HOME

AAAAHHHHHHHHH!

The band NAZARETH had been in my hometown of Nanaimo for 2 days, sitting in a motel with no air-conditioning. This is Ok, ‘cos they like the seaside town. Tracy and our friend Rose were driving out to the river for a swim and I suggested that we stop by that motel and offer to take whomever for a swim. LEE, the drummer, was just waking up, so 10 minutes later he joined us for an adventure. We drove the 20 minutes out of town, walked the gravel road and there was NOBODY THERE!!!!!!

Lee really got the vibe saying “this is the kind of thing that you remember for your whole life.” Every time I bring a friend from Europe to the river they are amazed and delighted. My Dad used to take visiting Europeans on drives up dirt roads to freak them out, as I did this time, hitting and losing my muffler in the process. Actually, the stupid muffler fell right off. That is also good for a laugh, if you decide that it is indeed quite funny. I never did like that muffler much anyway.

I wasn’t so excited to go to the small local venue to the NAZ show that evening, to be truthful, not out of lack of love, but because I have done a lot of that lately. Lee put my friends, and Scott Brown’s as well, on the guest list, and my gang arrived 2 songs into the set. I knew their set list so well that I knew exactly where we were into the evening. The girls were totally done up pretty, and the band and crew all patted me on the back and thanked me for treating Lee so well. We ended up in their bus until 3 am.

Here is a nice bit of the chatter, kinda personal, but I like it: The singer Dan, great gentleman, I really like him, and I never know if anyone remembers me or what impression I have made on anyone. He tells Tracy that he has told his wife and kids about me, as an inspiration, because I don’t drink or do any dope, “at first I thought he MUST be on something…” his story had started. Nice, hey? I made a nice impression and didn’t know it. Dan is a great man, and the only guy on earth that can sing the way he does.

The next morning, I woke up our gang and off to Protection Island we canoed, again. Swimming, eating, laughing.

Our excellent friend, STEVE, (Mr. Super Nice Guy) the neighbor at the summer cottage across CAPTAIN Morgan’s Blvd (on Protection Island) delivered us the FREE stairs, and a friend (Big KEN) canoed over and installed them for us one day. I got sunstroke, after trying the sauna that I assembled, so Big Ken finished painting the beautiful new stairs and railings. I hit my head on the railing when I stood up from picking up some little rocks, and my head was sore for a week.

My sunstroke was not nearly so comical, and I had to canoe back, drive to Parkville to get supplies for yet another big dinosaur casting order (my art career is living a life of its own these days!) and off to coombs to bottle organic blackberry wine for the Bathtub Parties coming up. All this with a nail going through my head while I try to barf.

I was so sick that I couldn’t pack my bags, so Tracy packed for me, and I discovered the next day that she did a perfect job, including my favorite stage shirts, snacks and a love note, and the back-up disks for my sampler. Does she know me or what!?

After some sleep, I felt 70% better, woke early, drove onto the ferry and asked the ready-to-disembark people if anyone needed a ride to the airport. One guy was able to join me, and it was a good thing too, because he helped navigate the way to the airport, and without him I likely would have missed the flight.

Being that my car was in a shop getting a new muffler (It would have been impounded in Vancouver with that noise and lack of pollution control!) and being that my Mom is out of town, I took her car.

RED DEER AB

This was a one-off gig, with my fave Canadian group CHILLIWACK opening the night. So, of course I get to the venue early and stand on the side of the stage for their show, like I have at a couple dozen other CHILLIWACK shows in the history of my fandom.  Their crowd was happy but kinda relaxed, having just arrived from a fair site, so I had to go behind the stage to dance as crazy as I wanted. I didn’t want to be the big freak in the white Jesus suit dancing while everyone else sat and listened. Tazia and also Heather, our web-master and gift from GOD to the band, were there so I was in excellent, excellent company.

Sounds like a good time, indeed, but I had half my mind on the dozen guests that I had invited to the Island to join in the annual Bathtub festivities back home. Not to worry, Tracy is the best host and can handle a party crowd, as she did last year when I was away. I need not worry. We are SO well set up for camping. We even have hotel toilet paper in the outhouse. Tracy will just have to have fun, and not twist her ankle, like she did last year.

