by Prince George, British Columbia.

Big Dave and I under the neon of Times Changed High and Lonesome, Winnipeg's cool, roots bar. Dave and I will be touring in the fall of 2011. The National Steel "Bad Boy" Blues Tour will be rolling out for about 50 shows, beginning in September. It's not officially announced yet, but I'm now taking expressions of interest on dates. Based on our past 185 shows, I'd have to suggest that this is Canada's most popular acoustic blues show. This Tour has a bunch of new stuff, a couple of new CDs, it will be a blast– our craziest outing yet! Planning this one has been a whole lot of fun. My challenge, as always, will be to pull it off according to plan.

Here's a little place I played in Wadena, Saskatchewan. This is a wonderful, vintage wooden church I've performed in before. Great acoustics. You can see my set-up: one chair, two guitars! With or without fifty people in this room it sounds tremendous. I love this type of show in this type of town. I've got friends now in many places that look a lot like this one. It's always a thrill to play for them, and I'm always honoured to be invited back. In some of these small town halls the guys who framed the building might be sitting in the front rows with their grandchildren. I'll tell you something – that gives me a real thrill. These places are where Canadian culture comes from. These are the places that support the artists, develop the artists. And not just music. Book clubs, film societies, theatre, dance. These are places that take chances and support the arts. "We've never had a blues singer before," said one small town arts council, "so we hope we like you." These are places where people take chances and explore new things. As an artist you are going to give them your very best. Back in the big city you may not fill a hall unless 10 thousand other people have said the show is good. Small towns take chances. Big cities are conservative. Small town Saskatchewan develops the arts while, more often than not, Toronto and Vancouver simply consume them.

I stay in a lot of older motels. Sometimes it feels like Apocalypse Now. Remember the scene with the fan blades morphing into helicopters? Anyway, you never know what's going to go down in these places. Most are pretty decent in spite of themselves. In other places you keep your shoes on, and don't crawl beneath the covers. It's great when they have heat, and I guess I prefer the "too much rather than not enough" style. One place in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, the Al Capone, has a room where both the heater and the air conditioner run constantly– both on maximum. If either one failed, you'd boil or freeze. As it is they make an unholy noise which masks the screaming tires and the breaking glass on the main drag outside. I've had the same room three years in a row. Broken thermostat. Money is no object here, except when it comes to paying the artist, or charging him for a room.

My pal Emil is working on a beard like mine. Emil invited me to play his town in rural Saskatchewan. Of course an invite that sincere is pretty hard to refuse, so here I am with Emil, in Saskatchewan. Better? Absolutely!

Of course being on the road by myself– for months on end, in all kinds of places– exposes me to all kinds of nasty people as well. I've travelled rough for most of my life, so I'm now quite prepared for whatever. Believe me, I don't look for trouble, but when it looks for me, I'm equipped. Visiting as many places as I do can result in being in the wrong place at the wrong time and, yes, that can be pretty scary for everybody involved. But this Tour was pretty good. The only real criminals I encountered carried police identification!

My old friend Holger Petersen and I, busy here with the annual fundraiser for Canada's best radio station, CKUA, Edmonton, Alberta. It covers all of Alberta and it is what CBC used to be– a cultural force, listened to by the masses. I'm sorry, I love the CBC, too. But it has never recovered from its many restructurings. When I roll into Alberta I always lead with a visit to CKUA. The rest of my shows in the province will be sold out. For a guy like myself who has never played the Edmonton folk or blues festival, or the Calgary or Canmore folk festivals, this is important. Even if I wasn't a performer this would be a worthy cause. I encourage all of you, where ever you are, to support your local radio. It matters.

Live music may not always be best. But it is usually interesting, and sometimes it is amazing. Playing live on the radio is pretty neat. How many people are out there listening? Where are they? And what are they doing? Who knows? I don't really think about it at the time. Live radio is cool because I can just go for "the zone." Nobody's looking at me. Well maybe just the host and the producer and the tech people. You just kind of go where it takes you. You don't have to look a certain way. The music is pretty real. Where it goes, what happens, an adventure. Jeez, I notice here that my beard is pretty white now. Being an old blues singer is not nearly as romantic an idea as it was when I was a teenager following Son House around.

I rolled West with mainly good weather. Quite a few shows in British Columbia again this year. You know, I play pretty much everywhere now in this province. Everywhere except the summer festivals. Sure would be nice to get here in the high season, but I do enjoy myself on these fall trips. And I've got a lot of fans here. Always a pleasure.

Niki and Caleb run a great bookstore and cafe in Golden, BC. For once, my drive in did not involve black ice on the Kicking Horse pass!

Here's a Long's store in Kamloops. I've never had a big crowd out to this one, but I've never done a workshop here on a Saturday, either. It's another friendly store with great gear, great service, and is well respected in the community. Kamloops is a bit of an odd town. Despite the support of a local television appearance, guest spots on two radio shows, airplay on CBC, and a masterclass at Long and McQuade, I was unable to book a Thursday night gig there. All dressed up with no place to go. People were stopping me on the street for autographs, but I could not give a show away to any venue. Kamloops now joins Medicine Hat, Alberta, Brandon, Manitoba, and Sarnia, Ontario to form a quartet of unbookable towns. Come on, folks, the rest of the country has been on board for years...

High dessert. I sure love this part of Canada, south and west of Kamloops.

They love me, too. Well, OK, I'm popular. It's always gratifying to see familiar faces in the crowds. Here's a jacket winner in Spence's Bridge, British Columbia. Big fun.

The Lower Mainland. The west coast arrives fast when you roll down out of the mountains. This is one of the bridges into New Westminster, better known as "New West." My first west-coastal show of the Tour this year was a fabulous house concert in New West. About 30 of my 90 plus shows this tour were house concerts. Boy, these are fun. I meet great people. I'm well fed, wonderfully looked after. And I get to play to amazing audiences old style– no mics, in a big room. Did I mention that I also get paid to do this? And sell CDs? Booze is not driving the music business anymore. The beer fuelled days of four, five, six night gigs are past. Smarter kids, and more aggressive drinking and driving laws are slowly killing the rural bars and taverns. The urban joints have high overhead, and generally get a big piece of the night. House concerts. Semi-formal concerts in people's homes and outbuildings. Big fun, no problems, very social. I think we are going to see a big revival of acoustic music, via the rising popularity of house concerts. No doubt future tours will have more and more of these concerts. It used to be that I would try and fit these in around the bar and cafe gigs– now it is just the opposite.

Larry and his pals had the smokers going for days prior to our Blues, Booze and BBQ event. Great fun! Great food! Red wine and some single malts... Very nice.

My slightly overexposed, but non-corrected face. Happily on route to the Gulf Islands.

Yes, "God's Country," but heavily bought up by folks years ago. Buy a boat and the whole thing is yours for a fraction of the cost. Maybe when I get too old to drive cars safely I'll do a marine route up and down the west coast. Yeah, maybe...

Duncan Garage Showroom in Duncan, British Columbia. One of Canada's top acoustic rooms and always a pleasure to perform in.

Headliners. A joint presentation by the Nanaimo Blues Society and the Headliners School of Performing Arts. A great room. Exactly what Nanaimo needs to present roots shows in a less commercial setting.

There's a bunch of great venues across Canada now. Get out there and support them!

I had a couple of down days in Nanaimo, and I came to like it more than I expected. It's a port town, and on the west coast this means needle trade. So by night there are too many addicts and young hookers out on the streets. By day, it is a really pretty town with lots going on. I went for a 10 km run along the harbour and through the town, visited the library, checked out the coffee joints. One of the things I enjoy most about my life as a performing artist is the opportunity to get out on foot and explore the places I go. I meet people. I dig in. I hear stories. Places are almost always much more than they might appear to be, and there are some great surprises, some hidden gems to be found along the blue highways.

Pre-show, the Wild Pacific Trail outside of Ucluelet, British Columbia. Here, the Pacific is pretty wild most of the time. Night life is wild in a young sort of way– surfer culture is big. I came out on the wet trail with light fading. To hear the crash of these waves, and feel the power. I never tire of this and it never fails to impress. On the way back into town I heard my pal Ross Neilsen on the radio. He was coming to play in a few days time. A Maritimer, but I hope he had a chance to connect to these waves, too.

The last time I was here I was preoccupied by a legal problem. Thankfully I had entertainment lawyer Paul Sanderson in my corner, and things worked out very well. This year there is no problem, but I'm very glad to know that Paul is just a phone call, txt, or email away. Great council is part of a great tour team.

I stopped for breakfast in Port Alberni and ran into some folks who had come to see me play in Nanaimo a couple of days previously. Before I knew it I was off to an airport for a tour of the region!

Sharp, eh?

Back on the ground all too soon, I drove to Victoria in the rain. Could of flown if I'd abandoned the Lincoln at the airport. Not likely! Thanks for a great day, Don. It's these little gestures up and down the line that make it worth while. You can make money just about anywhere, but you can't buy friends and experiences.

The booked shows in Victoria were pretty marginal this year, but all the stuff around the edges was great. Ed, and his partner Mildred are old friends who surfaced in Victoria to become my hosts and guides to music in the city. I had a great post-show jam at their house with another member of Ed's McKinley Wolf band. The next day we went and played the Victoria Blues Society jam and had a great time. I was really pleased at how friendly everybody was, and very glad to be invited to play. The band thing was way more fun than I had thought it would be. It has been a while since I've done that, but I thought our little set was pretty cool.

The Blues Societies are an important part of keeping the blues alive across Canada, and most of them do a great job most of the time. For my part, I'm just very gratified that so many of the Societies and/or their members get on board to help my Tours work. I am pleased and humbled that some of these have had me back year after year. It not only helps me to build an audience, but it helps me to make a living. Blues societies support and nurture living blues. These are wonderful organizations, run by volunteers who love the blues. Thanks again to Victoria, White Rock, Prince George, Nanaimo, Calgary, Saskatoon, Regina, Thunder Bay, London and Bruce, for your efforts this year.

Back on the mainland. Vancouver. The club scene has been pretty fluid here for several years now. Without an operational blues society or other organizational presenter on side it has not been easy for me to come in and connect. Big cities are like that. Yet Vancouver is the location of one of my favourite venues. Actually, a non-venue: Vancouver Native Health, on East Hastings, near Main. Playing here, for free, to mostly homeless, marginalized people, was again one of the most rewarding stops on the Tour. You can read about it on the Blog for that particular day. East Hastings Street is like a war zone, and there is nothing like it in North America. When Canadians fall through every crack and safety net they land here. It's as far west as you can go without actually falling into the ocean. It's the shame of our cities. It's the stain on our veneer of good government and social justice.

Vancouver behind, I'm off to do a couple more shows on the Lower Mainland before crossing the mountains again. The route may have seemed a little crazy this year, with its big backswing into British Columbia, but it was all part of the plan.

Here's a snap of White Rock Blues Society President Rod Dranfield introducing me. These guys put on some great shows in White Rock, and have close ties to the Victoria Blues Society.

Coming out after the White Rock show, the Rock really is White! Nobody expected this!

Back into the mountains...

To the prairie on the other side... A quick stop in Calgary to record a CBC Canada Live show at the Ironwood. It was 30 degrees below zero, cold enough to freeze the air suspension on the car. The Tuesday night at the historic Old Fort Gary Theatre was not as well attended as we would of hoped. Brutal weather. The next day I drove south to Lethbridge. After the show I found that there was a storm was raging outside. Packing out quickly, I got the Lincoln fired up. The suspension was still frozen in the lowrider position. I started driving and sixteen hours later I arrived at my next show, in Hinton, Alberta.

Hinton was significant because it was the first of twelve shows not booked directly by myself, but by a Winnipeg based organization called Home Routes. Founded by Mitch Podolak, the same visionary who launched the Winnipeg Folk Festival, Home Routes places musicians on organized tours of house concerts. It's an amazing idea which threatens to revolutionize not only the ways in which acoustic music is delivered, but also the content and context of the music delivered to Canadians. I'm nervous about seeing such adventures organized because big organizations make me nervous- but I'm also very excited at the prospect of such a groundswell, such a rediscovery of home music, of folk music, of music as part of real people's lives and stories. I believe that we are on the cusp of some very interesting times, and that perhaps the cultural cycle that I rode into my life in music is coming around again. My series of Home Routes shows took me across northern British Columbia. These were very successful shows, and I'm really quite proud to have been invited to play under the Home Routes banner. Many thanks to everyone in the Home Routes organization. Congrats, Mitch. This is exciting stuff.

This was a cool night in Fort St. John. I like it when a man brings his saw out to one of my shows. Many can play with an axe, but only a few can cut the music so cleanly...

Speaking of clean, the big Lincoln took a beating on these northern roads. Plenty of dirt. You can't see the multiple chips in the windshield in this Terrace, BC, snap.

New Hazelton, British Columbia. Text didn't join the photo Blog for that day (yet), but I can report here that a Yeti was reported on the same day as my show. As hard as I looked at these mountains, I didn't see it myself.

A pleasant run to the coast, a last Home Routes show, in Prince Rupert, and then I was on board a ship– bound for the land on the edge of the world. Haida Gwaii. The apex, if you will, of this Tour. My destination. Perhaps my destiny. I didn't know why, but I can tell you I felt strangely compelled to make this journey. It was a great relief to actually arrive, in part because the open sea was a little wilder than me, but also because I could face this obsession directly. Before leaving Prince Rupert, the old Navajo ring I've worn for the last twenty years broke on my finger, twisted into my flesh and cut me badly. It didn't want to go.

It's a Pacific island. As far north and west as you can go in Canada. As far west as you can drive a car, or walk. It's a bit wild, a bit misty. There's a sadness about the place that was unexpected.

