In the past 2 days, I've passed through 5 states: from Washington, briefly through Idaho, in Montana, through a corner of Wyoming, and now into South Dakota. South Dakota's where I lived when I was three - in a little house in Huron - and where my mom took me, left my dad, and drove to Canada. South Dakota's also the name of the oldest song on my CD - I wrote it in University, originally as a poem, after I woke up from a dream of being back in the car with my Mom - while a relationship I was in was falling to pieces.

Some South Dakota facts:
- it's the geographical center of the United States.
- Mount Rushmore is here, and just south of it is Yellowstone park
- Famous South Dakotans: Tom Brokaw, Crazy Horse, Laura Ingles Wilder
- named after the Dacotah indians

My friend Remi wants to do a video for South Dakota - and while working on it I've recently started to think of the song on a bigger metaphorical scale. South Dakota as a place where we all retreat to, in the center of everything, when things go wrong. An unpaved, side-of-the-road diner that we've all passed through in times of loss. Or something like that.

Little do I know, I will soon be firing a gun, discussing religion with midwest Christians and taking pictures in a haunted barn.

...

I like the names of creeks coming into Sioux Falls. Crazy Woman creek. Wild horse creek. Dead horse creek. As night falls, with little to no city lights around, the stars come out and the big dipper glows beside me.

I get into Sioux Falls late, and hang around waiting to meet Jeremy, my next couch-surfing friend. Eventually we hook up on the edge of town and he drives me out into the darkness, towards his farmhouse. Couch surfing requires some trust - generally trust that person ahead of you is not leading you to the middle of nowhere to kill you. But Jeremy seems pretty cool.

We get to the farmhouse - there's so much room out of town and so many stars. I meet the farmouse hunting black lab (who I don't remember his name). Jeremy, a nice guy, lives with his parents here, with an apartment downstairs - a nice setup with wireless internet and awesome DVDs. I check email while we watch Three To Tango. Then I stay up too late reading A Short History of Nearly Everything. In Chapter 14, Bill Bryson details the current volcanic activity of the earth - suggesting that Yellowstone could go sky high at any minute, killing everything around it. A comforting thought to go to sleep to.

I dream that I have to quit my job and leave my home in order to take down an evil corporation. I am on the run from the law, sleeping wherever I can, and under constant stress.

I wake up to gun shots.

I haven't woken up to gun shots since New York, and even then I'm not sure. I hide in the basement for a bit, researching local media, then take a shower. Finally I decide to face the gang war outside.

Turns out it's Jeremy's dad and brother-in-law, a local deputy, gearing up for hunting season and doing target practice. They've set up a metal barrel with a washing machine box strapped to it and a paper plate as a target. They ask me if I want to try a shot. Now I am a city boy, raised by two hippy parents and have never fired a gun in my life. Still, I'm game for a new adventure.


They hand me an AK-47. Holy.

Jeremy's dad shows me how to hold it, cock it, and makes sure that I don't hold the trigger till I'm ready to shoot. I shoot. I wound the paper plate slightly, but take out the washing machine.


Then they hand me a Glock Pistol, which I am worse at. The washing machine is dead, but the paper plate is getting cocky. Jeremy's brother-in-law takes some pictures of me shooting, which confirms that I look stupid doing this - generally looking a bit terrified in every shot. My feeling that I should stick with guitar is confirmed when they take their turns - kicking the ass of the paper plate. Apparently local deputy's are good shots.

I thank them and they seem happy to have shared their love of shooting guns. They tell me that now I'll know how to fire one, "just in case." I tell them that first I'd need to find a gun to fire, but thank them anyway...

What a strange way to start the day.

I head into town and get the oil changed on the car (apparently one ought to change one's oil after 9000 km). I make phone calls, do some shopping and hang out. I change the string I broke at the last gig and resolve not to break anymore. I kick myself for forgetting my tape recorder - I wanted to record "South Dakota" in South Dakota.

Turns out I shouldn't have worried. I'm playing in a tiny coffeehouse called The Black Sheep, with no sound system - so I'm back to being a "crazy person in the corner of a store". There's only a couple people there, but I start. Some nice teenagers gather round and ask for requests (Jack Johnson, Dave Matthews). Finally others fill in and I get a good crowd. I play South Dakota and everyone seems to like it - wasn't sure if it would be wierd or not, but I sell out of the CDs on the counter, so something went well. I meet a nice guitar student who wants to be doing what I'm doing and I talk Canadian music with a Ron Sexsmith fan. All the teenagers decide to add me as a friend on myspace. All in all a good show.

I head back to the farm but get totally lost in the night. It's CREEPY driving around dirt roads by yourself. Dark demons resolve themselves into sleeping cows in my high beams. Finally I find the farm, after a phone call to Jeremy, waking him up.

I'm invited into the kitchen by Jeremy's dad and brother. We talk music and graphic design. They teach me how to clean the AK-47. His brother buys a CD. And then they bring up religion.

Maybe it's the overly polite Canuck in me, but I generally feel that discussing religion or politics with strangers is a bad plan. Most of the midwest as far as I know is conservative and Christian and I am democratic and agnostic. I also find though that midwest Christians seem to need to ask whether you are too - a plan which seems destined for an answer of either (A) yes, in which case there's not much to talk about or (B) no, in which case everything's suddenly awkward. Who knows? Maybe it's rude to bring up religion in a blog too?

I manage though to cobble together a description of my agnosticism: a belief in greater forces than we currently understand, with a healthy respect for many religious, including christian, texts as powerful lessons and amazing stories. I'm fortunately a somewhat well-read agnostic, so I can quote scripture and back up my beliefs. I've also attended both Catholic churches and Jewish temples, so I've got some experience. I'm still initially uncomfortable with discussing religion, especially with people I don't know well and with an AK-47 on the table.

But they're very nice and we have a pleasant conversation, explaining our disparate views. Despite our differences, I'm impressed with their strong conviction that the bible is the Word of God and that by following it you will go to heaven. As an agnostic, I generally am filled with more questions than convictions.

That's probably enough religion. I head back downstairs and am about to go to bed, when Irene phones. Afraid that I'll wake someone up I head out to the garage and close the door... locking myself out. I head outside in my socks and play with the black lab, who seems cold and lonely. That's one thing that I disagree with in our religious conversation - that humans are different from animals and that only we can go to heaven. You'd think that this good, friendly dog who helps with hunting would get rewarded by their religion somehow. Who knows though, maybe it messes up the "though shalt not kill" part of hunting.