So the gig was sold out, the stage was set up facing the sideways part off the arena, the deli tray set up, no beer, so our band bought some (one Chilliwack guy asked why we got beer and they didn’t!) and I asked every member of Chilliwack if they wanted to play the mic stand/ garbage can lid solo with Frankie. By that point in the set, Bill Henderson was too busy, and his brother Ed, on guitar, chose not to. I think that I may have freaked him out a bit, and next time I see him I will explain that I get clowny sometimes and that I was in no way trying to make a fool of him, or whatever. I really like and respect these guys a lot and don’t wanna twist them the wrong way.

Stoby drove a golf cart funny after the show, we had a good laugh, Tazia slept in her car, as she planned to do, Heather drove home. I dreamed of Bathtub race stuff. The next day I went across the highway to a mall, with Craig, (new merch guy) and I watched him buy more shot glasses for his collection of tourist memorabilia. He has over 200 shot glasses so far. I bought 2 cheap plastic Hawaiian head leis for Tracy when I see her again.

We had a time-wasting wait at the airport, which we all knew would be the case, so I relaxed my mind, read The Power of Intention and arrived in Vancouver at 6 pm. Smitty was only trying to be helpful when he said “ you guys will never catch the 7” meaning that we would likely catch the 9pm ferry. I had total faith in Scott’s driving , rrrrrrrrrrr!, and we slipped onto the 7pm ferry just before it slipped off of its berth.

Guess who was on the ferry this time? My Mom. She was visiting relatives, so I offered her a ride home in her car. Actually, it was PERFECT, ‘cos she was taking the bus, so I picked her up at the bus depot, she drove me straight to the Protection Island ferry, and she took the car home. I just barely made the Protection Connection as well, and the sun was just starting to set when I got there. There were 500 people on the Island, (up from 200) and I knew most of them.

HOME

The Slickster as I call him (Keith Picot) was playing his big bass fiddle at the Dinghy Dock Pub, excellent REAL rockabilly, which would normally be the evening in itself, and a story in itself, (‘cos he has no electricity at his house, other than to listen to Johnny Cash records on an old big wooden record player, and wears black polyester in the sun), but I could only say hi, offer him the place to stay (he had to split after his gig), shake some hands, walk through Pirate’s Park (with my gig bag on my back) up the stairs, through the Iwaskow outdoor party, left on Captain Morgans, and THERE was my gang walking up to the fireworks. You can not imaging the cheers at my arrival. Tracy RAN at me!

I had to go to the cabin (3 lots away) to exchange my gig bag for fresh tambourines and joined the crowd at the Iwaskow houses, where the band of local residents and guests boogied away to the live jam band. I wore a new full-size Canada Flag, Jesus suit and tasseled tambourine. I would have gotten beaten up in other countries, perhaps, for blessing everyone on the head like that with a frilly tambourine. Everyone here just laughs.

We all, I mean everyone at the party, walked down the huge set of wooden stairs that the city built, to the ocean, where the fireworks started, and we joined the crowd on the public wharf. Very full out psychedelic fireworks, and when the last one went out, I dove off of the wharf into the warm ocean, followed by Tracy, followed by Rose. I thought that the whole crowd would join in, but I guess we are the nutty ones. We have a different perspective, ‘cos we don’t live there year ‘round, or whatever. Great midnight swim.

Back to the party. The kids across the street saw me and all yelled, drove towards me and gave me a big hug, on their bikes. Tracy thought that was quite sweet, me being hugged by a gang of kids on bikes. I handed the kids percussion stuff for the big jam, I played drums for a few numbers, (my shuffle is still brutally stiff!) and we stayed just long enough, until we joined the neighbors across the street for their midnight croquet, guitar, beer and hot-dogs party.

I played a CD of Native Chants that Ra had burnt for me on the last tour, but it was not a big hit. We had 12 people at our place, all camped-out, and someone wiped their bum on an old copy of The Protection Island News from 1992; the only item of any historical value that I rescued from our cabin fill of garbage last year. I think that is what happened, because the cover was missing from the library section of the outhouse.

Other than that, my guests were a laugh fest, and we made lyrics to many funny songs together. Ukranian Woman, get back to work, make some perogies, don’t make them burnt, now doncha be talking; on the phone, to all your relatives back home,……………

Lately, I play a couple of Trooper excerpts at these home parties as well, stopping to thank the band, and most importantly, the people who go to the gigs, for making it possible for us to hang out and build cabins and swing in hammocks. I am totally, totally serious about this. THANK YOU.