The shows were really a joy to play, and the people I met were wonderful. My hosts became dear friends whom I look forward to visiting again. I spent an afternoon drinking with an old Haida man in the Mile Zero bar, learning about him, learning about fishing, about logging, about Haida language, about how to say "thank you" in Haida. How-a. I don't know why I needed to go to Haida Gwaii. Nothing was revealed. But I came, answered this call, and came back unchanged. So far, anyway.

I didn't need a jacket in Haida Gwaii, but back on the mainland the weather was changing.

Forty cars and a couple of semi trucks crashed just a few seconds ahead of me on this road. I forgot to take pictures, but I did sit in the car for over three hours while the highway was cleared. Very scary. Highway 16. This is a wild road on many counts. The Highway of Tears. The Yellowhead. I respect this road. But my ride on it wasn't over yet.

Into Saskatchewan again. Or is it Russia I've driven out of this storm into?

The motel is Saskatoon. I'm in town too late to call anybody in this time zone.

The good weather just kept on as I travelled east. Just inside Ontario I was subject to an illegal search of my vehicle by the OPP, the Ontario Provincial Police. Constitutional rape. A man with a gun and a badge and no witnesses. Two men on the side of an icy road, and one of them is a criminal– the one with the police badge. The officer said he couldn't read my plate in the snow. Yet when he drove away his was also obscured. He didn't require my ownership or insurance. Only my driver's licence. Had I ever been in trouble with the police? Was I sure? Did I have anything dangerous in my vehicle? Anything he might be interested in? Where was I going? Where was I coming from? Would I step out of my vehicle? Would I open my trunk please? What's in that box? What's in that bag? I stood by as he rifled through my belongings.

There were no grounds to stop me in the storm, no warrant or reasonable cause to search my vehicle, no justification to question my use of the TransCanada highway, my comings, goings or purpose. In Canada citizens are not legally subject to arbitrary search or questioning. My reluctant cooperation was based entirely upon fear of further criminal acts by the officer, and by my need to get to my Wabigoon gig on time to set up and do my show.

Hey, the rest of my day was great. And I want to add that I met several police officers on this tour who were absolutely wonderful. I could see their pride in their work, and I could see their community's pride in their efforts and accomplishments. One RCMP officer came into a club I was playing. It was his last shift before being transferred to another community. He was just dropping in to say good-bye. He got a standing ovation. Great individuals making real contributions to their communities. That's what small town policing is all about. Keeping people out of trouble, helping them when they need it.

Just a few more shows at this point. The trip around Lake Superior is always beautiful, but it's as dangerous a road as any. Snow, ice, moose, deer. For the first time in over a week the roads are clean and dry. I'm headed home. Great show in Thunder Bay in support of the Underground Gym, a fabulous, volunteer funded project which helps street kids. Cold town in which to be a street kid. Next time through I'll not only play the Gym, but I'll work out there as well. I remember what it's like to be cold and hungry. It's something to consider as I motor down the road in my warm car.

Coming south out of Barrie, Ontario, the big Highway 400 reminds me of what a wild ride really is. Cars going at high speed, passing on the right, tailing, cutting in, racing... to the Big Smoke. Sweet home Toronto. I'm back. It's expensive and noisy, and I'm already well into planning the next Tour.

Rambling Towards Home, Rossport, ON

2010-12-19T16:33:00.003-05:00

Heading east out of Thunder Bay, these are the best roads I've seen since Haida Gwaii. Well, it's not that the roads are good, it's just that they are dry, not covered in snow. I sip an extra large coffee. I've got J.B. Lenoir on the stereo. I'm always just floored by this stuff. He was always pretty neat, but his later stuff grabs me and won't let go. Dave Jonnason was playing some for me last night at the jam. I don't know if I can master the timing like that or not. If JB had not passed I believe he might have become a huge star, a shining beacon in the civil rights movement. He brought content and development to the blues, direction, purpose. There's that word again. I think JB was becoming a very purposeful singer and writer. There's always a party around the blues. It's healing music, but I am reminded by JB that it can also carry the seeds of change. Broonzy knew this. And you can sense the respect and dignity that Willie Dixon accorded JB in his later recordings.

Vic and I stayed up way too late last night, and then did coffee and breakfast all morning with his partner, Deb. Again, I'm struck by the hospitality, the connection made. I left feeling as if I had known these folks for years. Feeling like old friends. I guess that as a traveller I make my friends where I can, and where I am. On this trip I am certainly struck by the quality and depth of the friendships made along the way. I am very thankful. Knowing all these folks are out there makes it easier for me to give it my best every night.

That's Lake Superior in winter. Just a rare, sheltered corner. She's a wild lake, really a freshwater sea. Those who know her respect her power.

It's a quiet, Sunday night show in the little village of Rockport. My hosts are very kind. We drink red wine, have dessert. I play the blues. A nice sounding room, so I perform without mics. The night starts and ends early, so I'm off to the wrapper before I know it.

It's winter alright. Tomorrow the Sault, the next day— home.

Thunder Bay- Country Cozy and The Underground Gym

2010-12-18T19:33:00.005-05:00

A bigger drive today, and not any cleaner. For better or worse there is salt on the roads from here on. Today, I don't mind. I've had enough ice and road ruts to last me until next time. Still, it is a good five or six hours of driving. I drink coffee and listen to the sound of the wheels on the road. There's a certain roar a truck makes when it swishes past. There's a certain hum that the motors make: big stacks backblasting into the wind, like big steel animals out stalking the highway. Like giant caterpillars winking, somehow not ready to turn away, but gone before you know it.

I'm looking for the home of my host for the evening, The Old Vicar. Vic's a drummer and runs a long standing blues radio show out of CKLU in Thunder Bay. His house, however, is way out in the country. I make a couple of detours to get around snow and hills the Lincoln may not climb, and now, here I am at the front door. We've met before, but this is a great chance to hang out, so we chatter away over dinner before heading over to the venue.

The Country Cozy Bed and Breakfast seemed to be an unlikely place for a show. It's also out in the country, in a place called Lappe, Ontario. Roads to it have names like Moving Post. It's pretty dark out here, and I'm wondering who's going to show up for this thing. But the show is, I am told, sold out, and has been for quite some time. Loading in, the place is actually really, really nice. It's big and bright and looks like it will seat about 40. Before I know it, they are here! Like good country folk, they come right on time!

My pal Dave Jonasson is going to open for me tonight. He got here early and got set up. He's a Thunder Bay, ON, lad who has put in time as a guitar slinger with It's always a treat to hear him play. He's a cool, country blues player who borrows bit and pieces from the most unlikely places and stitches it all together. I always like to hear his slide playing, and tonight he rolls into it heavy. The crowd eats it up. I guess I'd better be good!

No worries here. This bunch are friendly, and after a short break I'm on! Tonight's show is helping to raise awareness, and food, for a Thunder Bay project called the Underground Gym. It's a volunteer run, volunteer funded organization that does outreach work with street kids. The founder is here tonight, and I'm impressed by his informal, half-time presentation. We collect quite a bit of food here tonight for the kids, and I find myself offering to both play and work out at the Gym next time through.

Here's my pal Dave Jonassan, post show. Thanks for coming out. Lots of fun.

And here's the lucky, lucky Tour jacket winner!

After the encore, and the second encore, we pack up pretty quickly. A fun night all around. Dave and Vic and I head back to the house. We jam until far too late. I'm glad I've only got a short drive tomorrow!

Constitutional Rights Violated by Ontario Provincial Police

2010-12-17T19:51:00.004-05:00

Pretty quiet Highway 17 leaving Manitoba today: still partially snow covered, plenty of black ice around the edges. I'm taking it very slow. I've come all this way, and I plan on getting to my destination without sliding off the road or worse! I've got a short hop today, so I'm going to get to my motel early and rest up before the show. I am pretty tired of these driving conditions. It's been a real dog right from Prince Rupert. Not more than a couple of hours of good road the whole way.

Well, here's Ontario. The speed limit drops to 90 km as you cross this line. There's no risk today. While the road has slowly been improving, I'm doing 40km on the icy hills, maybe 80 on the straight flats. There's no hurry, and very little traffic. No salt yet. Just muddy sand here and there, and a little blowing snow.

I pass a 4x4 sitting on the shoulder. I give it a pretty wide berth, as I always do roadside vehicles. In my rear view mirror I watch as it bursts into a mass of red and blue lights. It's an unmarked, or stealth police cruiser. I glance down. Eighty km, maybe a bit less. He doesn't want me. As I slow for him to pass, he pulls up tight on my tail and flags his siren. He does want me. Why? I pull over as far as I dare on the icy road shoulder and wait.

"I couldn't read your plate," says the officer. "May I see your driver's licence?" He's young and bearded, fresh from plainclothes or drug squad, I'd guess. I give him the card, but he doesn't look at my ownership or insurance, or my VIN. Instead he asks "have you ever been in trouble with the police?"

I say, "no." He says, "Are you sure?" I ask "What's this about?" He asks "Do you have anything dangerous in this vehicle?" I say, "No, I don't carry weapons, officer." He persists, "Do you have anything in this vehicle that I might be interested in?" He's looking in the window, and I now know that this is not a routine or warranted stop in any way. "I can't imagine that I have anything that would be of interest to you," I reply.

"What have you got in your trunk?" This is getting pretty intense. I glance at my cell phone, but I'm over the Ontario border, and I have no service in this spot. "Guitars and sound gear," I reply. "I'm a musician."

"How long have you been travelling? Where are you coming from?" I'm answering the questions– and politely– but they don't show any signs of stopping. This guy has stopped me for no reason. He does not have a warrant or any grounds to search my vehicle. We're on a lonely road with no witnesses and no cell service. He's armed. What the fuck is this guy up to?

"I'd like to look in you trunk, sir." Here's the moment of truth. This guy has already stopped me without cause, he has no interest in my vehicle registration, he does not have any grounds to detain me, and now he'd like to conduct an illegal search of my vehicle. Yeah, yeah– I don't have to play along, but I'm afraid of what might happen if I don't. Does he plant something in my car? Does he charge me with some offence under the Motor Vehicle Act? Do I spend the rest of the day in a Dryden police station? My cell phone has no service, but I'm not sure what I'd gain by placing a call to my lawyer anyway. Hell, I've got nothing to hide. But I know my rights are being trampled all over. This guy is fishing, and profiling, and throwing his power around. Two guys on the side of a road. The one with the gun is a criminal. His badge is a dangerous weapon.

I open my trunk and the cop rifles through my bags. "What's in here?" "What's in that bag?" "What's in that box?" My duffle bags are full of clothing, not drugs, and he seems quite disappointed. "OK, you're free to go," he says. I don't bother pointing out that legally I've probably been "free to go" from the start. But I do feel deeply violated by the experience. I should of told him that he'd probably be able to smell good British Columbia dope without opening the trunk, or the bags inside it...

As the cruiser speeds away I notice that it's plates are entirely obscured by snow. What have I done? Traded my rights– which I surrendered in fear– for my freedom to get to my gig on time. Is it just that I'm more pragmatic as I get older? Or did I whimp out? I don't think my Dad would of rolled over without a fight. But experience has been a great teacher, too. Strange, bad things can happen in isolated places, without witnesses to see them. Cops take big risks with criminals everyday, but when cops step over the line, the risks to a civil society are even greater.

Here's the gig. I'm still pissed about the cop, but I'm not going to let it bother me. Nice to see my name out by the street. Better than a poster. This is going to be a fun show!

John, the owner/promoter, jack of all things Green Achers, and flying paramedic, is inside to meet me. My tour banner is up over the stage, and the place looks great. I played here once before, a couple of years ago– it was a ball, so I'm pleased to be back. I've also played a couple of festival gigs nearby. I know I've got a few fans in these parts, so I'm betting that the night will be a good one. We sound check the little PA, and I'm off to the motel to hang until dinner.

Oops, I spoke too soon. The room is OK, but the owner switches on the heat as he lets me in! "It'll warm up pretty quick," he says. Not quick enough for me. I am NOT going to sit in the cold and wait. Back to Green Achers! I'll hang out and use the WiFi. Not so bad. This room ought to be warm when I get back after the show.

It's a good little room, and it has plenty of people in it soon enough.

Jacket winner! A whole bunch of people have come down from Sioux Lookout for the show, and other groups have driven in from Dryden. I'm touched that folks would drive so far on these icy roads, at night, to see me. I play really well tonight. Thanks for coming, everybody!!

After the show a lot of people hang around and talk. Doesn't that satin jacket look good? Genuine satin, white stripe Tour jacket. Yeah! I'm off to the motel. I'm watching for cops, but I don't see another soul for the twenty minutes it takes to get there. The heat is on, and I'm one tired blues guy for the wrapper.

Little Mirage on the Prairie

2010-12-16T21:08:00.002-05:00

It's too late to call anybody, so I check into the Riviera in Saskatoon and catch a couple of hours sleep. The Hotel Lincoln is getting cold and cramped. I need a hot shower and a change of clothes.

Right. Now, back at it. These roads are more slippery than they look here. Salt is not often used on western roads. There's just a whole lot of distance out here, so we ride on a little scattered sand and gravel. And ice. It's good for your nerves. It keeps them stretched and taunt, or you may die. The Yellowhead. Sweet Sixteen.

You never know what may rise out of the Saskatchewan prairie. Or did I take a wrong turn out of Alaska?