Okay, that's definitely enough religion.

Jeremy's dad answers the doorbell and lets me back in. I head downstairs and fall asleep.

...

The next day I head out to find Huron, my old hometown. Between phone calls to both parents, I eventually track down 2212 Illinois Ave. - a little pink house that used to be red, used to have a fence, used to have apple trees (cut down after an ice storm) and used to look much bigger. I'm a bit dissapointed that I don't remember it so well, but (A) it's 27 years later, (B) I was three! and (C) it's really different. Plus this house was where many parental battles were fought, so it's no surprise that I might have blocked it out.

After skulking around for a while in my bright yellow rent-a-reck, the owners come out and introduce themselves. Turns out they're the people who bought the place from my folks 27 years ago - and they remember me - as a sassy little three year old. They invite me in, but the only thing I really remember is a bit of plaid red and black carpet in the basement.

I head out of Huron and rush towards De Smet, a town that I just saw a sign for - the homestead of Laura Ingles Wilder who Irene (and, as far as I can tell, every other woman on Earth) loves. Wilder wrote the Little House on the Prairie books, which I admit, I haven't read or seen - but I have learned something about her life from Irene. It sounds ridiculously difficult to build a home and farm in the badlands, endure cruel winters, raise many children and write approximately ten thousand books.

It's 6pm and I'm worried that the site will be closed - and it is - but thankfully it's closed for the winter season, so I don't feel bad about arriving late. A sign says that you're welcome to walk around, so I do, taking pictures and freezing. I come across a barn, wide open, with a warning sign that says something like "horses are dangerous". I suddenly feel very alone, walking around in an old world, in a snow covered field, in the dark... it feels haunted.

I leave town and head down to Omaha, Nebraska - finding a Best Western, I book in and fall asleep - dreaming, but not remembering.

Not much to talk about in Billings. There wasn't a show. It took 11 hours to drive there, listening to country radio and an Arthur Conan Doyle audio-book of two Sherlock Holmes stories. Finally I get into town and find my way to Nicholas, another couch surfing friend who's putting me up. Turns out I'm staying at a dorm with Nick and his roomates. They're all nice folks - turns out that one of my other offers for a couch to surf was from Laura, one of Nick's friends. I assure them that I didn't pick one over the other...

I ask them about bars to play at, and then realize that they're all underage (U.S. - 21, Canada - 19, Quebec - 18... Canada rocks!). Still, Nick gives me the rundown of the bars and they all seem to know which ones you need fake ID to get into.

They all mountain climb and snow board - all probably MUCH healthier than me. And they BOX! Apparently in Billings on Thursdays, you can climb into a ring with some other untrained boxer and get paid to box ($50 for the loser, $150 for the winner - holy!). Part of me is glad it's not a Thursday.

Instead of boxing, we play some Mario Kart - I am pathetic at Mario Kart - and then I head to bed.

Anyway, that's it for Billings. I slept well and left really freakin early the next day to get to Sioux Falls - another 11 hour drive.

Next: I play "South Dakota" in South Dakota. I wake up to gunshots and I shoot an AK-47.

In my half-time summup, I mentioned not having a best or worst show really, but it's possible that both of them happened in Spokane.

...

I know I've talked a lot about the scenery, but the trip from Seattle to Spokane is particularly impressive - in a couple hours you hit (1) ocean, (2) rain forest, (3) the Rockies, (4) a LOT of snow, (5) badland hills, and (6) rolling plains. It's a landscape on fast-forward and is spectacular.

I know nothing about Spokane coming into town, except that I've been carefully instructed by other Americans to pronounce it Spo-Kan, not Spo-Kane.

I also don't know where I'm sleeping yet.

A brief word about Couch Surfing: originally a way to hookup with places to stay, "Couch Surfing" has become a movement of nice, like-minded folks who are open, trusting and interested in meeting people from around the world. It's worth a read about what they're about (www.couchsurfing.com), but suffice to say I'm now a complete convert.

Originally though, I thought it sucked. I'd signed up and sent a hasty couple of "couchsearches" out and got no response. So I gave up. Still, in Seattle, facing the hefty cost of 4 hotel nights ahead of me, I panicked and sent out a tons of new couchsearches - some for that night. And you know what? Every person got back to me, many phoning long distance to my cell. And if they were in town, they all offered me a place to stay. These are good people.

The first one I met was Catharine in Spokane. Catharine's a mother of four (well, bio-mom of two) and recently all of her kids have left, leaving her with an empty nest (save for Magellan the dog and Pippin the hedgehog). She carefully checked my profile (including looking at Irene's website) and, noticing that we had many things in common, invited me to stay with her.

I was late coming in to town though and decided to go straight to the Barnes & Nobel, where I was playing. For Canadians, B&N is a bookstore chain like Chapters. I was playing in their music department. Bookstore gigs can be quite good, but can also suck, so I'm a bit wary of them. Still, a show's a show. Unfortunately, I got there at 6:30, to find out that the store closed at 7 and that they had my show down for tomorrow...

Frantic phone calls to Catharine, explaining and hoping for another night's stay (still haven't met her) and to Nicholas who was putting me up in my next stop in Billings.

Finally, I meet Catharine and she leads me back to her beautiful place and cooks me dinner. I meet Magellen, the wonder dog who closes doors behind him. Afterwards Catharine and I jam a bit with her on harp - pretty cool - I ask her to join my band. However, I'm losing my voice and quickly head upstairs to crash, briefly meeting Pippin the hedgehog who huffs and puffs in my hand and, while adorable, is kind of prickly.

Apparently I sleep like the dead through a huge windstorm.

Next morning I head out to see Spokane, a city I still know very little about. I find a nice park with a skating rink, a carousel, and a giant red wagon (adding to my giant things collection). I take pictures of birds - seagulls, geese, and ducks - all preparing for their escape from the cold.

I go shopping, eat lunch, read a bit. Take a break. It's a nice day in a new town. Then I head to Barnes & Noble.

Tim at B&N sets me up in the music department next to the front opening. There's no sound system - which generally makes me look like a crazy person with a guitar in the middle of a store. Still, I'm game, and start playing. Tim makes announcements over the PA, but it doesn't really draw anyone. Some nice folks come in and stand awkwardly watching me, ask for a couple requests, and then leave. Everyone else walks by, looks surprised when they see/hear me, and then quickly scurry off.