Man, these friends of mine. Put a muzzle on ‘em will yu’? I am trying to not raunch out the blind neighbors too much, but I have to live as well, and be FREE, you know, so when one guy yelled, “those brownies were great, I got so fuckin stoned, man I’m still really fuckin stoned…” and stuff, I just have to laugh. In fact one guy missed the bathtub party completely for the same reason.

I am not a consumer of crazy brownies, personally.

I had an uncle years ago, big old redneck who went to molest a lady living in Grandpa’s house and ate a big tray of brownies on the counter. He didn’t know what was what and had to go to the hospital.

I, myself, didn’t have any pot brownie, or cookies, but I am planning a KAVA KAVA party after this current leg of the tour.

Our x-soundman and road manager, Paul Cloutier, brought me back a HUGE bag of KAVA from his trip to FIGI, where he and Karla got married last year.

(the KAVA KAVA party still hasn’t happened at the time of this report posting).

Anyway, great Bathtub Weekend party, and by the next day, everyone, well, most everyone, had gone back to town. Even the Islander’s went back to work. I asked the blind awesome bagpipe neighbor kid if we raunched him out and he laughed, “oh it wasn’t too bad!” I think they like the nonsense that comes from our side of the big suspended plastic tarp fence.

(I just saw the blind kids yesterday coming back from their Baptist Church, where they play contemporary, up-beat music for the new generation.)

It got too windy to canoe over the next week that we had off at home, so we got to bum rides from all kinds of great people on lots of funny boats. We still got some things accomplished at home, through all of this, but only the minimum. I insist.

This is summer, let’s have FUN!!

F16 QUESNEL B.C.

We drove to Quesnel, and drove at least 12 hours in the van every day after. The crew didn’t actually sleep in beds for a few days, as it was go, Gogo go.

I know I always say this, but the people in Quesnel were the friendliest that I had ever met. Everyone in the town was so happy. Tons of cowboy hats as the town was celebrating Billy Barker days, having to do with gold panning in the olden days. It was hot out, all right, and the outdoor gig had people all across a field and up a hill. I remember seeing a gang of girls running from the midway to join the crowd for sports car.

My favorite guy in the crowd was a native with a straw hat, just like the ones that were worn when the white people arrived way back when. He looked like a black and white photo from 1849. Remarkable, never seen anything like it.

When we signed T-shirts, a Vancouver band played total stoner jams, and the Native was the last guy left dancing, or standing for that matter. Barely. I liked the stoner music, personally, but I think the crowd had had enough sun for one day.

Frankie met 2 Carnie gals who invited us to ride any carnival ride for free, so we RAN from ride to ride screaming like silly kids, laughing like fools. Scott and Stobe (new light man) joined us on the ferris wheel, my fave, and Scott spat at them, I laughed, and Mike (road manager) got Mad because Stoby was supposed to be doing proper crew work.

We went on to the CRAZY HOUSE OF FUN where a guy hit us with balloons in the dark, and some serious cheese-rate mirror rooms. What a gas, what amazingly great fun people, and I filled my gig bag (the same army bag I have used everywhere I have been since I was a kid) with backstage water and fruit juice, cos we had some long drives ahead!

An old bearded hippy gave me a special gift, but I found out later that HE was Billy Barker, the gold miner, and he was giving little gold pans to EVERYONE.

Up at 4 am, and back in the van…

S17 COLD LAKE AB

We arrive in the town at 7pm. I snooze and read in the van. Thank GOD we have a full size van for this run, and I have a bench to lay down on. I had bought a big jar of peanut butter, and Frankie and I ate some on pretzels. Smitty drove, hit a crow that was flying low in front of the van, had to stop and remove it. We got to the hotel and I saw my buddies from the LOVERBOY crew. I thought I had lost my wallet, searched my luggage and found it in time to join the LOVERBOY crew for a trip to WALMART and to the gig site (a big outdoor festival).

I was excited about hearing a band that I had never heard live, but had always loved: THE STAMPEDERS.

