roadblog - Canadian tour 2018, pt. 3
Canadian Tour - losing track of days
A cold and sunny day. It’s Monday now. Had a wonderful Sunday off staying at my friend Tim and his wife Julie’s place in Toronto. On my last tour I totally failed in seeing anything nice in this town which in retrospect seems an impossible thing. We had a stroll down to Kensington Market, were reckless enough to pop into the best 2nd hand store there (couldn’t resist…), visited a wonderful little book store on College Street that put’s up shows and had a pint on the way. Thai food with Tim, Julie and Ronley in the evening on what I recall being Dundas Street and a nice long talk about touring and the self exploitation of us independent artists with Ronley in what is now my fave bar in the area, The Communist Daughter. Amazing spot!
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Killing time in a chilly waiting booth in Scarborough Town Centre after a terrible coffee (and it wasn’t even Tim Horton’s) in a shopping mall, realizing that I very likely could have done it an easier way by just getting on the bus down town Toronto instead of doing a 90 minutes odyssey. Waiting for the first of two Greyhounds to take me away. Take me to the utmost western end of Ontario, Thunder Bay. It has been a wonderful and enriching experience to play these eight Ontario shows with Wax, Bird City and all the others… Some of the songs still ringing in my head, particularly Bird City’s “Ticket To The Show” and Wax brand-new song which in the course of this week formed and developed and finally turned out a perfect piece of work. Running into people who became friends, seeing wonderful artists perform and watching them dreaming their dreams, telling their stories.
Trying to find the right words for how this all feels now. Leaving this part of Canada I’ve been to before with all the people I know, met, learned to know and felt so pleased to spend time with is a bit of heartbreaking. Even though I know it’s always a constant string of good-byes it nevertheless always hurts a little. Then again there is that big unknown trip ahead. Something I haven’t done. Something exciting. Which makes me even more so curious as everyone I was talking to about what i was about to do reacted the same way.
They looked at me with a both knowing and pitying smile, an expression of “well, good luck son. Some just never learn…”, a respectful undertone (“oh, he seems to be mad but, wow, he apparently really does it”) and at the same time pointing out what a great thing it is riding a coach from Toronto all the way to Winnipeg via Thunder Bay.
Canadian Tour - another day
Good. They were all right. With all their smiles and the respectful undertones too. It’s a bloody long ride across what they call the Canadian Shield and an interesting side effect is how it’s bonding all these total strangers, randomly on a bus. Had a nice little chat about that later on in Regina with Eagle, but let’s start from the beginning.
The first five hours took me to Sudbury. A desolate spot that reminded me a lot of some places in the north of Finland, stuff I quite like. Minus degrees but not too bad yet. Waiting. Good thing there is, you can’t really miss your bus unless you try very hard. There’s nothing to distract you from the sheer pleasure of waiting. Absolutely nothing. Enough time to contemplate for the long haul to Thunder Bay.
Started feeling familiar with my fellow-travellers. The young guy talking to himself, the bearded guy with the sad look, the one who wouldn’t stop talking about all the bus rides he had done for work and for getting drunk with his co-workers all over the place, the hippie granny sitting next to me. Shaved this morning just for this trip. Does that sound in a way suicidal? Did I read they do thing like this before blowing themselves up or stick samurai blades up their guts? Probably confusing something here now.
I’m feeling comfortable here. Empty and comfortable. I’m moving on. Slowly but moving. I wanted to get here, now I am. I met wonderful people all along the way and I had to leave them again. Hurts a bit but that’s what it always does. The end of one thing the beginning of another. I’m back on the carousel and it will take me west.
It’s getting dark. And cold. An awful lot colder. Most people on the bus dozing away or gaming on their smartphones. I’m stuck in that state between sleep and being awake for far too long as we’re arriving in Blind River. Coffee break. Tim Horton’s. Another one. See, that’s one of those things that tells you, you’re in Canada apart from the Greyhound you’re just on. Tim Horton’s. Or how they love to call it: Timmy’s. If there is nothing else, you can bet on there’s a Tim Horton’s. Coffee and donuts. I didn’t try the donuts but with coffee they’re just unbeatable. You wouldn’t believe what can be created out of such simple ingredients as water and ground coffee beans. This very Timmy’s in Blind River will remain my favourite one for ever. I tipped them generously before even paying the actual coffee I ordered. As if I knew they’d be the miracle workers they turned out to be. Magic. No less than magic. It was hot. They know how to do hot out there. The liquid itself was what impressed me. An absolutely unique brew somewhat combining the qualities of a fairly weak cup of tea and a remote echo of a copy of a copy of a distant smell of coffee. Close to impossible to name what it tasted like. Just that, keeping me busy thinking about what it could have possibly been, was worth the tip. I was a deeply impressed European that night in Blind River, Ontario, Canada. Hats-off to Tim Horton’s Blind River.