This is not working.

I ask Tim if maybe I could move to the Starbucks, where people could sit and listen, but apparently the manager isn't there, so he can't approve it. Catharine comes by for a couple songs and looks distraught that THIS is my spokane gig. Still, it's nice to have an audience for more than one song. She leaves after a bit and I go back to playing for Tim and the occasionally brave shopper who will walk past the crazy man. After about an hour of this, I give up. This wasn't a paying gig - I was hoping to sell CDs - so it's been a complete waste of time. Tim even makes me pay for a cool CD-opening device ($1) at the counter.

I know. I know. I shouldn't let this get to me, but I've just driven 10 hours for THIS?!! Finally as I'm packing up, a nice guy comes up and talks guitars with me, and then eventually buys a CD, more out of pity, I think, than anything.

It's not Tim's fault or Barnes & Noble - although they should know that putting a musician where I was will not help, or really entice anyone into the music department. The Starbuck's would've been better. Still, it's a Monday gig - and most Monday gigs are bad. I should lighten up.

Determined to save the night, I ask Tim and the one CD purchaser guy where else in town I could play, if I come back, that I could check out that night. They point me downtown and I take off.

Downtown, many of the places are closed, but I get some emails to send requests to from a Country billiards place. Then I head down the street and stop into another bar... it's actually pretty packed... and there are... naked pictures of men on the walls... and the bartender's shirt has a rooster on it that says "my cock is happy to see you."

I've wandered into a gay bar.

I ask if they have live music there (No - although the posters suggest there are erotic dancers and drag shows frequently) or if they know of a bar nearby that does ("Honey, it's Monday night - even New York is dead!"). I check the one bar they do suggest called the Blue Spark down the street - and it has an open mic tonight! Hooray!

I've still got an hour or two, so I head home - Catharine's made pasta, which is a nice surprise. Such a mom. Then I head back to the bar. I arrive a bit late and have to sign up for the 11:30 spot. Still, I'm happy to sit in a bar and read. I end up meeting a bunch of locals there. Annette runs the place and is pretty freaking drunk when I meet her (but nice!) - and friend of hers just died and she's drowning her sorrows - she introduces me to her bartenders several times.

I listen to the music - some good (the guy who runs the night is a pretty amazing guitar/bass player - and there's a cool harmonica guy too). Many drunk wannabe drummers try to jump on stage and jam with others, but are kicked off. A group gets on and all the bartenders make "put in your ear protection" motions. It's just bass and drums though - how loud could it be?

Oh.

I move to the back of the bar and plug my ears. Finally I get to go on. I play a new one ("The Show Must Go On") and two girls start dancing - people start clapping. Then I play Green Day's Basketcase and people sing along and I get thumbs up from some of the other musicians. Then I play Caroline and lots of people start dancing. Annette gives me a thumbs up and suddenly it's one of the best shows I've played. And then I break a string... but keep playing - and only a couple people notice. People ask for an encore, and another musician lends me his guitar - I make some Canadian jokes - then play One Week, Dear Aunty Emm, and Fighter - and they keep dancing. One guy yells out Freebird (which I admit, I have no idea how to play, much less how it sounds. Please don't ask for Freebird at shows - I don't know it). Afterwards, Annette tells me that I rock. All the bartenders shake my hand. And a couple people buy CDs. What a great show!?!

I keep listening for a while - a totally fun funk band gets up, then the host guy gets up with a local drummer and they blow everyone away - they're pretty amazing jammers. I watch till the end and then head home.

Maybe it's the excitement from a good show, or the 2 cokes and 1 ice tea that I downed (I've been politely refusing drinks in the states...), but I don't sleep great.

So there you go - a terrible show and a great show in one night. Go figure.

Here's a joke from my cousin, Heather:

Q: What's the difference between Americans and Canadians?

A: Canadians think there's a difference.

...

Took a different ferry heading into the US and was dropped off at Port Angeles - 3 hours from Seattle - theoretically we crossed the ocean, sort of, in the Ferry... and it smelled like the ocean which makes me happy in a "halfway home/there and back" sort of way. Unfortunately I missed the first ferry, and the 2nd leaves at 4pm, which gets me there pretty late. I worry a bit as the customs officer approaches - "touring musician" sounds like an invitation to search the car for drugs - not that I have any (unless you count leftover Halloween Glossettes) - but still. The US passport saves me. Dual citizenship rocks.

Once in the US, I quickly get completely lost. I can't seem to find a good US map and my great "navigation sense" seems to have turned off in the States. I take several wrong turns and visit many gas stations for directions.

Heather's joke notwithstanding, there are many immediate differences between the US and Canada that you recognize immediately, including:

- WAY more US flags everywhere (okay, this seems obvious - what I mean is, more US flags in the US than Canadian ones in Canada)
- gas stations sell beer, but often, surprisingly, not magazines...
- gun stores
- McDonald's sucks.... so does beer...
- everyone is much more interested in my little rent-a-wreck car

Finally, with help from several gas stations and Heather, I get to Seattle and am welcomed nicely by my cousin, the aforementioned Heather, who I'm staying with. Heather has an amazing place with two nice roommates and two gigantic furry cats, Burt and Princess. She works with lazers - which I'm sure sounds cooler than it is... but sounds pretty freakin cool! We chat for a bit, catching up - I've owed Heather a visit for a while, but Seattle is usually too far away - then finally, I crash. Getting lost in another country is exhausting.

The next day, Heather takes me on a walking tour of Seattle. Seattle's a small (500,000) city with great energy and some fun stuff. Here's some things I see, none of which I take pictures of because I'm stupid and have left my camera behind... sigh...:

- a giant troll statue under a bridge. The troll is crushing a VW bug. I try not to take this as an omen.
- an amazing downtown market including fresh cheese, honey, salsa, beef jerkey, smoked salmon and more - SO GOOD - and this was all before lunch. I particularly liked the fish place, where they put on a huge show throwing a fish back and forth - no, I don't understand either, but it's famous and they're very good at throwing fish.
- a giant statue of Lenin, purchased from the Soviet Union, by a Seattle guy, who now wants to sell it to the city - but they won't buy it... so it just sits there, looking happily communistic.
- a roadsign marked "center of the universe" with many other signs pointing to (1) Lenin, (2) Portland, (3) Atlantis, etc...