Wicked Yellowhead

2010-12-15T20:46:00.002-05:00

It's a wicked road. Canadian guitar players get their hand strength from gripping the wheel. I always expect a few storms, a few days of bad weather... But I've had enough now. Thanks! I missed a giant accident near Edmonton, AB by less than a minute. Forty cars and a couple of semi trucks. When these trucks raced past me they were blowing up enough snow that I couldn't see anything for seconds at a time! I had to look for fence posts out of the passenger window to keep my bearings. No regard for anybody else on the road. Several examples of some of the most reckless truck driving I've ever seen. I hope these were the ditch divers. I understand at least one person was killed. I sit in the Lincoln for over three hours while the highway is cleared, buy coffee, and swing back into action.

Over the Watershed– Again

2010-12-14T20:29:00.002-05:00

White knuckle day and a white knuckle night. I don't have to hurry as the gig was cancelled ages ago. But this Yellowhead is one long road. Highway 16 snakes its way half way across Canada. It's the road to ride. Respect this road.

In Which I Depart Haida Gwaii

2010-12-13T20:03:00.004-05:00

Charlotte City Legion Hall, Haida Gwaii

2010-12-12T18:57:00.006-05:00

It's always a good sign when I get to the gig and my picture is on the door. In this case, there are two of them– so double good on me. Keith and I have just come from the community hall down the street where I've been a guest at the community pot luck Christmas dinner. I feel so blessed to be so welcomed to Charlotte City, Haida Gwaii.

Elizabeth meets us at the door with the key to the Hall. It's an interesting looking Legion, also combining a church, a little bar, and a few pool tables. Pretty slick combination. Heaven or Hell? Let's toss for it. Who breaks? Is it cool to have a little shot before church, or after, or both? But both the bar and the church are closed up tonight, so I guess I'll be the one preachin' the blues in just over an hour.

It doesn't take me too long to bring in that Yorkville Sound, Long and McQuade PA system, and have it set up and sounding great. Actually, the room sounds great. I've got the system tuned down pretty low, and I'm more or less going to perform off, or over the mics. I'd sing this room in a heartbeat without mics– I'm just hedging my bets in case it sounds different when it's packed full of people!

Keith and Elizabeth are such good folks to have in your corner. They've been around shows for a whole lotta years now, and know what needs to be done, and how to do it. Here's Keith prepping the door, while Elizabeth gets the coffee machine and the tea going, little dessert things out on plates, cups organized, little paper plates. Wow. This is my kind of small town! Plenty of good food here! I regret that I can't eat much of it before playing– but I do get a nibble of this and that.

There is a blues band on the Island. So far as I can gather it is made up of the guys in the Fire Department. Some big, strapping dudes introduced themselves over at the Community Christmas dinner. Apparently the whole band is coming to the show tonight. I wish I'd known, because I would have invited them to do a little playing, too!

It is almost show time and the hall is empty. A bit of a nail biter. And then, suddenly, the place is packed and more chairs are being set out. Rural folks tend to come pretty much right on time. And, of course, they like the shows to start pretty much on time as well.

I really enjoy playing Charlotte City. It's a listening crowd. They laugh at all the right places, clap at the right times... We are a great combo, this crowd and I. It's easy work tonight to deliver what strikes me as a top notch show.

Everybody loves a genuine satin, white stripe Tour jacket! Here's the lucky winner! A couple of songs and a couple of encores later everyone is gone into the night, and I'm packing gear out into a light rain. This is the kind of night that makes it all worth while.

I follow Keith and Elizabeth up the highway to Tlell. Keith is done, and off to bed. He doesn't know it yet, but I've got a genuine satin, white stripe Tour jacket set aside for him! Elizabeth and I stay up far too late, sampling home made Chateau Red. I've got to be up in just a couple of hours to catch my ship back to the mainland. Time flies when you are in good company. Thanks, Elizabeth, for making this all possible. I'll be back!

Mixed Messages

2010-12-11T20:28:00.003-05:00

I spend a large part of my day here, at the Haida museum in Skidegate. As I wander through the place, I reflect on the stories being told here. Stories of the Haida, stories of Haida Gwaii. The museum here presents a Haida view of the Haida. This is both interesting and informative, and frustrating. The history of the Haida is presented back to the point of first documented contact with Europeans in the 1740's. Beyond that point, origins are only explained via the Haida creation beliefs and stories. Whatever Haida culture was before contact, and wherever it came from, however it grew, are not represented archaeologically– and are not subject to discussion, speculation, or debate. Certainly there is something between the Creation Story, and the documentation of European trade in the 1740s? Clearly, some choices were made here as to how and what should be presented.

At the time of European contact the Haida were a very sophisticated and powerful nation– skilled in trade, and long accustomed to working with metal tools. Their use of breastplates calls to question whether or not there had been earlier trade relations with Asian nations. Chinese coins and tokens seem to have been present on the Island. What were the Pacific contacts over pre-history? Was there migration in either direction? How early was Haida Gwaii populated? I don't think this is just a white man's idle curiosity. It is appropriate for the human intellect to question not only the origins, but also the geographical and cultural passages of our species. This sort of exploration would not offend the Haida creation story, nor compromise the dignity of the historic Haida culture, or the contemporary Haida claim to sovereignty of this land.

What else is missing here? These are the remnants of a great nation. In the early 1800's the population of Haida Gwaii was thought to be over ten thousand individuals, concentrated in over a dozen village sites. Between 1860 and 1880 the population diminished to an estimated 600 souls. Bodies would of been scattered everywhere. How could over 9000 deaths on a small island not be known up and down the coast, and rumoured across the land? The use of residential schools for the next 90 years nearly completed the work the smallpox had started. What civil society condones the removal of all children from their families? What genocide is this? While government has taken some limited responsibility, and delivered compensation to some individuals for specific grievances at specific residential schools, the question of criminal responsibility crosses my mind. The destruction of a culture via dispersal and de-programming both seeks and achieves the same ends as many a war crime.

But I'm an outsider passing through. From what I can see the Haida have carried themselves with dignity. They are themselves beginning to restore that which was nearly lost. Perhaps it is a measure of their cultural strength that this museum is not a memorial to the many lost souls. Instead, it looks forward.

Still, for me, I feel an emptiness here. Spirits of many souls wander these shores.

Masset, Haida Gwaii

2010-12-10T16:41:00.012-05:00

Waking up in, Tlell, Haida Gwaii. Wow. My hosts here, Elizabeth and Keith, seem like old friends already. We do coffee, chat. I'm eager to explore the Island. I'm going to play in Masset tonight, up in the north end of it all. That's about sixty or seventy Km, so far as I can gather– so my plan is to head out right away and spend the day exploring. I'll work my way north, find the venue, continue up to the north beach area, and head back to sound check once it gets dark. I'm off! The mists are rising out of the big trees, and the sun is teasing. Things are damp here. It rains. The sun comes out. Mist and fog swell up out of the forest. I bump down the long drive and out onto the blacktop.

It's a short run to the first beach access point and, of course, I just have to stop and have a look around. From where I'm standing, on the east side of the island, this beach runs north for at least 60km and perhaps more. It's a wild coast, with no settlements on it, no road access. I'd like to run some of this, but I'm tired, still getting over this cold, and I have a show to do tonight! Not to mention that I'm on route, so to speak, and would also need a shower. Anyway, I'm content enough to walk on this wild beach and kick some sea shells around.

Back on the blacktop, I head north. It's a very private road today. Nobody out but me, apparently.

I'm in Port Clements, and it's pretty quiet, too. I spot this quay on the edge of town, and stroll out to take in the view. Out on the very end of it I meet a town worker putting up Christmas lights. I forget how many metres he said he was stringing up, but it ran into the hundreds. We talked about kids and fishing, and which hills had logging roads to the top of them. Just a friendly moment out there in the sun.

Woodsmoke drifting across the streets of Port Clements. It's all wood heat on the Island. The Island is all about wood. There's no obvious place to buy a coffee here today, so I decide to keep rolling and head for Masset. The Golden Spruce Trail is nearby, but the story of the death of this tree is so sad I can't bring myself to walk to the scene. I head north.

Yeah, it's a Pacific island. Too far north for palm trees– but it still has the groove, the feel, the spirit. I drive around Masset and find the venue. Stopping in for lunch I spend an hour talking with a Haida "faller." The title is a job title. When he has work, he cuts trees. Big trees. Over our hour together I learn a lot about life in the camps, about the dangers of the job. About guys getting killed doing this work, about cutting trees eight feet in diameter. I wonder if this is going to be legend someday: man falling an eight foot diameter tree, dropping giants. A rite of passage with a saw. I understand that stuff grows fast and large out here, but I also understand that these big trees were already big when the first Europeans saw this place nearly 300 years ago. Our lives– like termites– nasty brutish and short. This Earth, alive without us infesting it. But I'm not here to pass judgement. I don't know much about what's going on in these boreal forests. I do know that the Haida have won significant rulings in the Supreme Court of Canada bringing them much more control over the resources here.

I'm on my way to the North Beach. It's about 40 km north and east of Masset. The wildlife is obvious everywhere. These big birds are feeding on something large and dead.

My road gets smaller, and soon there are no obvious laneways or driveways. No traffic outside of town, and I'm alone on this road today. The trees are high over the road, the coast not far to my left, and the wild marshes not far to my right.

Some kind of moss. Monkey moss, if I got to name it. This stuff is in the trees everywhere. Forming strange shapes it dresses the woods with a sense of mystery.

I catch a glimpse of Tow Hill in the distance. That's where I'm headed first. If I climb up this hill I'll be able to see Alaska off to the north-east.

My road gets smaller. I suppose it is better traveled in season, but today I am alone and am sliding on a very slippery clay base. It's a good thing I've had experience driving in mud, as well as snow. It would be a long run back to Masset for help. No cell service out here.

I park the Lincoln and walk up into the silence of the heavy forest. Rich, lush, full, damp, fragrant, whispering. There's a well constructed trail here, and I stick to it, climbing, climbing, past trees older than history, past shadows of trees, past tree goasts. I'm climbing a hill that the Haida climbed long ago. Other eyes have looked out from here. And what thoughts did they have? What thoughts do I have? Blues guy panting up a steep hill, alone in the late afternoon, on an island at the edge of the world.

Roots like blood vessels, like little fingers waiting to grab, or sleeping, sleeping for a while longer.

Half way up. It's a view alright.

I guess Alaska is out there on the horizon. And it's a big, wild ocean. You feel like you are part of the world when you are next to it. Keep going out there and you'll get to Asia, Australia, India, Africa. Bits of culture washing up on the beach, threatening to change everything. Ideas are like that sometimes. I know my life is like that sometimes. The more I travel, the more I look at the horizon. I could drive to 29 Palms in about three days from the mainland port, buy a used Airflow trailer, and live in the vacant lot behind the motel. But I have a show to play tonight. And I need to climb down from this extreme place, where thoughts and ideas drift in from the great ocean and the soft winds feed them to the trees.

A little further and I get to the North Beach road. It's not much of a road, really.

They say you can drive for 50 Km along the beach here, but there's no way in the world I'm taking my Lincoln another step out on this path. "There's a few soft spots," I was told. Yeah, I can imagine that. I can imagine the Lincoln on her belly with the tide filling her inners, drowning, lost in the crash of the salty waves.

I walk the beach. Time goes fast out here. Soon, darkness is falling. I want to get back to that slippery road, back into town. It's time, I've had a taste.

Here's a strange site. I think it's part of the old early warning radar they used to use. NATO left here a long time ago, but it appears that the CAF now keep a couple of guys here to cut the lawn. X-Files, anyone? Spooky at dusk, I gotta say.

I get back to The Ground, the cafe/gallery where I am to play tonight. It's a quick set up. I bring in the PA as I'm not sure what the turnout is going to be, and because everyone is excited about this little Yorkville Sound system. I could probably play the room without it, but it's part of the set here. It says "showtime," in these parts. I have a light dinner, after which I still have a few hours to kill before the aforementioned showtime. It gets dark early this far north at this time of year.

Across the street is the Mile Zero Pub. At this time of day it is mainly populated by an older group of Haida men and a gorgeous woman who is somebody's niece, somebody else's cousin, and somebody else's wife. At least I believe that's what the arrangement is. Everybody on the Island seems to be related somehow. I buy a beer and a shot of bar scotch- a fine, Johnny Walker Red Label– and am immediately adopted by one table with an empty seat. I'm not sure if this is a permanent "guest" chair, or whether somebody is off sick today. The other seats all seem to belong to their occupants. One of my elbow mates here is an older Haida gentleman who, over the next couple of hours, tells me a lot about his life. He used to speak Haida all the time, but finally he only had one friend to speak to, and since his friend has died he has no one to tell his thoughts to. He speaks English as well as anybody else. But he thinks in Haida. Before I leave I ask him to teach me a few words. I learn to say "thank you." How-a. He says it to me a few times. I notice he has a slightly different accent than some others I have heard using this word. The folks at this table would all like me to play at the Mile Zero, but they won't be coming across the street for the show at The Ground tonight. I bid them how-a, and am on my way.

The Ground is a nice, quite modern cafe run by some folks from away. They learned about coffee and music and art and the internet in Vancouver, I think, and then moved here to run this place. It pulls Masset in the direction it is probably growing, post military, post lumber. Environmental tourism, arts, culture. Masset is a neat little town with some smart people in and around it. There are a few waiting for the show when I wander back. Hopefully there will be more soon!

Before long it's showtime! I'm set up next to a woodstove, so I'm toasty. I've got a small but enthusiastic crowd here. We are joined at half time by a couple of RCMP officers. They love living here, and love their jobs. But they need to go back to work! The night finishes nicely, and I hang out after the show and enjoy a drink with some of my new friends. I'll be back.

On the drive back to Tlell, I spot over 50 deer on the highway. But for them, I'm alone on this road, and I drive very slowly. I don't want to wreck the Lincoln after my first gig on the Island! I weave, brake, stop. It's a long 70 km, but I arrive back at Tlell safe. It's been a great day.