I hung out with their drummer and bass player by the hotel, said that I would catch their show, and some friends backstage, had some laughs and sat in the bleaches stage right as they opened their set. I saw our friend from Edmonton TAZIA in the crowd, went out to say HI to her and caught the entire STAMPEDERS set from out front. They sounded excellent through the big concert PA. (I saw them a month or so later in a theatre in Nanaimo, for free, cos nobody ever checks tickets there).

I know that honesty is one of the big pieces of the spiritual puzzle. So I am being honest about walking into Nanaimo concerts for free.

I got so excited about the outdoor summer gig that I got into super-excellent confidence mode and played really well (if I do say so) that night. I find that when I do go into the crowd and watch the other bands, I connect with the scene way more and get way more excited about the gig. It becomes more REAL, not just walking coldly onto the stage.

The STAMPEDERS were excellent. I loved the great rock song WILD EYES. Their singer is one of the greatest rock singers that I have heard.

The Stampeders show was cut short by a guy by the soundboard talking REALLY loud into the mic as some Canadian parashooters jumped from airplanes with red flairs. Very cool, but badly times into their set, I felt bad for the band. It ruined their momentum.

Their drummer is such a great singer. Oh my Lady……

After their encore, I walked the field back to our backstage trailer, laughing with the excellent people that I had met onsite over the last couple of hours. The rest of the TROOPER band had arrived, (I like when that happens), ate deli and had some pre-show laughing sessions. As soon as Frankie arrives, the laughs start.

Our show was like a machine on full and the festival crowd exploded. During Frankie’s drum solo, I RAN to the T-Shirt booth and asked the STAMPEDERS drummer (Kim Burly) if he would join in the solo. He said “Let’s do it,” so I prepped him where to be, and when, and he hit the stage and traded drum riffs with Frankie on a garbage can lid. (or was it a metal chair?) He is REALLY good, and Frankie was thrilled to have another great drummer up there with him. They played together and it sounded amazing, just long enough to not kill the novelty of it, and I thanked the drummer behind the stage with a hand shake and we went our separate ways.

LOVERBOY closed the show in fine form. Scott really likes them, a favorite from his high school days.

S18 NAKUSP B.C.

Up at 5 am arrive at the next town at 7pm, again. The trip included a free ferry ride across a lake (the ferry quietly runs on a cable and is subsidized by our BC ferry run to Vancouver Island). Scott ran into the singer from WIDE MOUTH MASON on the ferry. Scott really likes that band as well.

As soon as I saw the town of Nakusp, I just KNEW that it would have amazing drinking water. The place was a surreal apparition of perfect nature. Boy was I right. The hotel tap water was cleaner and more delightful than any bottled water that we had on hand.

I wanted to sleep, but I had to walk around and see the walkway along the lake with the mountains reflecting. Ok, I am from BC and have seen a whole lot of it, so why the freak out about the beauty of it all here? Well, this place is a real condensed version of what is so great about the BC interior. In one eyeshot you can see a great spectrum of mountain height and fresh water depth. IT is magic, and the people are all healthy and happy as any you would ever want to meet.

The outdoor gig had a hockey change room in an arena as a dressing room, and a great old limo with driver at our disposal all night. The people were friendly, cheerful and happy, so the whole thing was a laugh fest. It rained a bit, which was also a joke because it was so incredibly HOT out.

DR. HOOK opened the night and were still around before we played. I chatted with their excellent keyboard player, and by Frankie’s drum solo their bus was slowly pulling away. I waved it to a stop and invited the entire band to drum solo with him. They were very gracious saying that they had better go. I really like them as well. Great folks. The singer with the eye patch got his picture taken with tons of kids backstage before they left.

You know, we had counted (in the van that day) over 100 000 people that we had played for so far this summer (not one by one, rather show by show) so we were all pretty geared into festival mode. This is good, because we were offered what Randy Bachman had described the night before as “The BEST festival catering I had ever had anywhere.”

What does Mr. Bachman know about catering, you may ask? I dunno, but take it from me, the miso dressing, the dill dressing, the poppyseed dressing, the Cornish game hen, the organic salads, the pickled beets, it all looked good. Better than peanut butter and pretzels, I tell you. I snacked after we signed T-Shirts, missing a bit of the WIDE MOUTH MASON set. A lot of people missed their set as well, choosing to head on home. I figure that the crowd had had enough sun for one day, again. WIDE MOUTH was EXCELLENT. Frankie BA-ed the limo.