Later, my exercise-starved legs feel like we walked 800 miles, but it was all worth it. We end up at a restaurant down by the harbour and I get to see a seal swimming around.

After eating, we pick up drinks and food for the party tonight. The party is hard to explain. It's set in a garage which has been converted into a full bar with a stage, disco lights, sound system and sound proofing, but is, from the outside, terrifying. It's looks like where the police will find your dismembered body the next day... It's called The Bronze, after the bar in Buffy, The Vampire Slayer, and is, despite outward appearances, pretty impressive. It's also unlicensed, so this show could only be promoted through Heather's contacts - which are many - she has an enviable community of nice folks who seem totally happy to come out to see someone's Canadian cousin play music at them.

Some come early to eat (Heather made soup) and hang out. Heather's friend Jenn, comes to play some music as well and we quickly rehearse some covers (3 AM, Brown Eyed Girl, & Crash) that we can do together. I start the show, everyone moves to their seats, the lights are dimmed and, while quickly soundchecking, I snap a string... great start, Hein. I quickly replace it, but this means the guitar will go out of tune all night. Fun. I tell them it's Canadian tuning.

Still, the show goes well and I have fun with it. Everyone sings along to Aunty Emm as well as the covers. I mention that "Seventeen" is in praise of older women and Jenn mishears me, thinking I said "bolder women"... which turns into a running joke about women from Boulder, Collorado, where Jenn is from and tells us all about in bizarre detail. We do okay on our duets and she plays some cool tunes of her own. Finally I wrap up and then... karaoke.

Yes, karaoke.

The crowd hooks up a karaoke machine and we get it going. I sing It's The End of The World As We Know It and Heather does Faith. Lots of fun with everyone singing along. I normally am not a fan, but what an awesome way to wrap up - every gig should end with Karaoke!

The next day, Heather heads out to catch a plane. I get totally confused and mix up my dates (more later) and frantically send out couchsurfing requests (also more later) for the next 4 days (yes, I have no place to stay for 4 days - I never said I was organized...) while checking email and packing up.

The rent-a-wreck (I'm choosing a name, I promise - it's hard though - I got some good ones!) stares at me balefully wondering where I was for two days. I've started talking to it and worry that I'm losing it a bit. We've become good friends, me and this little car. We're going to get back across this country together.

Having hit the Pacific ocean, and am crossing into the States, I thought I'd do a quick tally-up:

Days on the road: 22
Days to go: 25
Provinces: 5
Kilometres driven: around 7000 (someone in the US can do the miles math)
Show's played: 17
Favourite show: I can't decide - they're all awesome.
Favourite audience: I've had some amazing audiences so far, but I think I have to go with Moose Jaw, just because Curtis and Leslie from there came to see me play in Edmonton and Vancouver! That's dedication!
Near death experiences: a couple
Times laundry done: twice
Magazines bought, read, and left behind: 2
Audio books listened to: one (the Shipping News) - although I just bought some Sherlock Holmes ones
Animals who have licked me: 5 (1 lizard, 1 cow, several dogs)
Giant things I've seen: (besides the Rockies) - Loonie, Nickel, Moose, Goose (or geese in Wawa), and several teepee's
Prizes: two jackets (Thunder Bay), several CDs from artists played with (AA soundsystem, Big Wheel & The Spokes), t-shirts from Sault Ste. Marie, one 12-string guitar (Vancouver)
Parking tickets: one in Winnipeg (but beaten!)
Speeding tickets: none (um... not that I've been speeding...)
Hotels stayed at: one (Wawa)
Hotels paid for: none
Car problems: NONE - thanks, Rent-A-Wreck!

It's been a great tour so far! Thanks for everyone who's following along. Hope to see you all soon!

Best,
David

I have to leave pretty early in the morning to get to Victoria for noon (for those of you out East who might naively assume that there ought to be a BRIDGE of some sort... you will be wrong). It takes about an hour to get to the ferries from Vancouver, and you should get there an hour early to make sure you've got a spot (there are stressfull signs saying "65% full" as you approach. Then the ferry takes an hour and a half, and THEN you need to drive about half an hour to get to Victoria.

Also, the ferry costs about $50. This is important, because I've rearranged things so that I can be on TV in Victoria today, but have to be back in Vancouver tomorrow for an Aviva meeting... which I suddenly realize is going to run me $100 and a LOT of time... sigh...


The ferry is beautiful though. I'm on the "Spirt of Vancouver Island." They pack the cars in, 2 feet apart - and then you have the run of several floors of cafeteria, gift shop, arcade, viewing decks, etc. A friend suggested I don't be a wimp and stand in the cold on the deck and enjoy the view - and it is totally awesome. Hundreds of little islands, swooping seagulls, and driftwood that looks like seals or the tops of whales.

Surprisingly, I get into town early and hit the bank and the post office. Then I drop by the Ocean Island Lounge - part of the Ocean Island hostel - a very cool community of people from around the world. I meet David and John from Shaw TV. They shoot me playing two songs (Caroline (which everyone liked from Vancouver) and My Eyes Wide) and then we do a short interview covering my music, working with the muppets, my tour, my hallmark card, and a couple more things - all in about a minute. John's going to send me the file, so I'll try to get it uploaded here soon.

I then head over to Liz's place. Liz was one of the bridesmaids and a good friend of my friend Heidi, who's originally from out here. She's a cool, Sarah-Harmer loving mom, whose kids are totally friendly and fearless. We talk for a bit, we trade CDs (hers is some covers she recorded - many Sarah Harmers - what's impressive though is how close they sound to the real thing!)... finally I totally pass out.

Later I head out to a local open mic to promote the show tomorrow. I meet James, a local promoter in town, who runs the open mic and is promoting Blue Rodeo's Bob Eegon's show the night of mine (curses!). I play a couple songs - Caroline, Subway Sparrow and My Eyes Wide (needed to do a song in the key of A, so that Jeremiah, a local harmonica player, could jam with me) - and then hang out. I meet a nice woman who isn't sure whether she'll go up to play. We share stories - she studied out in Montreal, but was in a car accident and had to return, losing her partner, her dog, and her house and is now needs to take constant pain meds. Finally she gets up and plays AMAZING violin! Wow! [the next night, I dedicate Running the Red Lights to her - for not letting life dictate what you do...].