Voyage to Haida Gwaii

2010-12-09T02:53:00.004-05:00

Prince Rupert, A Warm Welcome

2010-12-08T20:48:00.007-05:00

I'm on my own to check out of Kim and Doug's place in Terrace, BC. It's still pretty cold out, and the Lincoln is looking pretty ratty today. I visit the local cafe, do coffee, muffins, internet, lunch. Then I'm off to gas up, get an extra large coffee and hit the highway. It's a pretty short run from here to Prince Rupert, and the weather is good. I've done this run before, and it is a pretty nice drive.

A little sprawl on the town edges, and then...

Over the hump with these mountains, and suddenly the snow is gone. The temperature is all at once much warmer. Nice!

Rolling into Prince Rupert is like rolling into spring. The temperature is plus 10 or better today. No snow! No cold! No gloves! I like this.

I can't resist introducing this White Angel to her evil twin!

I stroll the downtown, visit the thrift shops, and take in the City Hall district.

The Haida influence is strong here... I finish my stroll and I head up to the address of tonight's concert to meet Anna, who is to be my host for the evening. The house is a 1930's structure, nicely renovated, with a splendid performance space inside. I am treated to some venison stew and then help Anna move furniture in preparation for the evening's show.

Local CBC radio arrives to cover the show. The roving reporter interviews Anna and I about house concerts– why she hosts them, why I play them– and records part of the evening.

It's a pretty nice crowd that turns out for tonight's show– including several people who had seen me play the Tom Rooney Theatre last year. There's a cool dude with a National Steel Tour jacket. We have fun. This is good!

Of course I raffle off a Tour Jacket! The camera acts up, but I keep snapping with it (and at it) until I have recorded the lucky winner! Wow! Cool!

Before I know it the night is over. I'm encored. There are handshakes and hugs, and the place is empty again. I have a glass of wine, some cookies. I do the Tour Books. I'll pack my gear down in the morning. This was the last Home Routes show on my schedule, and they've all been quite successful and fun.

In the morning, I'll be off to Haida Gwaii. I've done— what– maybe 80 shows to get here, to Prince Rupert with a reservation for the ship. The rain drums on the roof and walls of the house as I drift off to sleep. I hope the ocean is calm tomorrow. I'm still heading west. I feel like my adventure is just beginning, or maybe my adventure simply feels renewed.

Doctor in the House, Terrace, BC

2010-12-07T15:25:00.007-05:00

Days like this make it all worth while. I sleep in a bit this morning, get up, pack gear, have coffee and conversation with Beth. I can still talk this morning, maybe a bit better than yesterday. So things are looking up. This part of British Columbia is particularly beautiful.

Two-tone Lincoln. She's a road warrior, with her air shocks frozen in the down position she's more of a low rider, a California car. California. Huh. Haven't thought of California in a while. I'm not California dreaming today. I like it here way too much. But it might be nice to blast out of this ice. I bet I could make 29 Palms in... what, three days? The West is West. Just a fleeting thought. I'm still driving west on this blue highway, and this is a great highway, I've been on this road before.

It's dry. A smooth ride on a near private highway. The miles go by easily. Before I know it I'm in Terrace, BC, and rolling up to tonight's stop. I'm met by a big, friendly dog as I let myself in and work at setting up. My hosts, Doug and Kim, arrive shortly, and we settle into chatting and set up for the concert. I've got a young helper– Solai shows me around the place.

Showtime! I've got a big cup of hot honey water, NeoCiteron, and Halls. It seems to help, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be alright. The first set goes by all too quickly! The voice is working, and I've got a really good crowd here tonight!

Here's the Tour jacket winner!! Remember her? Lucy! From Prince George! She didn't win the jacket at her own Home Routes concert, so she came to Terrace and tried again! Congrats, Lucy! Too cool.

The show ends on an encore. I'm a little rough in the voice, but this crowd won't leave– so I croak out one more. Doug and Kim and I have a pleasant time relaxing post show. I eat too many treats, enjoy some home made beer, and then it's time to shut down. Everyone but me will be up and away before the winter sun comes up. Thanks, folks, this was a very, very nice evening.

Jumpin' Time in New Hazelton, BC

2010-12-05T15:14:00.002-05:00

Smithers at Last

2010-12-04T15:02:00.006-05:00

My cold is no better this morning. I take more vitamin C. I can't stop sneezing. Damn! A head cold. I wonder how brutal this is going to be. Remedies. Kleenex. Sneezing. Fluids. Vitamin C... Keep at it. I sing a few bars. OK, good. Can sing. Eyes are a little puffy. I've got NeoCiteron in my pack, and I'll drink it before the show tonight. I wish I could stop sneezing!

A quick stop at a roadside auto glass, and the Lincoln's windshield looks a little better. Fifty bucks to repair two evil looking chips. I was afraid they were going to spread quickly to total the windshield altogether. There are auto glass places all up and down this highway. The sand/gravel compound they pour on the roads gets picked up and tossed by the big trucks. Heck, it gets tossed by the small vehicles, too. Whenever somebody passes, this stuff comes up and heads straight for the glass. Outside of driving crazy fast, what can you do?

It's a pretty nice drive. I like it! Clean, dry road– and I've got clean, dry windows today!

Dropped my camera coming into George and Norma's place... OK, now it works again! Except for my sneezing and sniffing, I feel pretty good. George and I talk like old friends. Sure is nice to meet people that feel so much like friends so quickly. I've been trying to land a show up in these parts for quite some time now. It is a busy little area, with a bunch of festivals, coffeehouses, concerts, plenty of great musicians... So I'm very glad to be here. George and Norma have been connected to all of this stuff since way back, so I've come to the right place!

It's a lovely room. I set up early, and go to my quarters for a short nap before dinner. George is a good cook, and we've got a fine feel before us soon enough. Norma and I are sampling some home made wine. I'll take the "red sorta stuff" and finish it during the show! My sneezing has slowed down, and I'm feeling a little better. Maybe the NeoCiteron is working!

There's a lot of stuff going on in town tonight– concerts and Christmas events– so I'm told my crowd is a little smaller than hoped for. Nevertheless, it's a pretty good size group for the room– probably about 30– and they are all pretty nice. We kick off, and I am feeling good.

Leading into "Bone Train" there is suddenly a note I can't make at all! It's just like the vocal chord collapsed or something! I'm not used to this at all! I don't get sick, and my voice usually destructs slowly over time– not all at once. I manage to fake my way through the song, but I'm a little distracted. What next? How am I going to pull this off? Gently! Manage that voice! Pitch everything lower!

The first set ends reasonably well. I sound a lot like Tom Waits in his roughest vocal period, but I'm working with what I've got, and the songs are mostly working out pretty well.

Hey!! Congrats!! You are stylin' in your new, genuine white stripe tour jacket!!! The second show is getting tougher to sing, and I'm pushing hard towards the end. I normally enjoy playing an encore, but tonight I'm secretly hoping that there won't be one!! There is! Well, gosh, I guess that means the show was probably successful in spite of my "new" voice. Of course, I still have to play the encore! I do– and this crowd is hopeful of yet another! Hey, thanks, "I'm spent," I whisper to them. "Thanks so much! See you next time!"

A long time fan came out to the show tonight and brought me this old Tour poster! Can you guess who these guys are, or which of them played the show tonight?! The poster advertised a show, circa 1971, at the Yellow Door Coffeehouse in Montreal. A three night engagement for Linden and MacLean. Wow! Thanks for the memories, Max!!

Talking Houston, BC

2010-12-03T14:54:00.004-05:00

On the road again. It's a short haul today into Houston. I've had a morning of internet catch up, and now it's back to the Lincoln, coffee, tunes, the open road. I'm short on time today, so I'll be back to flesh out this day's adventures when I'm able.

I'm met by Sparky the Dog, have a pleasant dinner with my hosts. It's 7:20 and the place is still empty. Just as I'm thinking, yup, just me and the dog, the place fills up! Rural folks tend to arrive right on time, and these ones are fairly prompt. Thank goodness! In a few minutes all the comfy chairs are filled, and we are getting ready to go!

I've started to get a little sniffly these past couple of hours. I duck upstairs and blow my nose before the show, tuck a Halls into my cheek, and I'm good for the night. It's a little worrisome, I sure don't need a cold. The show is really fun. When I'm done this crowd won't leave, so I have to play a couple more. I tease them that it's the quietest encore I've ever had!

Lucky Tour jacket winner!!

A simple but effective space. With the lights out, a few candles spread around, and some comfortable chairs and couches, this becomes as nice a concert space as you'd find yourself in anywhere.

After the show we hang around, have a beer, chat. Now it's time for the wrapper. My hosts are going to a hockey tournament early in the morning. I'm to sleep in as late as I please. That's good, my nose is now running steadily. I take a several vitamin C caps, and a bunch of herbal remedies, and I'm soon in bed with a kleenex box. This is not good. Being sick on the road is the worst thing! Maybe it will end gracefully without going into my chest or throat?

Vanderhoof, BC

2010-12-02T14:48:00.001-05:00

The sun is creeping down by mid-afternoon. Three o'clock dusk here. Pretty though, isn't it? I have an easy drive from Prince George on a mostly dry highway.

Vanderhoof, BC. A mill town. Here's one corner of the room at Jay's place. It's actually a pretty good sized room, and we'll fill it up with people soon enough!

It's a nice crowd, and I enjoy hearing these loggers, millworkers, ranchers, and managers tell me their stories of life on the backroads. Everybody comes from somewhere else, and it's kind of neat to learn how people have made their way here, and carved out places for themselves in this wild and beautiful country.

The concert goes off really well. I'm coming down with a cold, and I'm not feeling my best, but I believe I have delivered one of my best shows of the Tour here tonight. I just enjoy playing to these folks so much! It all comes around I guess. Thanks for a great night. Jay took some pics and I'll post 'em here when I get them!

Thanks, Jay! I appreciate when folks take the time to send me a few snaps. I'm sometimes too busy to take these myself!!

Prince George, BC- A Festive Event!

2010-12-01T15:43:00.007-05:00

Ian and I have a lengthy breakfast, after which I head back into town to gas up for the trip to Prince George. It's an overcast day, trying to snow some more. Still cold here, and the roads are a little icy. I could make the trip on what I've got in the tank, but I like to go out full on these mountain roads in case of trouble. I can tell it is not going to be a fast drive today, but it seems pretty good out on the 97 Hwy. I sip my coffee and take in the view. There's some serious construction going on along this highway. They need to build up the infrastructure so that they can move people and equipment in here to flood the Peace Valley. I think those opposed to the dam need to slow this highway improvement up as much as possible. Environmental assessments for every new bridge, every twinning, every new road shoulder. Once that road and it's bridges are expanded it may be difficult to stop the flood.

I'm taking in the glory of this great country, paying attention to the often slick and winding road.

I'm over the continental divide now, and have also slipped over another time line. My journey is now an hour shorter! Nonetheless, I am far enough north that in this season the days are quite short, and these are growing even shorter. It's quite grey in these mountains until the sun clears the peaks in mid morning. By about 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon it begins its descent into afternoon glare, and then hides behind the peaks again.

I make Prince George in good time, and find my way to my venue. It is to be a house concert tonight at Jim and Lucy's place. Their home is decorated brightly to say the least! I make my way in, set up, and have time for a nap and a shower before dinner. Guests are arriving, and there is a pleasant little buzz in the kitchen.

After dinner it is showtime! I've got about 35 guests in the audience– all this room can hold, and they are with me. Nice folks. Fun show!

And, of course, the jacket winner. Odds were pretty good here tonight! Congrats! I was hoping to see some of my friends from the Blues Underground here, but I guess this show was pretty much sold out already. Next time, OK?

After the guests have departed Jim and Lucy and I sit around for a while and have snacks and home made wine. A nice way to wind down a nice day. A quick update of the Tour books, and it is sleepy time.

Chetwynd, The Round House, Peace Valley Threatened

2010-11-30T16:24:00.003-05:00

I've got quite a few pics to put up here and not enough time today, but I'll be back to flesh out this very interesting chapter of the journey. Suffice to say that the breathtaking drive down Hwy 29 from Fort St. John to Chetwyn was overshadowed by proposals to flood this area for hydroelectric power. The Peace River Valley is rich ranchland with a bold and rugged beauty that cries out for protection. I'll be exploring the issues and reporting back...

OK, I'm back... (almost as if I had never left you)...

Rolling out of Fort St. John, I take in a little sprawl on the highway. It's a boomtown, not a pretty town. Oil and booze have left their smudges on this place- and indeed they are never too far from the surface here to extract at a glance. Quite by accident I have breakfast with an Inuit throat singer and healer. I come away feeling a little charged. Like the blues, or moreso, throat singing is or can be healing music. The throat singer tells me that when she was young she used to sing casually, but now her singing is more "purposeful." I like that word today, and I am carrying it with me like a gift. It's a little jewel I am turning around in my brain as I navigate these winter roads.

Yeah, that's the sign I need. Goodbye to the Alaska Highway. I turn south and west on Route 29. It's not the GPS route of choice, but I can tell it will be my kind of road.

Neat and tidy here, but with hints of horizon and hills to climb.

Now I burst over the top of the clutter. Peace River Valley. It unfolds before me like magic.

I really can't capture it well. I am reminded of taking pictures on my first visit to the Grand Canyon. Any three or four of them would of been fine. Fifty of them all look the same! You can just keep on grabbing images until they lose their meaning. Life is like that, too, perhaps. There are signs along the way warning of the impending battle against flooding this historic valley for a giant hydroelectric project. The concept shocks me, but I reflect that humans have long done this kind of thing. And what are the arguments? Human needs— consumption– vrs vast beauty. And beauty, as always, a fluid concept, perhaps more a Platonic form in the mind of the beholder, transitory, sometimes a memory, sometimes like bold fingers reaching to touch you in special ways in special places.

Nobody seems to know what Hudson was hoping for. Perhaps it, too, lies hidden and ripe in this valley, ready for drowning.

The afternoon seems to be turning. These days are short, and a blue tinge reaches out across the snow.

But now, a solar encore. There's a tremendous glare as the road twists to point directly at the sun. I am reminded of one of Huxley's books, (no, not Huxley... who?) where the narrator concludes the story by staring into the sun, destroying his eyes. I'm wearing shades and using the sun visor to try and avoid this kind of conclusion! I'm not at all weary of this world, although it is getting harder to see sometimes.

Chetwynd ahead. I roll through and search for my destination address. Remarkably, my GPS takes me right to the edge of the long and twisting drive to the Round House.

There's nobody about and no lights on. Just a huge dog barking at me. I do as I've long learned to do in the southwest– wait in the vehicle for a respectful period of time when approaching a country home. If there is someone at home, they will know you've arrived, and they will have a few moments to compose themselves and make ready to greet you. I've also learned that you don't get out of your vehicle unless there is an owner for any roaming guard dogs!
I sit outside the house in my car for two hours before someone comes out, calls in the dog and welcomes me to Chetwynd. It's not too cold, but I'm glad to get inside and set up for this evenings show.

The house is pretty nice— round, with big thick walls. It is also a good deal larger than it looks in these pictures. My host, Ian, makes coffee, a bite to eat, and before I know it the place is filled with people. Folks have come up from Dawson Creek, down from Fort St. John, Hudson's Hope... Wow. I better be good, eh? I'm a little surprised that everyone has been able to find this very rural location on such a dark Tuesday winter night.

The show is really fun this evening. I have a great time, and am so busy socializing between shows that I don't sell any cd's! However, I do make a pile of new friends– which is actually even better.

At the end of the night Ian and I hang out. I have a glass of wine, and listen to some of his songs! Ian is a fingerstyle musician and teacher who is well known up and down the valley. I'm quite flattered that so many musicians actually came out to the show this evening.

The only downside to the day, from my point of view, is the lack of indoor plumbing here! When I run outside after the show, I'm soaking wet with sweat, and I feel the chill. I'm not such a whimp, but I'll be making this same trip again during the night, and don't look forward to it. The sky has now cleared, and there is an amazing starry night above. The woodstove is crackling quietly, the smell of sweet smoke gentle in the air, all is still as I crawl into my bed.

The Peace River Dam project is way too complex for me to get into at the moment, but I do want to underline that this is a serious proposal, largely underway, and that Canadians need to look carefully at the choices being made. Significant portions of the Peace River Valley will be lost if the project goes ahead. Some basic Google searches may give you all the information you need to take a properly informed position.

Fort St. John... Cuttin' Time

2010-11-28T02:06:00.007-05:00

I'm rolling out of Dawson Creek this morning, not too early, not too late, very well fed by Dave, my host. We've talked politics, boats, cars, and now I'm back in the Lincoln tooling out to look at this high prairie once again.

Coming down the main street downtown it is kind of quiet. There's a sprawl of ugly strip malls and chain stores along the highway.

There's the Lincoln in front of the landmark Alaska Hotel with it's Dew Drop Inn bar and saloon. The owners came out to my show last night and even MC'd the Gallery Concert. Nice folks. We chatted a bit and they invited me to visit the Alaska. Nice room downstairs. I notice that my friend Tim Williams has played here. Maybe I will, too. It's a very friendly town, and big enough to suggest a return visit.

I don't need shoes today. Actually, I want boots– western boots– Tony Lamas to be exact. So I need a good western store. This is really oil country now, more than cowboy territory. Lots of country music on the radio, but lots of rock as well. And enough folks pouring in here to enable roots artists like myself to follow. I notice that Fred Eaglesmith, Valdy, Ray Bonniville (did I spell that right?), and even Guy Davis have been finding their way up into this frontier, boomtown area.

Here's where one big road starts. I'm not going to ride it too far today, but I'll get a taste. The Lincoln purrs, waiting.

OK, I'm off! I get an extra big coffee from Tim's, and point the big car north. It is a little greasy today, but I'm taking it easy and haven't got too far to go. Couple of hours of drive should do it. Not much traffic at this moment either. That's good. These northern roads are surprisingly busy with big, commercial truck traffic. That means stones, water and ice thrown up from the road constantly. I've been through buckets of washer fluid, the car is caked in dirty ice, and the windshield has been broken in three places. Next northern trip I will budget for a new windshield right off the bat. We lost one last year on the road to Prince Rupert under similar conditions, so I guess it's just the price of passage for southern wheels.

Looks like this today...

Yeah, getting steep!
Curved bridge! Wild, eh?

Peace River valley, I believe. Big plans to flood this for hydro electric power. Big fight. It'll all be underwater in a few years time if the big guys get their way.

Here's the gig! It's a small, but friendly head shop-bookstore. I stand by as display cases are moved and the place is converted to a small concert space. It's a good, if quiet night. The big, Canadian football game is on tonight. The Grey Cup. We suffer for it, but the folks who are out are with me!

After the show we do a little jamming. This was really neat! When was the last time you saw an instrument combo like this!? Yup, he's playing a saw, with a bow. He's got little dampers and things on it. Amazing Grace never sounded so good! Home Routes will have to start running in both directions.

Dawson Creek, BC- An Elevating Experience!

2010-11-27T02:16:00.004-05:00

It's not too long a drive today from Grande Prairie. I can't find breakfast, and I spend considerable time in a Canadian Tire parking lot– purchasing and adding fluids for the Beast. Oil, washer fluid, antifreeze, fuses... The air suspension has frozen into the low position again, but she perks up when I gift her some new fuses. Compressor kicks in, mutters, and the car rises. We're still several feet lower than the trucks parked around us.

Find a gas station and fill up. More fluids. Expensive morning. More than I made last night pouring into the Lincoln. The windows, as the rest of the car are almost totally obscured by a thick, greasy dirt. It's a messy, messy drive on these highways. The side windows are almost obscured, and it's a good deal of work to get them cleaned off, much less the windshield, headlights, brakelights. I set to work with a squeegee and paper towels, and eventually the grime is cut down to safer levels. Tires are good. I'm into a Tim's for coffee and on the road!

A dull sort of day. These flaming stacks can be seen here and there from the highway. Burning off sour gas, I'm told. There's plenty of debate between the ranchers and the oil people about the environmental safety of these burning beacons.

Here's the venue! Wow! Right at Mile Zero of the Alaska Highway! Not many buildings like this one left on the modern prairie. They've done a great job converting this one into a museum and public galleries.

Nice, eh? I will play right in front of the giant Christmas tree. Very festive! Everybody is nice. I get set up, and have a nasty fall on the ice outside. Shook up. But OK. I'd hate to break a wrist or an arm at this point! Bruises I can live with! My hosts take me out to dinner, and then it's showtime.

An early start and an early finish here tonight. A good, friendly crowd. I'm able to meet quite a few people. The evening ends in an encore and, of course, not before awarding the Tour jacket to a lucky concert goer!

Back to Dave's house for a scotch and some conversation, and then it's time for a big sleep. A pretty nice day.

Grande Prairie, AB

2010-11-26T02:37:00.004-05:00

Hinton, AB Home Routes

2010-11-25T02:50:00.000-05:00

Slice of Lethbridge, AB

2010-11-24T03:04:00.004-05:00

I'm up as early as the maids banging doors in the hotel here. "Do not Disturb" means "bang the surrounding doors as hard as possible." Now looking for lost spirts in this forlorn room, room of the California king, room of holes in the wall, room of the blasting heater and dripping shower.

It is really, really cold here. Still about -30 C as I load the car, try to make it warm, try to get organized to get out of town. I've got the guitars in the cab with me now so they won't freeze. All my water bottles are just hard chunks of ice. I find a Tim's on the Trail south— they call the highways Trails here– McCloud Trail, and so on. Gassed up, I'm tooling out onto the open road. It's usually a pretty nice drive out of Calgary to Lethbridge. Today it is mostly clear, but there are patches of snow covered highway and some areas where black ice has formed.

Here's the classic view coming into Lethbridge. The Bridge! It's a college town with more than a touch of cowboy lingering, a dash of roughneck, a little bit of cool. I've played here four or five times before, and I've always enjoyed my visits. Good coffee, good pawn, good folks.

The venue. The Slice. A really great music club run by a couple of brothers. Great music. Great sound. Great food. A nice friendly space. This would be my fave Canadian pizza stop.

Yeah, and here's dinner. They take good care of me at the Slice, and I appreciate it.

Showtime soon enough. It is wickedly cold out, and the wind is rising, great sheets of snow slamming across the street into the building fronts. People are coming in slowly. These are mostly fans I've seen before. I'm really grateful for this kind of support. I move about the room saying hellos. It's usually a late starting show here, so I lurk at the bar with a glass of wine and make conversation.

Can't wait another minute. It's a small but appreciative crowd, and I enjoy playing to them. Here's a review of the show! http://www.labeat.ca/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=1065:doc-maclean-brings-the-blues-back-to-the-basics&catid=1:latest-news&Itemid=50

I don't know how long these links actually last, but it is current as of 3 Dec 2010.

It's 1:AM and I'm packing out to the big Lincoln. There's quite a storm raging out here now. The streets are deserted and the winds howling, snow drifting and swirling. It feels maybe a little warmer, anyway. Due to a little communications problem I've got an 800 km drive to my next show. Normally this does not present any significant problem for me. But in the moment, this is bad. I decide I had better try to make Calgary or Red Deer now, to break up the drive, and to insure that I get to the show in Hinton on time.

By the time I leave Lethbridge the big car is being buffeted about by the winds. These highways are empty but for me and this storm. I'm a little apprehensive as I get into white out, zero visibility conditions. Should I turn back? How? Stop? Where? I resolve to make Fort McLeod. It's another 30 or 40 km down this road. I can stop there if I need to. I'm already regretting the half empty tank of gas– there were no stations open as I headed out. It's a slow journey. Occasionally it clears, and the wind sweeps the road open ahead of me. I snap the high beams and pick up the glint of reflective markers ahead, a broken line here, solid there. Keep her pointed in the right direction. Slow and steady. Mind the ditches! No sliding! I'm tearing along at about 25 or 30 km per hour.

Fort McLeod's gas station appears out of the night like a beacon, and I head for it. All but one of the pumps are frozen. And it's slow. The attendant gives me a coffee when I finally get the tank full and get back inside. The wind is still howling, but it seems a little clearer. I elect to push on for Calgary. I won't actually get there until 6:AM. It will be a 16 hour drive to Hinton, but I'm there on time for the show! Crazy business, eh?

Ironwood Concert Stage – CBC Canada Live Recording

2010-11-23T13:21:00.005-05:00

It's a cold, cold sucker today. I roll out of Golden, the ground snow crackling and squeaking under the tires. Everything in the car is frozen solid. It is -32 C. I can't find my gloves. Go figure. But it is bright and clear to start. Thank goodness. I came in over the Rodgers Pass last night on black ice, blowing snow, clouds, fog. A white knuckle journey. I was not going to go past Golden. I've done that Kicking Horse in bad weather before, and it is not to be trifled with. You've got to respect these mountain roads.

I'm through the Pass soon enough, the roads still partially snow covered. It's a slow ride past Lake Louise, Banff, Canmore. The highway opens up a little as I approach Calgary. We are still in a deep freeze. One of the coldest places in the world today. Wonder what the wind chill brings to that!

I'm to be recorded tonight by the CBC at the Ironwood Concert Stage, an amazing room crafted out of the historic old Fort Garry Theatre. So I'm in town early for soundcheck and set-up. As I pull up front I'm met by the CBC audio engineer, Bob Dobble. He's an old hand here at Calgary, a really experienced engineer with a good ear. We are joined shortly by the Ironwood's in-house audio tech, J.T. They've got a great sound system here, and J.T. is probably the best in-house tech in the country. There may be guys this good out there with the mega shows– and JT has done these– but in the last six years of extensive Tour he's hands down the best audio guy I've had. And I've had some real good ones. It's a treat to work with these guys, I'll have no worries outside of delivering my show.

We discuss strategy and dig in. I'm a very simple set up anyway, but we go the extra mile and use a couple of narrow condenser mics to stereo record the guitar. One on the plate for the treble, one on the f-holes for the bass. They are not set at 90 degrees, but phasing does not seem to be a problem, and we get a great guitar sound right out of the gate. Monitors are up. I ask JT to back 'em down on the vocals. I can hear everything really clearly through the mains. I will regret this a little bit later, once the show starts. But it's my call, and it's nothing significant.

It's still historically cold, and we take turns running outside to start our cars. Tuesday night in Calgary. This is a big room, and I wonder what's going to happen.

Ironwood owner and janitor Patrick MacIntyre arrives and we have a drink. He's wearing a colourful shirt and he moves around the room greeting people, checking up on stuff, doing little things. He's a hands on guy, and he's built a great team to run this place. Patrick and I go back a bunch of years now, and I really like him and the way that he does business. He's not a performer, but this room is his art, his expression. It's a great community. It's carried by a quality kitchen and the bar, but it's all about the music. It is always a pleasure to stop here.

The Tour camera was frozen this morning, and I've neglected to bring it in to the club for some reason. Producer Catherine McClelland arrives with her camera, and we take a couple of pics backstage, do our paperwork for the recording. It's a CBC Canada Live project. I guess it will go to Concert on Demand, and then they may package it for a variety of other radio shows across the country. I'm getting a little worried as the crowd in this big hall is not growing as we near show time. I've had a few fans come in. One bunch from Cochraine, AB, is pretty noisy– so I ask them if they will sit up front! I'm worried that my live, national radio broadcast will sound like one hand clapping!