The next day I head back to Vancouver, sleeping most of the ferry ride. I buy a copy of "A brief history of nearly everything" - a great book on, well, nearly everything, but centering on the history of science and our universe. I originally suspect it to be good nap material, but is surprisingly engaging. I also run into James from the night before - he's off to a radio station job interview - cross your fingers for him, folks.

Back in Vancouver, I find Aviva's office (much easier when you have the right address - see Edmonton's blog), have the meeting (a great one! sometimes it's nice to get excited about your day job), and then head back to the ferry. I'm too late for the first ferry (5pm 100% full! Reads the sign) so I have to wait about 3 hours for the 6pm, which will get me into town for 8 for a 9pm show. Cutting it close.

I get back, dash to Liz's, dash to the bar and am, as usual, really early. I set up, meet some folks and then play for 2-3 hours - exhausting every cover I know to play for, although there are many people in the next rooms, basically 4 people. 4 really nice people, but still; Tom from Australia is another guitar player and a great audience member. Brittany from Prince George just pierced her cheeks (I didn't know you could do this, but it looks really cool) although it keeps her from smiling too much. I also meet the Lounge's best customer, a man who wants to take everyone's picture and wants me to play Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah (a beautiful song that I wish I knew). Finally, exhausted, I pack up.

This is one of the show's that I promoted the most and there aren't that many people who came, although more showed up later. Makes you wonder how worth it all the running back and forth was. Definitely time for bed. Tomorrow I hit my halfway point and cross the border into the States!

The drive down the Fraser Valley is incredible - breathtaking canyons and mountains and waterfalls. Apparently I missed a huge storm that is still threatening to flood much of BC, but my day is sunny for the most part, or, when it rains, it's light.

On the other hand, it takes a looooong time to get to Vancouver. Still, it's pretty and the curvy roads keep you alert and interested/awake.



I finally get into town and thanks to my brother-in-law, Scott, who happens to be in town for work, I navigate successfully to where I'm staying (thanks to Carol Pearlstone for putting me up), drop my stuff and then head out to dinner with Scott.

I'm playing at Limerick Junction - which is in the heart of the infamous East Side - and the East Side is a doozy - many poor people asking for change, a huge crowd of people (what I've been told are drug dealers and hookers, but mostly everyone just looks poor as I pass by).

The show is a round-robin, which means there are 4 of us and we each take a turn playing a song going in a circle. I've never done this before, but have seen them - still, it's kind of funny to be on stage for 3 songs just looking at the others. The others, by the way, are fantastic, Bobby Slack, Che, and Wynston (I'll have to come back to put in their full names and websites) - really, really good songwriters with great voices and styles. They all raise the bar with each song. They're all from Vancouver and make plenty of Toronto jokes. Eventually we all make friends and start to harmonize, solo, and play on eachother's songs, which the audience likes a lot. Bobby plays harmonica while Wynston solos over Caroline - lots of fun.

In the audience, I need to thank Leslie (from the Moose Jaw show - and originally from California) for coming out, Scott, my roadie, brother-in-law, and helpful direction giver, and Mark Hopkinson, an old friend of Irene's from York days - we hang out for a while and catch up. Then Mark offers me his 12-string guitar! He says he's basically getting rid of it and do I want it?! Eventually I manage to at least trade him a CD for it, but Mark, I'm still considering this a loan if you ever want it back! Thank you though. It's a beautiful guitar!

Nice to have old friends at a show and nice to make some new ones. I wish I could have seen more of Vancouver, but I have to leave early the next morning for Victoria, to be on TV!

Prince George is a kickass, kizmet, karmic place - I had a ball here. Even though it occasionally smells terrible (giant plants dump toxins into the air illegally and the city is almost always under a cloud) and everyone says it's ugly, I like PG plenty.

Drove through pitch blackness, fog and snow past many moose & avalanche signs and past giant trucks intent on running my little VW bug over... but finally made it to Tammy's house. Tammy's the owner of the Kizmet Cafe, where I'm playing, and one of the nicest folks I've met. I get fed Shepherd's Pie and meet her 3 very cool daughters and Sera, her 2nd in command at the Cafe. After 10 hours of avalance-truck-mooses I'm sure I was a brilliant conversationalist and sacked out early.

Next day, Yoshi the dog, Theo the cat, and I hang out. Then I head out with Tammy to the Cafe - a warm 'n cozy spot 3 blocks away. The Kizmet is a perfect venue - nice and intimate but beautiful - and filled with AMAZING food. I suggest the Chicken Currey which I have for lunch. Terry from Prince George's rent-a-wreck joins us - Terry wants to buy my VW bug from the Napanee franchise but I convince him to let me keep it for a bit more.

The next day, we head to the art gallery, but most of it is closed - still, we make the most of it, seeing some nice painted drums and some pieces upstairs - I learn about first nation rights to chinese history to beetlekill wood (Prince George has recently had to cut down thousands of trees due to beetles. Normally, the bugs wouldn't have spread so far because of forest fires, but humans have been stopping forest fires, which leaves vast stretches of healthy trees to kill. In the gift shop, there are beautiful pieces carved from beetlekill wood - with small beetle lines and all stained blue by beetle poison.

No to be deterred by a half-closed art gallery, we head over the museum... which is completely closed. Instead we stand in the middle of a snow-covered park and look at First Nation burial grounds, frozen rivers, and old forts.

Finally, we head back to UNBC and check out its beautiful campus - made of just as much wood and plants as concrete - a rarity next to my York days. Next door is the Forest for the World, a vast forest filled with moose, bears, wolves, etc. - VERY different from my York days.

I rush a bunch of errands - hitting the UNBC radio station, doing a CBC interview, and hooking up with Terry again for some pictures with my bug, which he keeps eyeing.

I head back to Tammy's for dinner - amazing enchiladas the size of my head. Everyone else eats half, but I am clearly half-starved or stupid and eat a whole one - so good. We head back to the cafe and set up. A local music student, brilliant keys player and nice guy, Mark, opens up playing everything from Simon & Garfunkle to Christina.

Folks start to trickle in and eventually we get started. Tammy gives me a sweet intro. Right before I go on, a nice woman is talking to Mark, telling him how good he was, and then says she may leave if I'm "too rock and roll" - something, I don't think I've ever been told. Still, I start off slow with Subway Sparrow and slowly work in the rock. I play Karma Police for the Kizmet Cafe staff.