We start in, and it's a bit strange being this loud in a half empty hall, and for the first couple of songs I am a little distracted by this fact, unfocused. I'm not usually bothered by recording or broadcast, but here I find myself flubbing lines, repeating verses. By the second set I've let this go and, at least from my point of view, the performance is pretty good. Of course, I haven't heard it yet. And I did play a bunch of songs I have never recorded– therefore never heard– before. Go figure. Do that for national radio! The evening wraps well in spite of the smaller than hoped for turnout. I'm pretty confident that Bob and Catherine will do a magnificent job of editing and packaging, so it should be fine when it hits the air sometime in the future.

Despite being a member of AFM Local 1000 for several years, the Calgary AFM local treats me as a non-member and strips $75 from my paycheque. Emails from the New York office do nothing to mitigate this. Apparently because I was "erased" from the Toronto Local many years ago they can squeeze a vein, and squirt out a little of my blood. My option would have been to pay the Toronto local for two quarters and "resign." Maybe, someone suggests, I can still do this? And why should I? Because it's a rule? Old school rule. I'm a paid member of Local 1000. I've done piles of union-sanctified broadcast for years, and nobody has ever pulled this card before. This is a musicians union, not a bike club. Anyhow, you can gather I'm unhappy– but this is not a major crisis, just a little poke in the eye... and I'm pretty sure we'll resolve it somewhere down the line.

I pack out and GPS my way to a Best Western. It's after 2:AM when I check in. Sleep.

White Rock Blues!

2010-11-19T21:24:00.004-05:00

Vancouver, Raw Canvas

2010-11-18T18:34:00.004-05:00

It's raining and ugly and dark and I'm GPSing (great word, eh?) my way around the west end of Vancouver. The district is arty, upscale, and the streets are narrow with angle parking, expensive metres, and small spaces. It's a pain to move the big Lincoln around on these streets, but eventually I get a spot right outside the club. The place is a bit more upscale than I had thought. I guess I was expecting a paint and canvas store, with a music area in the back– kind of a young, art student kind of hangout. This is a pretty trendy looking bar, and my posters are nowhere in sight. As I say to a friend, this is never a good sign.

Going in, the place is busy. I'm met by the manager who tells me there is a private function going on, all the tables and chairs are taken, can I come back later... Well, yes, I guess. I am early, after all. I elect to move the car to a nearby public parking lot, where I presume the rates will be less than the $6 per hour I'm paying at the metre. Over at the public parking garage I'm informed that it is closed and locked at 11:PM. My car will be locked in overnight. Not acceptable! I drive back over the block to the club and look for another street meter spot. Nothing doing. I drive around the district for nearly an hour in the rain before I get another spot. Another $6. Back to the club. No seats. Could I sit by the open door and wait?

There is to be an opening show tonight, actually two local shows before me. These guys are arriving and crowding in. We meet. The first up is going to be a young singer song-writer I met last year at Long and McQuade in Surrey, BC. Next up will be my friend David "Boxcar" Gates, a great, up and coming bluesman out of White Rock, BC. Meanwhile the place remains crowded. I remain seated by the door in the cold. The owner serves me a glass of wine, but it's still cold here. He asks me if I've collected money from people entering the club. I say no, that's not part of my job, and the place is already full anyway. Doesn't the club collect? No, apparently not. Can I collect from people already inside? Well, it is a private party, and they have paid to use the room... Mmmm, how much would the night be worth to me? Would $50 be OK? No, not. Three artists here, and we're not going to play for free.

I wasn't expecting to make money here, but I'm not going to give the show away either. It's sort of awkward, but everybody seems to mean well here. We come up with a compromise. OK, we'll pass the hat. Rather, Dave and I will take the hat around table to table. I have no intention of starting the show until we have at least a couple hundred bucks in the hat! Mainly these are generous, if noisy folks, and it doesn't take more than a few minutes for us to reach target. Showtime!

The first set is a real challenge for Rob. He works hard, sounds good, but it is a noisy room for a singer songwriter. I know what that's like. He's doing the weight lifting here tonight. David follows and plays a great set. He's working hard for this crowd, too. I really enjoy his music and his take on the blues. The Boxcar is on the inside. Check him out. You will hear him soon. And a really nice guy. We're pals. (Somebody took pics, if they send me the jpegs, I'll get them up here. I left the tour camera in the car again.)

I get set up to go. It is a little quieter now. Not much, but a little. I get David to sit in with me and play harp. We do three, maybe four songs, and then the owner signs me to finish. I'm not used to that, but I say "OK, we'll take a short break, and we'll be right back." But the night is done! The club closes at 11:PM, and it's time. Nobody told me that. But everybody seems happy.

I split up the money, and we head out into the drizzle. There's more room on the streets now, so I bring the Lincoln around, and David and I shoot the breeze for a few minutes. We'll do this again, somewhere. We had fun in spite of any problems. People had a good show. The blues is alive and well. Vancouver is a tough town to play. I don't think we were even in the listings. The club wasn't listed anywhere I looked anyway. We'll see what it is next time. I may just take a PA out onto East Hastings and give the show away altogether. I'd rather do that then play for pass the hat or for $50. I mean, the waitress takes home more than that. The beer company gets paid, the hydro company gets paid, the plumber gets paid. The people who drink in clubs like this have good jobs and good shoes– somebody pays them. There's a real disconnect sometimes, and I don't want to do anything more to encourage it. There needs to be an understanding that at very least a service is being provided. A value added service. The venue doesn't provide beer and then pass the hat to gather some money for it. The beer has value. And a return is expected on it. I didn't expect to make much tonight. It was just the way in which I didn't make much that bothers me. I've got a "real" show again tomorrow, so this Tour will be back in the saddle- financially speaking anyway.

Not Down, But Hangin' Out in East Van

2010-11-17T15:07:00.008-05:00

Yeah, blues skies over Hastings St. East. Dresses up this dirty town in sunshine. Postcard pictures of the end of the line. This is as far west as you can hitch a ride, or walk. In Canada, it's where you wind up when you've left every other place behind. When your money is always gone, when you are selling your ass for a fix, when you are looking for a place to sleep, hungry, sick, broken, waiting for blues skies like these to give you a lift. Blue skies when it's not too wet. Blue skies when it's not too cold. Blues skies when there's a little money changing hands on the sidewalk. Blues skies dripping down the sides of tense, blown out hotels, busted neon. Blue skies. Hell looks pretty sometimes, too. These girls are rolling up their skirts, flashing traffic with their still half-good legs sticking out of their dying bodies; face paint like death masks, lives going by at high speed. Speed. No, oxy. Some kind of solvent. Just spare me a joint, pal? Spare change? Buy this phone? Shoes? Sox? Give you a blow job for ten dollars. I'm sorry, sorry. Not today, sorry. We're all walking under blue skies. If there's a God, we're all His creatures. Some of us are living in clean clothes dangerously, and others among us are on these filthy sidewalks, fallen from grace, living dangerously, too. Living still, but shadowed. Even by these blues skies today. Even by these blues skies Dante could paint.

Here's a totem honouring those who died on these streets. Here's a man feeding gulls. Here's a clutch of spanish speaking men smoking a joint. Here's some native guys, drooling and swaying around a paper bag. No pictures. Now I just draw them for you, like a curtain around a sick bed. Softly, gently, with a few words. This yawning crack at the end of the world can be healed, and it's people raised up.

I'm donating a show today to the Vancouver Native Health clinic, down on Hastings St. in East Van. It pap test day- Papaloosa Day, I think they've called it. Volunteers and staff scurry about wearing "I Love My Vagina" t-shirts. Lunch is served. Meds are distributed. AIDS counselling is given. Tests are provided. Clothing and make-up are distributed. The place is already jumping when resident music therapist Caitriona Murphy and I settle in to play our first set. We really have a blast! It's great to play with a fiddle player this good! I throw some wild stuff at her and she doesn't blink or miss a beat. I throw extra beats in. That doesn't miff her either! I've got to get this talented musician for a few of my west coast shows next time. VNH folks are getting one of the best shows of the tour!

This is Doreen. She runs this crazy place. It's like working in a war zone. It reminds me of the old MASH movies. You never know what's going to come through the door, but staff here rise to every occasion. They not only help with difficult health issues, but they do much to restore and maintain the dignity of those they help. An Elder is on hand today, and he is smudging, blessing, clearing away people's troubles, too. Actually, I'm not sure exactly what he is doing, but he has an eagle feather, and he's moving it around people. And it works. People are seeking him out, and he reaches out to help them. Western medicines don't do it all. Meanwhile Doreen scurries around. She never stops moving, never stops talking. I don't know if she ever stops smiling. She's in the business of saving lives, and helping people finish their lives with as much comfort and dignity as possible. I'd like to nominate her for an Order of Canada- would somebody do that please? And how about pouring some money down these hungry streets?

It's been a great day, and now I'm heading out into the sunset. I've had more fun playing here to a crowd of First Nations women... I felt like they understood every word of every song in a very direct way. The Blues is a healing music and I'll be glad to bring it here, to East Hastings, again and again. If Steven Harper can play piano, I'd like to invite him to come and help me play a little healing duet next time.

Big ol' beer room at the Pat. Should take it over as a blues club.

See ya later. On my way.

I get into the Lincoln and drive over to Main. Making the turn, the cops are looking at me out of a plain wrapper. My windows are tinted. Their windows are tinted. We both know that we are looking at each other. They drive on. I drive on. They don't want to get involved today. Whoever I am, I'm up to no good tooling around this 'hood in a big, white Lincoln. And they are right. I'd lead a march across town to city hall. These guys just want to contain the mess. They don't want leakage.

I go across town now to the Cottage Bistro. I've phoned this club and sent emails with no response. What the hell. The place is just opening as I walk in and search out the owner. "You don't answer your emails," I say. "You've got a nice room, you should book me. My name is Doc MacLean, and I'm going to play for you." There's a hockey game going on, and a photo shoot with a model pretending to be a singer. But I don't care. I unpack my National, tune it up, and play three songs on a chair next to the bar. People applaud. The owner gives me a soft drink. OK, next time through town you will know who I am. Nice scotch collection. But it pisses me off when people don't answer their emails.

Now it's hotel time, and I GPS my way back out to the suburbs. I've got one more night in Vancouver, this time on the money side of town. I'll see what colour that is soon enough.

Victoria Jammin'

2010-11-14T20:58:00.004-05:00

Starting the day off in the early afternoon. Nuff said, McKinley Wolf section had me up late last night jamming at Ed and Mildred's house. We had a great time, enhanced by many different drinks. But we're good today. In fact we're at the Victoria Blues Society Sunday jam, and Deb Rymer's excellent band is playing. I've heard some of Deb's recordings before, but I am knocked over by her live show and her great band. That's Deb above, counting the band in...

These folks also host the following jam, backing people up, doing sound, making it all happen seemlessly. Everybody gets to play, and all levels of talent and enthusiasm are respected. A really nice community of players. I honestly enjoy every act that hits the stage. Sometimes the back up band have to work a little harder than others, but that's not the point. Everybody has a ball doing their thing, and when that happens the listening is usually good as well. Deb is really good at keeping all this together.

And it's a classy room they've got for the jam. If you are in Victoria, BC, you might enjoy spending Sunday afternoon here. Not too loud, great sound, good food, good drinks, very friendly company. I meet pretty much everybody who came out to the jam over the course of the afternoon.

Later Deb gets me up to play a set and I get Ed's band, McKinley Wolf– I hope I've got that right!– to back me up. We have a great time. It's a little wooly sometimes, but really fun. I haven't done these songs with a band in ages, so it feels good. Thanks everybody!! We'll do this again!! I feel like I've got a lot of friends in Victoria now, so I think next season's shows in this district will probably be in quality venues– or at least have quality folks coming out to them!

After dinner Ed and I head over to the Victoria Folk Society's open stage. This is an organization which has been around for at least 25 years, and it has a nice, wooden hall to present shows in. I'd guess that there are about a hundred people out tonight. Very kindly, someone steps down off "the list" to let this out-of-towner play a couple of tunes. No mics here. Very traditional. Cool. Great to sing in a big room that sounds this good. Ed and I were going to leave after sampling the featured act, but instead we end up staying for the whole set. Jeff Warner is performing. He does an old time thing, on a variety of instruments and we are captivated. His jaw harp playing really grabs me. Ed is amazed at the percussion work Jeff does with his little puppet- dancing man. I don't get to talk with Jeff, and he probably doesn't know that we were both on Flying Fish Records, once upon a time!

Back at the house Ed and I have a scotch to finish the day. Thanks, Ed. This was a really, really fun day for me. Full of music, and not a dull moment!

Wild Ride to Victoria

2010-11-13T23:42:00.005-05:00

Bright and early, I'm out of Ucluelet like a shot. This town is closed up and I want coffee and breakfast. I'm not taking it from the gas station. I'm going to make Port Alberni, do some banking, check out the music store, and do breakfast at the old Blue Door Cafe down by the Port.

The Blue Door is OK. I get a big plate of breakfast here, but no newspaper and no conversation. I stroll down to the water to have a look around before leaving. "What's a bluesman doing here?" I turn around to see a couple of familiar faces. These are the folks who won the Tour jacket a few nights ago in Nanaimo! We do our hellos and chat a while. Sheri and Don are very friendly folks and before you know it I've been invited flying! Can I be back on the ground in time to make my gig in Victoria tonight? Heck the airport is on route! Don loves to fly, and I'd love to go up in his plane– so we're off!!
Here we are at the hanger.

She's a beauty, alright. About the same vintage as my 1963 Ford! Way cool!

The paint and brightwork are really sweet. Don and I are talking a mile a minute. By the time we get ready to take off I feel like we are old friends.

Taxi past the actual airport buildings. Ready for takeoff!! Go!!

There's low cloud cover today, and it's not great for what Don wanted to do. It clears back a little, so we decide to go up to Courtney and get some fuel. I try out my iPhone GPS up here and it works great! Wow.

Don's enjoying himself, but he's clearly a very serious pilot, especially in the uncertain weather we are into today.

I saw this out the window of the pilot's lounge men's room in Courtney. Honest, it's real. What a great ride. This is a much better day than I had thought it would be.

Back on the ground in Qualicum Beach, we say our good-byes and I'm off in the rain. I'm going to look forward to visiting with Don again. I hope he and Sheri will come and visit me in the good weather. Crappy, dark ride from here to Victoria. I buy gas, and GPS my way into town.

The Black Stilt is a coffee place out in plaza land. It seems friendly enough, close to one of the colleges here, so clutches of students are milling about doing internet stuff and pecking at their laptops. I load in, set up. Go out to eat. Come back. Wait. There's nothing in the listings saying I'm here. I'm not too optimistic about this prospect. I knew it was a small place, but was hoping for the best, and needed a Victoria venue.

Come showtime there is a small table of folks up front– products of my limited Victoria mailing list. Folks who saw me last year at my house concert. Nobody else knows I'm in town. I've done all the press stuff from my end. Sometimes it clicks, and sometimes it doesn't. It looks like Sue Folley has all the weekend press for her show on the following night. Oh, well. It's good to see these friendly faces and I jump into play mode for a couple of sets.

Post show, I am invited to stay with my friends Ed and Mildred– whom I have known in Halifax and London already– so several of us repair to their generous kitchen for drinks and post-show jamming. It's a late night, and when I hit my bed I will quickly fall into a deep sleep. I'll be dreaming of flying.

Ucluelet, BC

2010-11-12T00:49:00.005-05:00

Rolling with coffee. My kind of road day. Riding up one of my favourite bits of Canadian highway. Here's the ride up to the Wild Pacific Trail!

Port Alberni. Breakfast, lunch, music store. Mill.

These look like monkeys in the fading light. Soft green monkeys.

I make this ride for the pounding of the sea. I fill my head with this roar, with these stories it whispers and shouts about, until next time.

Sunny Day in Nanaimo

2010-11-10T16:31:00.007-05:00

Outside my hotel this is what it is today in Nanaimo. By day, on the harbour and through the town, this is a beautiful place. I was going to go to Port Alberni today, but with the sun out and the weather mild the harbour is beckoning. Without the rain, the darkness, the run down hookers up on the hills, this place has a new face on today. And I'm liking it. I book in for another day here, and set out to explore a little bit.

There is a trail system of some kind around the harbour. I can see runners on it. Hell, I haven't had a run day in ages. Better do it, Doc. I'm already feeling fat from lack of activity, and it won't get better by passing up an opportunity like this.

Ready, set the Runkeeper, go! But not too fast. I'm aware that I've not run since my Thunder Bay dates, so it's been nearly a month down from running. I swear I'm going to take it very easy. Just kind of lope along for 10km or so...

This stuff is right in the middle of town! Wild, eh? I run into RCMP officers searching for homeless people in the bushes. Clothes are hung out to dry along the river... I keep running.

These hills on the inland run are killer for me today!! Ho! I'm only about 5km into the run and I'm hurting! Back to the Bay, where things are quite a bit flatter...

Twenty minutes by seaplane takes you to Vancouver.

November roses. I could get used to this.

I'm done! Just over 10 km, and my ass is hurting, and my knees are hurting, and my leg hurts, and I'm tired. This is certainly the most pathetic 10 km I've run in several years. But I did it, and finished. It's a reminder to keep at it. I knew this run would be a bugger, but it sure feels good. I'm going to try extra hard to get some mileage in on a regular basis for the rest of the Tour.
Well, that's my day. Back to the hotel for a shower, and then I'll open my office. With luck I may get some writing done later today! The shows are going to be hard, fast, and daily for most of the next six weeks. Gotta catch my breath and change a string while I can.

Long and McQuade, Headliners- Nanaimo, BC

2010-11-06T23:48:00.011-04:00

Coffee this morning with John and Georgina outside the club. I stayed in the Hotel Lincoln last night, and after a night like that, I'm always ready for plenty of hot, black coffee. We chat for a while, and John plays me part of the video they shot of me last night. Apparently the show was streamed live on the internet, and I gather one can go to the Duncan Garage Showroom website and watch it. Pretty interesting. I've never heard many of the songs before— and for sure I've never seen myself play them!! I look older than I remember myself being, and my clothing does not seem to fit me as well as I might have imagined it did. I guess I've been out here a long time. Longer than a few hours. More than a few weeks or a few months.

So pondering my own image, I wander downstairs to the cafe and take my breakfast. The impossibly cute and beautiful young and tattooed waitresses don't seem to recognize me at all— I'm just the guy with the mocha and the mexican breakfast wrap. This reality is not nearly as interesting as the parallel one forming in my mind, yet there seems to be no escape from it. I eat my breakfast annonymously. Fortified, I make my way to the used bookseller and purchase Hermann Hesse's Demian. I wanted The Glass Bead Game, but looking at it on the shelf I know it is simply too large, too demanding for the Tour. Besides, Demian is small, and I can't remember it. Strangely, I do remember the Glass Bead Game. Why this, when some of Blind Willie Johnson's most profound works have escaped me time and again? And why Hess today?

I'm on the road to Canadian Tire. I buy 4 litres of oil, and help some Ozzie guy navigate the isle of patent medicines for cars. It's pretty amazing— a magic potion for everything. Broken rad? Pour this in it! Cracked block? Use this! Spewing smoke? Try this? Old car? Make it young again! Chief Thundercloud would of loved all this stuff. I sure do. I could WORK this isle on commission. I could sell this stuff on the Tour!

I hang out in the Canadian Tire parking lot for a while, adding oil, checking the tires, transmission fluid, changing a burnt out fuse for the air suspension. It's not running too bad. I add some stuff to the gas tank. Yeah. It promises to clean the fuel injectors and give me better mileage while I drive...

The road to Nanaimo is rainy and scarfy. It doesn't take too long to get up to it. The road. And then Nanaimo. This is a bone of contention because the ticket prices in each town are quite different. I thought there was enough distance between them that it wouldn't matter. Anyhow, my first stop is Long and McQuade Music where I'm scheduled to do an afternoon masterclass.

There is a small PA set up and waiting for me, and quite a number of people have come in for the workshop. In 45 minutes I skip through the history of resophonic guitars, the blues, delta blues, fingerstyle playing, slide guitar, how to make slides, guitar set up, string gauges, open tunings, songwriting in the tradition... It's a very friendly atmosphere, and afterwards I sell and autograph a large number of CDs. The cool thing for me is that there are some teens who caught my show last year— back for more. One kid is holding a Les Paul, and he's clearly pretty good. He tells me about playing his first gigs over the summer. His folks call from outside— they're waiting. We shake hands and I say "keep at it, see you next time."

I've left the Tour camera in the car, so I hope Long and McQuade will send me a few shots for the Blog. I load out, and it's GPS time to get down to Headliners. An easy drive and I'm there. It's getting dark and it's pouring rain. At least I'm able to park right at the door!

Headliners director Manda Chelmak meets me at the door and introduces me to Tom, my young sound tech for the evening. The room is new, well appointed, and very nice. It's going to be great to play in. I'm excited to see a room like this one because I know that a whole musical community can quickly build up around it. Manda has got the right idea and runs a slew of youth programs to develop musicians and bands. They also do theatre, film and video in the space— and put on concerts like mine. It's a school for the performing arts as well as a developing community hub for performance.

It doesn't take Tom and I long to get set up, and before long the place is filling. Ed Poli, the president of the Nanaimo Blues Society has come out with a table of folks. They are co-producing this event, and I'm very pleased to see them. Billy Boy Lucas has tried to get me on his radio show before the gig, but strangely his email does not reach me until hours after the fact. Damn! I'll just have to come back in the good weather! It's a good crowd here tonight, and I can do no wrong.

Home town kid David Gogo doesn't show up— it would be a good opportunity to promo his own solo gig tomorrow night. I mention it anyway. Maybe I'll be able to check it out if I'm not too tired myself. That's really how it works. Anyway, another blues pal, Donna Konsarado arrived at the show— and will hopefully play this room herself soon. I did a couple of festivals with Donna and Ken Hamm and really enjoyed her singing and playing. But now the BIG moment... Tour jacket winner!!! Ya Ya Ya! This gal came all the way down from Port Alberni to catch the show, so it's kind of cool that she won the coat! Congrats!

The night seems to end too soon. It's a nice finish, and I'm able to stand near the door and give my personal thanks as the crowd files out. I've got a real motel tonight, just up the road— and it won't be long until I'm on my way to it. Now I'm breaking down, packing up, loading out, saying good-bye and thanks to Manda. Now it's night time Nanaimo in the rain. It's a hard ass town when you get away from the charming main streets. Tonight there are lines of teenage hookers, wet under the dim lights, unblinking as my big Lincoln sweeps past. My motel door stands wide open when I get there. I go in easy, turning on the lights, watching my back. My stuff was in my car, so I'm not worried about that. The hotel TV apparently wasn't worth stealing, so all is good. Well, OK, I guess. It's as cold in my room as it is outside. I close the door, bar it, and crank the heater. It ought to be warm in here by morning.

Duncan Garage Showroom, Duncan BC

2010-11-05T02:01:00.008-04:00

It's a short run south from Cedar to Duncan, so I take what backroads I can. Kind of a mute, rainy day. There's a hush over the land. Just the hissing of the wheels on the damp pavement.

In Duncan I locate the Post Office and get to work. I've got to mail posters to the last few venues on the list. I've packaged them over the last couple of days. Now I need to look up some missing postal codes, and get these things on their way!

Behind the Duncan Garage Showroom, and just off to the side, is a rather remarkable bicycle graveyard. There's a little shop behind it where you can fix your bike. If you need a part, I guess you scrounge around until you find it. This stuff would last about five minutes in Toronto.

I'm pretty early, but I run into Duncan Garagemaster Longevity John, and he lets me into the theatre to unpack and set up. I do lunch and then spend a pleasant couple of hours playing songs in various states of completion. That's a treat. I do enjoy a chance to be alone to work on things. But soon enough staff are arriving, coffee is being made. The buzz of evening is beginning.
John has me set up in about three minutes. I forget how many shows he said he's done here now— nearly 2000, I think. Great gear, and a talent for hearing how an artist should sound. The Duncan Garage Showroom is one of Canada's very best small music rooms. I think this is perhaps my fourth show here, and I look forward to every one of them. People will be driving up from Victoria, down from Nanaimo. It's that kind of venue.

I've had excellent advance press on the show, with stories in all the local papers, so I'm hopeful that we'll have a exceptional house tonight.

It's intermission, but there are still more empty seats in the house than I like to see. But the show is going great, and we are all having fun. The new crackdown here on drinking and driving has had a major impact on even coffeehouses. It's kind of a zero tolerance thing here in British Columbia, and the police are stopping traffic all over the place, and towing people's cars away. So, many folks who have a glass of wine with dinner are deciding not to venture out to a show. Clearly there are going to be some real changes on the ground in regard to the entertainment industry. This will definitely impact the ways in which we deliver and develop live music.

The other problem tonight—maybe— is that Saturday's show in Nanaimo has been advertised at less than half the price of this one. I guess I'll see tomorrow what happens. Anyway, the crowd tonight is pretty good— enough to make the place seem busy. And there are quite a few happy fans out. We'll be alright tonight. We are fine tonight! Hey!

This guy also won the jacket two years ago! Go figure! But he does look sharp in it, and knows when to wear it! You need to buy lottery tickets, dude!! Congrats!

I encore tonight with "Winter Moon," a piece I've been trying to get into the show for a while now. I guess it's as much from the blues root as anything else, but it also touches a racial nerve across the west. When three percent of the population form twenty-two percent of the prison population— numbers I recently heard on the CBC— there continues to be a real problem in Canadian society. I am, of course, talking about our First Nations peoples. I'll talk about this again soon as I'll be doing a free show in a couple of weeks time at the Vancouver Native Health Centre, in beautiful downtown east Vancouver.

Downtime in Nanaimo, BC

2010-11-03T15:43:00.004-04:00

The Gulf. Yes it's always great. People come here and never leave. People suggest that I should stay. Maybe someday I will. As much as I stay anywhere that is. Today is a great day for island hopping, and this is just what it looks like on one of the little, open BC Ferries, running island to island out here.

No whales today. But I am watching. Life on the water!

I'm in early, so I drop by one of the local libraries to use the internet and Blog a little. The emails have been taking up a huge amount of time— just surface noise around the Tour and it's details.

I've been trying to get the Tour banner back for several weeks now. Despite the best intentions of all parties involved, it has not yet arrived anywhere before me. And when it does arrive the post office or the courier don't actually deliver it— they drop a card and take the package to a depot somewhere. More emails, more favours to beg. Please ship it for me. Please pick it up for me. Sorry. Sorry. Don't worry, I'll pay. Sorry.

Here's my pal Jim MacGreggor's house in Cedar, BC, just outside of Nanaimo. This is one of the houses built way back by the cult leader, Brother XII. Wow. That gives me a chill. There is some strange history out here, hidden by the trees. Brother XII, an interesting bit of coastal history...