What a nice crowd! Everyone claps and sings along - except of the folks from the UNBC paper, who play Scrabble throughout, occasionally giving me thumbs up for Green Day and Christina covers. The "too rock and roll" lady buys the first CD of the night - followed my many others. I sign a CD "to the fertility goddesses" - 3 women who have all just gotten pregant - Congrats!

Finally folks go home and a couple of us hang out. Sera reads some of her cool poetry. I'm fed carrot cake the size of my head and I end up playing brown eyed girl, amazing grace, and guilt trip song to them.

Back home I pass out and wake up WAY too early for another 12 hour drive. I'd like to say goodbye but it's too early, so I say goodbye to Theo the cat quietly and slip out the door.

I head out late towards Prince George and get confused, trying to read my map and drive at the same time. Finally I figure out that, as with the rest of the West, I just need to follow the Yelllow Head highway to get there.

Along the way the world changes again - the trees have been snowblasted into white ice sculptures. The earth begins to pitch and heave in small hills and breathtaking valleys. I see two visions. The first comes mid-thought about the world being Narnia-esque, frozen by the power of some ice queen. All around me, the country is black and white (white trees, white sky, black road) save for the yellow centre line. And then suddenly a huge valley emerges on my left, filled with thousands of white trees - and in the middle a tower of flame rocketing into the sky, lonely but strong and powerful. In a second, I lose sight of it.

The second vision comes quickly as well - the sun is blinding me - without sunglasses, I wouldn't be able to drive - the road ahead is hot, blinding white light (a contrast to the darkness to come later). Suddenly the sun disappears behind a cloud and against the clouds there is a perfect circle that follows me, moving around the sun. I crane my neck and try to figure out what it is - the moon? the sun? a sundog (can't remember what those are even...)? It is a glowing circle against the clouds, with a perfectly defined edge, and I can stare at it without going blind... It too passes quickly, but both leave me with the impression that this is a magical land.

I can't really do justice to driving across the Rockies here. I took a lot of pictures but none of them capture it fully. I drive for a long time before stopping at a gas station in a small town (with the nicest roadside store ever! The bathroom urinals had little soccer balls and goals in them! Cool!). I remember in Calgary seeing the mountains in the distance and am wondering how far these stupid mountains are. Then I rounded the corner.

They are giant. Beautiful, huge, Gods of Canada emerging from the mists. I remember saying that the rocks and trees of Northern Ontario made me feel small - these made me feel insignificant. The world may change but these will always be here, testiments to ancient techtonic wars.


I'm listening to CBC, as one man attacks religion as myth. I'm an agnostic, but it's hard to be human and not believe that some greater power created these monuments. The radio crackles and fades, which is fine by me - better to see this in silence.



I pass a sign warning of wildlife crossings. Ahead of me there is a brown car that's slowed down. Or stopped... wait, that's not a car. It's two big horned goats? rams? (apparently somewhat rare to see, I find out later) hanging out in the middle of the road. I screech to a halt 15 feet from them and coast till I am five feet away next to them. I roll down my window and take their picture, telling them how beautiful they are.

I continue on, worrying about them - flashing my lights to alert other cars. Along the way I pass beautiful elks and caribou travelling in pairs and herds, just next to the car - almost pettable. I want to live in Jasper.



I take a LONG TIME out here - looking at mountains and caribou and before I know it the sun is setting. I am still a long way from Prince George and I speed up, stopping occasionally to snow off my windshield. As the sun sets, the temperatures drops and drags a ribbon of cloud down to the valley I travel through - I pass under it, through it, and next to it, watching it wind itself between the mountains. I pass into BC just before night falls.

I pull over to the side of the road to pee - there are no bathrooms or gas stations for a while. Others have stopped here recently because garbage is strewn around and dog prints scamper happily in the snow. I slip and slide down into the forest and find a spot to pee. The dog has been running around here too. By the size of the prints (next to the little fox prints there) it is a big dog. Or, I realize, still peeing, a wolf. Actually there's a lot of tracks around here. I scamper back up the car and head out. To quote my friend Sam, "it's cold and there are wolves."

Soon it is pitch black. the road winds around huge mountains that are occasionally visible. I drive through clouds and can't see 20 feet in front of me. Avalanche signs dots the road, although it's impossible to say where the actual mountains are. Giant trucks fly past me or crowd me from behind. Now it is pitch black, foggy and snowing and I can't see anything.

Somehow I make it to Prince George though. There is suddenly a long stretch where I sense that the mountains have receded and I am entering the long slide towards the coast. And then suddenly up a small hill, I see Prince George - bigger than I imagined and glittering in the darkness.

4 am. Well, that's when the alarm goes off. I get up at 4:45am and leave the house by 5. Wish I could have spent more time with John Dufort, my lovely host, but time waits for no man and I have an Aviva appointment in Edmonton at 3pm, a 9 hour drive away.


My "no fast food" rule is rapidly running out - I hit McDonald's for breakfast and head into the darkness of the prairie towards Saskatoon. Regina fades behind me again as the land is swallowed under a heavy blanket of darkness. As the morning comes, the pitch blackness slowly fades, almost as if your eyes are adapting and what emerges are rolling waves of crops, like a seabed. In fact the black-blue pre-dawn prairie world looks like you're underwater... or maybe I'm just sleepy.

I am ridiculously tired. I shouldn't have gone out last night. I shouldn't have scheduled a meeting 9 hours away. I'm not falling asleep quite, but I'm having enough eye closed moments that I'm a bit worried. After enough of them I pull into a Shell station, just past Saskatoon. I crank the heat, set my alarm and have a delicious 45 minute cat nap. I wake up and head into the station, stocking up on Brisk ice tea (I don't drink tea or coffee...). Back in the car I down my caffeine and sugar supplement and chug a pack of Raisinettes. I am WIRED.

Somewhere along the road, the land is suddenly covered with snow - there'd been snow before, patches and ditchfulls, but this is different and sneaks up on me - the countryside is white, the lakes are frozen, and there is no denial, it is winter. I see flocks of geese everywhere preparing to leave, practicing their formations or just assembling on masses of thousands in what open water is left. The down from the inside of my new coat (donated by Sheila at The Apollo in Thunder Bay) has been slowly working it's way out of a small rip - the side of the passenger seat is covered in feathers and now it looks like small feathers are forcing themselves out between the seams. My theory is that the down wants to fly south as well.