Jim is a great host, and we spend the evening catching up on old times. Thanks for the hospitality, Jim!!

Blues, Booze and BBQ at New West

2010-10-30T12:45:00.000-04:00

Oh, yeah!!! It's a beautiful day to be out on the road. I've been up since before dark. Packed out my gear, drove into town, breakfast at Hungry Jack's in Enderby. I'm not sure how many hours it is going to take to get out to the coast from where I am, so I'm giving myself (I hope) plenty of time. There are quite a few routes I could take out of Enderby— I've asked around, and everybody seems to have a different idea. In the end I decide to go the way I know: south to Kelowna, and then head over the mountains on the big, divided road. There was a storm on it last week, but the day looks good so far. What I really want to do is drive the secondary, gravel road across the ranchland. But not today, I can't be late. The RCMP are stopping people today, so I watch my speed and sip my coffee.

The good weather doesn't last. You can see it waiting for you as you drive, a frowning sky. West of Kelowna the mountains do their thing, and remind me that winter will soon spread. It's another white knuckle drive over the high elevations. And then...

Driving with my new specs— safer for all of us, and the better to enjoy the rest of this mountain drive.

I roll into New Westminster with time to spare, and it doesn't take me more than a few minutes to find Laurie and Isabel's home. House concert here tonight, and Laurie has had the smokers and BBQ going for days getting the food ready— well the meat anyway. I'm suddenly starving, and I can smell pork from the driveway!

I'm from the east, so I'm not used to seeing hydraneas like this one! Did I spell that correctly? Anyway— big old plant with big, thick, woody stems and an enormous output of flowers. I planted some of these at my place. Maybe someday they'll look like this!

Laurie meets me out front and helps me get my gear in. We are both much happier than we look here! I get set up and then go down the street to gas up the Lincoln and visit the local car wash. The big white beast looks better when cleaned. In New West I buy the most expensive gasoline in Canada. Well, based on the expense logs coast to coast, this is it. I tell the guy collecting the money, and he doesn't seem to think anything of it. "I thought you might want to brag to your friends," I tell him. He blinks. That's the trouble— people don't care enough. He doesn't know if the prices are fair or unfair. He's just lucky to have this crappy job, and nothing surprises him. The gas pumps could be on fire, and he'd probably just blink. And in a way, the gas pumps ARE on fire. I didn't need Jeff Rubin to tell me that. Someday cars like this Lincoln will be remembered like ghosts on these highways.

Back at the house the place is filling up with people, I think there's about 50, and the food is being served. It's amazing! But before too long it's my turn to bring the Blues to this Town. We all grab our drinks and settle in. What a great night! I'm having a ball. It's a great crowd! Before I know it we are drawing for the Tour jacket. Jim wins!!! Hey, bro, cool threads!

It's been a great evening. My best days on the road are days like this where I come away with a pile of new friends and feel so welcomed. Thanks so much everyone. I hope we meet up again soon.

Bowling at Lorenzo's, Enderby, BC

2010-10-29T13:34:00.005-04:00

It's a relatively short run today from Kamloops to Enderby. I put the hotel Lincoln in order, go to Tim's for breakfast and a shave. No need to rush, I kill off a little time at the City Archives. My great-uncle Courtney Forsythe MacLean lived here in the 1950's, and I'm trying to trace what became of his family. I'm shocked to discover that he started his family relatively late in life and had two children— roughly the same age as myself. A trip to the school board archives, and a little directory work traces the children to Vancouver, to the late 1970's. Then the trail runs out... I gotta go. Still time for a relaxed drive to Enderby!

Always fun to load into Lorenzo's back door! I really like Lorne and his staff and the folks who come out to shows here. Usually it's a good time, a little bit of a party. A social. I'm hoping for a pretty good crowd here tonight. I could use the money after not making any in Kelowna or Kamloops. There's been a fair amount of press, so I figure that chances are pretty good we'll have a decent night. And it's a Friday, too.

There's the little Doc store, ready to go.

There are big shows scheduled here for both Saturday and Sunday, and it is the Halloween party weekend. Lorne tells me that Valdy will be here on Sunday— and that one is sold out. He wonders if people will go out more than one night of the weekend. I'm wondering that, too, as showtime rolls around. The place is pretty quiet. A few folks drift in and tell me about the new provincial drinking and driving laws. Nobody seems to know exactly what they are, but there is some kind of more than one drink zero tolerance tow your car away kind of thing going on. Apparently the RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) are stopping people aggressively. Lorne says it may spell the end to places like Lorenzo's Cafe. It is pretty quiet. I wonder if he's right.

A couple of guys from South Africa come in and order drinks. I get to work and entertain them and Lorne's dog. Later, after they've gone, we get a phone call at the bar. There's an RCMP roadblock just outside of town— and they are stopping everybody at the bridge. Too late for our guys. The place is empty. I guess the day of riding the backroads home is over as well. I wonder if I'll ever do another show here. I hope so. But I wonder. Change is in the wind. I pack my gear up. Early start in the morning.

Promo Day in Kamloops

2010-10-28T13:45:00.009-04:00

Not a good day at Starbucks in Kamloops! Can't get photos to upload! What the heck! Does that mean I have to txt??? Well, I guess... (Digital time warp... Ok, here they are a couple of weeks later).

So... moderate wild intro to winter in the mountains. Up before the sun and grabbing coffee on the outskirts of town. I've got about three hours to get to the television studio in Kamloops. This should be plenty of time out of Kelowna. I'm going to scoot across to Merritt and up the big road. Maybe a few more miles at higher elevation, but all divided highway— and a quick ride if the weather is good.

The weather is not good. Well, it's patchy. I drive quickly in the good spots to make up for the extra slow pace where the road is fogged, snow covered, and slippery.

There are a bunch of wrecked cars and trucks in the ditches to keep me honest out here. These are fresh wrecks. Ditch divers. New pickup trucks smashed all to hell. Could be me with this Lincoln. It's a big, heavy brute— but I haven't done enough winter miles in her to know what she'll really do in a pinch. Caution is the main word. Me and this car are going to get there. Easy. Take it easy.

Soon we're good out here again, and it's not long until I'm at the studio and ready to play.

These are always fun to do and— unlike big city TV— people will be coming up to me all day saying "I saw you on TV!" You don't need 15 minutes here. Seven and a half will do.

After Midday there's time for a short lunch break. I look out over the valley. Strange little mountains here— humpy things. Pretty nice to look at.

Next stop is Long and McQuade for my workshop/masterclass. I never know what to expect, but that's part of the fun. The staff are always great, and Kamloops is no exception. While the usual manager is away on a family emergency, Grant takes good care of me, and I'm set up in no time. It's a quiet day, midweek late afternoon. I play a few tunes. Show some folks how to play in open G, demonstrate fingerstyle guitar, talk about the blues.... I'm done. I'm looking at recording gear. I'm thinking of picking up an Mbox or somethng similar I can use to record to my laptop on the Tour. There are some pretty interesting packages out there. Ultimately I can't decide and leave empty handed. I want whatever I buy to be ProTools useful, and to (perhaps) be useful beyond my hotel room. I want 2 balanced lines in— is that asking too much? No. It just depends what you want to pay for the outboard gear. Gosh... cassette machines were never so difficult to decide upon! I'll drop by Longs in Surrey, BC and look again.

A quick bite and it's off to Grinders, where there is a local jam tonight. I couldn't buy a gig in Kamloops, but I have a great time sitting in and meeting a whole bunch of talented local players. Thanks for the hospitality Perry, Stella, and all the players! Fun night! "Angola Prison Rodeo" was really fun with three drummers, bass and harp. Thanks, Wolf Child! I was wishing I had a guitar with a pickup so I could sit in on more stuff. Now the Hotel Lincoln is ready, and parked within wifi distance of a Starbucks...

Minstrel Cafe, Kelowna

2010-10-27T14:27:00.004-04:00

Snow. That means this Tour is now into it's third season of the year.

How quickly I return to peaceful, autumn streets.

But you could bowl down the main streets of Kelowna tonight. What can I say? A very quiet night. The staff at the Minstrel Cafe are great. They feed me well, provide conversation and hospitality. Yet we are all glad to see the end of the night roll around. It's like that when you are working, and not making money. I head across town to check out some other rooms.

Everybody is empty tonight. I think perhaps it's a hangover from having the West Coast Music Awards here last week. People are just beat from the party. Oh, well. Next time. Kelowna is usually a good music town, with a real appreciation for blues and roots music. Still, it's a whole lot of driving, gas, hours spent setting up, braking down, booking, shipping posters, doing press releases, eating roadside food, sitting in an idling car in a Starbucks parking lot. That's the chance you take— but you can't lose too often. How many weeks of days like this are between me and my Lincoln, and the guy with the shopping cart collecting bottles behind the club? I go back to my little motel out on the strip. Early start in the morning, so I need to hit the pillow.

Cowboy Boneyard at Spence's Bridge

2010-10-25T22:10:00.008-04:00

Spence's Bridge. Open again. For now, anyway. And Doc with no internet, and downtime... I guess I'll explore along the Nicole River here, take a short run down Highway 8, see what I see...

Racing trains might be popular around here, I don't know. I do know that this is a place where there are often two trains running. There's track on each side of the Thompson here, and at night the big train lights come racing out the tight canyon sides, crying out at each other over the water. It takes a few seconds for the echos to do it again, backwards this time.

If I had a can of paint maybe I'd paint my name on one of these boxcars. Something about taggin' a train, sending out your name. If you can't go, you can let your name go out across the land. You can follow this road, or you can stay under the big sky.

I ride my big, steel horse out onto the range. That's an easy ride. No barbwire scars on my arms. Only a heart, blowing in this crisp, desert air.

Most of these cowboys are probably First Nations people. Ironic, somehow. We used to play cowboys and Indians. We didn't know that Indians were First Nations, we didn't know that they were cowboys, too. I hope someday my friends will make me a grave with as much love.

Most of these markers are carved out of wood.

I was looking for John Smith's stone, but never did find it. Wrong side of the River. I'm probably on the right side of this roaring river. I'm breathing in the high desert air. Dogs barking in the distance. Trains. Wind. Truck lights flickering miles across the canyon. See you soon. See you in Kelowna. I'm going to burn a candle against the night.

Down time in Spence's Bridge

2010-10-24T17:30:00.004-04:00

Who could ask for a nicer day than this? It's crisper than it looks, but still nice. Very nice. These are my digs for the layover— Eagle's Landing. The river behind the house roars and splashes past. The air is taunt and clean. No traffic on the road today. Relax and catch up on the paperwork, laundry, inventory...

I'm alone here. So very nice to be so sheltered for a short time. Catch my breath. I slept for twelve hours last night...

There's no cell service here. No internet. I don't mind— much anyway. I'll drive into town later and do breakfast at the Packinghouse. That's the hub of this town, and Steve's got a pretty good connection I can use.

Maybe I'll play some guitar. Maybe I'll write. Maybe I'll sleep some more while the washer and drier hum along. It's a great day to be alive. I'm very thankful for the hospitality!

The Packinghouse, Spence's Bridge, BC

2010-10-23T17:49:00.005-04:00

Sold Out in Golden- Bacchus Books

2010-10-22T20:18:00.007-04:00

Strands, Invermere, BC

2010-10-21T20:35:00.004-04:00

It's a great day to be alive and on the road. I'm looking forward to both the drive and the show tonight. Fred McDowell on the stereo. Cranked.

Alright! Province number nine on the Tour, and I am in good shape so far!

Mountain goats all over the road. They don't seem to be afraid of the cars. It seems they come down at this time of year, after the first skiffs of snow up on the high ground.

Always a good thing to see your name on a sign on the way into town...

Here we are. Strands. There's Tony's limo next to mine.

I'm in early, and so get set up and head over to my hotel to relax before showtime. This is a very nice little room, and owner Tony Wood is an amazing chef. This is, I believe, one of those "foodie" destinations. Pretty serious about quality to say the least. I tease Tony that the only reason I come here is to get one of his meals.

True to form— at dinner the soup is amazing, the salad, killer.

Before long it's showtime! The Tour camera has been left at the hotel, so no pics of the evening. Drat! Local media come and shoot a video— later posted up on Google. Somebody rip that for You-Tube would ya? I play some (personal opinion) great slide guitar tonight, and everybody else seems to enjoy the show as well. Encore of "Three Cards on a Coffin," and I'm done.

Tony and I have a glass of wine before shutting things down and heading out. Thanks, Tony, that was a nice evening.

Banff, AB

2010-10-20T15:17:00.004-04:00

It's cold this morning, so I get out the leather tour jacket. You can feel the winter on the edges of the horizon. You can sense it on the edges of the fields, catch it in people's voices. It's a waiting game, but I'm not waiting, I'm driving up into the mountains to double-dare it. Winter and I. We'll play at this a bit longer. I crank up T-Bone Walker on the stereo— the Black and White sessions— pack in an extra large coffee from Tim's. Rollin' now.

I love this drive up the old Cowboy Trail. The foothills, and then the mountains hiding in the clouds beyond. It all moves up slowly.

Yeah, there's winter. I probably won't take too many pictures of it, but these skiffs of snow get my attention. I know what's coming. I just don't know when.

Now I'm up on Table Mountain behind the Banff Centre for the Arts. It's a pretty easy climb, and the trail is pretty well maintained now.

Looks like 'gators on the trail, holding down some seeds and soil. This park sees many visitors, and I'm surprised it is as unspoiled as it is. For sure, this place has changed radically since I first visited in the 1970s. It is a tourist town, where a burger and a beer will set you back $30. Everyone is from somewhere else. Money leaks out through this town, like steam from the hot springs.