Haybales covered in snow. Bisons covered in snow. I take pictures, always happy about snow before it become freezing or brown slush. Which doesn't take long.





I hit the outskirts of Edmonton in just over 8 hours - plenty of time to find my meeting at Aviva's Edmonton office. I follow my Google Map directions around and around, heading toward what I assume will be a similar giant office building.




Instead, I end up in a nice little suburb at someone's house. Clearly, something has gone terribly wrong. Luckily, I'm early - I have an hour and a half to find the office. I head to a strip mall I passed and try to find a pay phone (more difficult than you think in our new cell phone crazed days). The receptionist at Aviva laughs at me when I tell him where I am, but gives me directions. Edmonton is theoretically laid out on a grid, numbered avenues by numbered streets - theoretically easy to find everything, but in practice there are enough exceptions and twists and turns (100A Avenue! What?!) to get you plenty confused. I find the corner it's supposed to be on and then spend half an hour looking for parking. Finally I just pick a random parking garage, go up seven stories to the roof to get a spot and find that I've picked the garage right next to Aviva's building. I am a genius.

I have a bit of extra time and head to an art store across the street, filled with dogs and beautiful, expensive things. In the back I find Eva Zeisel vases. I assisted Eva for a while in New York - a wonderfully tough old woman who has been designing beautifully curved vases, teapots, and salt & pepper shakers (I love them - they look like Barba Poppas) all her life. She spent time in prison in Europe during World War II and, when I knew her, her vision was going, but her mind was still active. She is tough and scrappy and occasionally hard to deal with and I am glad to see that she's still designing (although I think she'd hate the "still" in that sentence). She just put out a fountain pen which is pretty cool.

The meeting at Aviva goes well. We already play nicely with the Edmonton branch so I tell them about my tour. Charlene, the head of the branch, says she'll come down to the show.

Afterwards I wander around, waiting for my friend Ayla to get back from Calgary where he played last night. I suddenly am tired of getting into new towns every day, getting lost, getting confused, and having to figure it out. It's exhausting. I talk to Irene for a bit. She can't come out to meet me in Kansas City - there's too much she'd have to give up and I tell her it doesn't make sense, even though I wish it did. I wish I was home.

Ayla phones and I head over to his place. Ayla's an old friend from Prince Albert - our moms were friends and we'd occasionally see eachother for very cool, albeit geeky, dungeon and dragon live events. Ayla and my lives seem to have run in parallel - he's done his stint as a theatre tech and has been in a number of bands - currently in AA sound system (Double-A... as in batteries... how cool a name is that?) - www.aasoundsystem.com. They just released their 2nd CD, produced by Danny Michel, one of my singer/songwriter heroes and an amazing act to catch (www.dannymichel.com) and an amazing producer. Ayla tells me stories about working with Danny and I'm pretty happy. We drink. We smoke. Ayla's girlfriend comes over and we talk for a while... but I am exhausted from the early start and head to bed.

The next day we head out for breakfast (tofu scramble! mmmmm!) and then have a nice day shopping around Edmonton - books stores, comic shops, bakeries, and awesome thrift shops - my favourite t-shirts are "french canadians" (with two mounties making out) and "I hate myself" (which features an Amish robot). Should have bought them... I comfort myself with the best sausage roll in the world.

We get back to Ayla's and all have a nap. This is how days should be spent.

I'm staying at another place after the show, so I head to Heather Boyd's place - a friend of a mother of an old schoolmate from Saskatoon. Heather's wonderful and totally takes care of me. Unfortunately there's not a ton of time to visit, so I head back downtown for dinner.

We eat quick and head over to the club - I'm antsy because we're late, but Ayla, typically, is calm - although he never plays this place and doesn't care much about making the booker happy. We're opening up for Moses Mayes, a local funk band with a big following - so we should have a big crowd, but it may not be my kind of audience. Plus, AA Sound System recently lost their drummer to a cult in BC (or love, whichever...), so they're planning on doing some more experimental stuff involving samplers, two computers and a recording of the history of Saskatchewan. I'm not sure how me and my folksy acoustic guitar fits in, but it should be an interesting night.

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. The booker wanted to soundcheck before 8, but the show doesn't start until 10 and we don't need much of a soundcheck. I phone Irene and we talk a while. I make friends with some girls who want to hitchhike to BC - no room in the bug though - and I hang out with Charlene from Aviva, who was nice enough to come, but had trouble finding the place (I'm playing at the Velvet Underground, but there's no sign outside for it - just one for the upstairs club, The Starlite Lounge... confusing enough? I find out later that my sponsor from Rent-a-wreck, who were also sponsoring a boxing fight that night... bizarre... tried to come by but couldn't find it... sheesh).

Finally the show starts - I play pretty well, but it's clear that half the audience just wants Moses Mayes. Still, the ones who do listen like it enough - I meet some very nice folks afterwards who sang and danced a bit. Bryan Bayley and the Circus (www.bbcircus.ca) ask me to come to Calgary to do a show with them. My favourite part is that Curtis, one of the loud, drunken train guys from Moose Jaw came to the show! How cool is that?! He was moving from one city to the other and saw on my tour schedule that he could come again. He's listened to my CD all the way up and loves it. That made my night. Curtis requests South Dakota and I play Dear Aunty Emm again for him, although the singalong parts will never be as good as Moose Jaw.

Ayla's set is great, if not mixed well enough. They have some amazingly good songs and the experimental stuff isn't off the deep end - just cool. Lane, his bass player does some sweet harmonies and considering they don't have a drummer, their sound is really full. They refer to their drum machines as Robot 1 and 2 . Both do a great job filling in.

Moses Mayes gets up and is pretty cool - Everyone jumps to their feet and starts dancing. They play mostly instrumental funk, with horns, sax, keys, turntables and drums. Fun stuff, but we're all exhausted. Lane says he can't believe how stuck in 1995 they are. I like them enough and would dance, but feel like sleeping - yesterday's drive is still wearing on me. We pack up and go, saying quick goodbyes.

I head to Heather's and sneak in, creaking across the floorboards to make myself some toast and then heading to bed. The next day Heather makes me eggs, does laundry for me and gets me on the internet. As all of my hosts do, she goes above and beyond.

I leave late but happy and looking forward to hitting the rockies.

There's a million old adages about playing with fire and I clearly haven't listened to any of them.

Coming in towards Regina, I see gigantic bonfires burning by the side of the road. Around 20 of them all in a line, like a bizarre ritualistic runway in the middle of a wheat field. Kind of beautiful, but what on earth was it for? I tried to take pictures through the car window while going 140 (for some reason they don't suggest this technique in photo magazines...), but the results weren't great (surprising, I know!). So, realizing I was a bit early, I turned down a gravel road, past a farmhouse to get a better look. To my left, a full moon had come out and across a yellow canola field I saw the long shape of dog running towards the farmhouse in the distance - a striking visual and would have made a great picture.

Coming closer to the flames, the car starts to make a funny noise in the front... almost like it's pushing something... I slow down and realize that the gravel road has become a soil road, made of brown dark earth. On either side a truck of some kind has dug deep wheel wells but has left a pile of dirt in the middle that I have started plowing through. I stop the car. Whatever the VW bug was made for, it was not plowing soil. I get out to make sure that the car is okay. Which is when I hear the barking.

Turning around I see the dog mentioned before racing towards me intent, I am sure, on eating me. Now I'm generally a dog person, but I respect them enough to understand territory and intruders. I also suspect that behind a barking farmhouse dog may be a farmer with a shotgun. I slam the door, shift into reverse, and floor it, plowing soil and gravel everywhere. The dog keeps up. I crank my neck to the right, trying to stay on the road, weaving like a madman past the farmhouse and towards the highway. At the last minute, the dog suddenly loses interest. The intruder was driven away and the dog trots happily back towards the farmhouse.

I on the other hand am freaked out and, while massaging my neck, resolve now to drive TOWARDS fires and not to antagonize prairie dogs anymore. I head into town.

My mom would like me to clarify that Regina was where I was born and apparently only moved to Saskatoon in 1983, when I was 7! Maybe it's that I've blocked out parts of it, or that we lived inbetween being born and being 7 on a farmhouse and in South Dakota, but I still consider Saskatoon more of a hometown. Which is not to say that Regina wasn't familiar - I still got some memory bubble moments of "hey! That's a museum I went to!" or "hey! That's Wascana park!... there were geese there!" I wish I could have stayed longer and explored more - I'm sure there are tons of untouched memories lying around in my head.

In town I meet up with a good friend from Toronto who I'll be playing with, Jeff Straker (www.jeffstraker.com). Jeff and I are often on parallel career paths (we're both singer/songwriters with theatre and marketing backgrounds who rely on strong voices - and we kind of look the same if you squint), but lately he's taken leaps and bounds beyond me. He quit his job and moved out to the prairies and has done 80 shows in the past couple months, slowly making a name for himself. And he deserves it, he's a great piano player with a kickass voice.

We get some Thai food and, as we often do, rabidly catch up on eachother's careers. I like talking music with Jeff - maybe it's that he plays piano and I'm a guitarist - but there's no jealousy of any kind between us. Just helpful comradery.

We head over to the club (aptly named "The Club") and unload our stuff. The Club is part of "The Exchange" which is a funny building off the main drag (Albert St.) in Regina. Unfortunately, it's a bit too far off the main drag and there are rarely any walk-in traffic, requiring people to bring their own crowd (a problem when you're from out of town).

Jeff's band arrives - bass and cello - some really nice folks who are amazing players. I never like going on solo after a band, but it's a small intimate place and I figure it'll be okay.

Next door, The Exchange is hosting a huge local radio fundraiser. The way the place is set up is, as you walk in, you see a big open door with music coming out of it - that's The Exchange. The side door, which is closed, is The Club, where we're playing... see if you can spot where this is going...

We finally get some audience - two of them, in fact. Really sweet folks from Jeff's hometown and good listeners. Jeff and the band open up and, considering the crowd, put all their energy into it. They sound amazingly tight and polished - like they've played 80 show recently!

I get up and due to the audience size, I move the mike off the stage to four feet away from them - to make a bit of a living room vibe. I play well, although my voice feels a bit strained. Near the end of the set, a bunch of people come from the other club and sit down to listen. They sing along and know the words to Christina Aguilera's Fighter (a tour hit so far). Then we find out that they'd been sitting next door in the Exchange listening to band after band waiting for Jeff or me to come on! Sigh... They also paid the benefit $10 each and we can't really ask them to pay for our show.... what a mess. Still, the show goes fine - Jeff gets back up and plays for those guys and a couple other people trickle in. I end up selling a bunch of CDs and donating one to a drag-show benefit that Jeff's drag friends (who unsurprisingly in retrospect knew Christina lyrics...). We find out later that a bunch more of Jeff's friends spent the whole night next door... Sheesh!

During Jeff's set I get to talk to John Dufort, who started The Club many years ago, in a different location, and who's billeting me for the night. John's a sweet guy - really nice - but seems disappointed in the turnout - apparently The Club used to be a cooler word-of-mouth great music sort of place, but has recently become a rental hall - anyone can come and they have to bring their own audience.

Anyway, I liked the show. Jeff and I go out for a drink afterwards and drunkenly talk music (well, maybe me a bit more drunkenly...). This is dumb because I have to get up at 4 in the morning to drive to Edmonton, but it's nice to see a familiar face and nice to talk music with someone who knows what I'm doing and supports it.

I head home, get into bed, remember to set the alarm and fall asleep. 4am comes much too early.

Two days off at my Dad's in Medicine Hat. Ate well. Slept well. Got some errands done. Cleaned the car - it was getting desperate. Spent some time with two cats, Skitty and Katie.

Seeing my Dad is always nice - low key and calm. He never tries to fit in too much - as opposed to me, who needed to be on the phone and computer constantly getting more details sorted out.

We went out and took a picture of the world's biggest teepee - and it was, as promised, really freakin big. Now added to my collection of giant moose, giant goose, giant nickel, giant loonie, and TWO giant teepees.

I'm doing the prairies completely wrong. From Brandon through Regina to Saskatoon, then back through Regina to Moose Jaw, sleeping in Regina, then back through Moose Jaw to Medicine Hat. And tomorrow I finally play Regina. What a mess. Who booked this tour anyways?!