We left for the long drive back to Vancouver the next morning, stopping at a FUNKY restaurant with really low toilets and antiques all over the place. Old photographs, and Frankie got a milkshake. Wait a minute, I think we flew home from this one. There was a 5-hour layover at the airport. Smitty tried to arrange an earlier one, and we couldn’t get through security in time to join him on that one. Either way, we made it back home.

At one point in this trip, Stoby (light man) drove with us because there was a minor crew fight, just like the old days.

Scott and I waited an hour in the hot summer sun for the BC ferry, not worrying because I know that the lakes back home will be just as swimmable at night as it is in the day time, when I get home. Ever go for a midnight swim? If you are shy about skinny dipping, this is the answer.

Pierre (Sax Player)’s Dad and Mom were on the ferry, so I chatted with them, and Pierre’s Dad said “If Pierre had a twin, it would be this guy,” meaning me, which I thought was quite nice. Then, Tracy’s Dad, and his gal Sandy walked into the Ferry cafeteria, and I looked at the HUGE Hot Rod engine that they had just picked up on their trip to the mainland. They are going to put the engine into a 1957 Ford 2-door, when they find one, and lemme tell you, I am LOOKING for one on these Prairie towns that we visit!

Tracy’s dad is one of my all-time favourite people.

HOME

This is where the camping extravaganza hits full stride. I got good at cooking with briquettes, and also at predicting tides, because the diving rock is useless at low tide, you know.

Our neighbours are so cool. The blind family next door is pretty tolerant of our loud party guests, and also of the 2 HUGE tarps flapping that I strung onto a 120’ rope and suspended along the lot line, so I don’t have to look at their unfinished house. They have only been building for 20 years, and one by one the pieces of vinyl siding goes up. I also felt better taking an outdoor shower when the family next door having a bar-b-que on their porch can’t see me, even if they are mostly all blind people.

I am enjoying tying knots these days, inspired by the hammock falling down when Tracy and I were looking at the stars one night. I asked a friend to tie it up, and he may have been too drunk of a sailor to do a really fine job. Now, I tie all the knots personally.

You know, you have to haul your own stuff onto and off of an Island. This means that if you want to update your fridge, you also have to get rid of the old one. This is how we got an excellent fridge for free. Our new buddy, Will, runs Island Courier and he will take your cat to the vet, or move all your lumber on his skiff. He delivered the fridge, and the previous owner paid his cartage fee. Free stuff, free delivery. Now I just need to hook up the electricity.

It is amazing how much free stuff I get on this Island, and it is all good stuff! Kitchen stuff, forget having to buy anything, unless you want something NEW. One night, Tracy and I went up to the lighthouse on our bikes for a nice midnight swim, with the lights of the city 1 km across the harbour dazzling. We got distracted by the couch and bed with the FREE signs in front of a rich person house.

So, I postpone the swim, bike the 2 blocks to Will’s house, apologize for showing up so late and ask if we can go get the couch and bed (it is a blue velvet hid-a-bed, perfect). He says I should take the truck, and shows me what button to press to start it, because he has removed the ignition. It also has no headlights, so I had to drive quite slowly. There is no one on the little road at night, or so I think. One fellow told me that he drove his bike around at night for months until one guy said HEY that he almost ran into. He has a light now, from the dollar store.

Tracy was a bit nervous about the dark drive to the lighthouse in the funny big-man truck, but I loved it, tossed the excellent bed and couch into the truck, onto the wagon, across the lot, and the next day, Tony (our fave builder) helped lift them into the main room of the cabin. Our place is furnished now. A nice Indian rug, tambourines on the wall, white paint, the place is so cute. I even washed the windows. Great, until it rained in the fall and the floor got wet.

I had a hide-a-bed in my last apartment in Vancouver, nowhere near as nice as this free one, that I sold for $450 before I moved out, after sticking a free ad in the paper for one day.

I had placed some boards over the newly framed-in cabin porch saying ‘this is good enough for now,” and Tracy quite insisted that we buy some more proper wood and hire Tony for the day to finish the porch, cedar lattice and railings. So, we hit the lumber yard, put the wood on a friend’s boat, onto our wagon, and up to the cabin (ever notice how heavy everything is at night?) and Tony showed up at 9 am, and by the time I had to leave for the ferry a few hours later, the cabin looked like a real proper little dream cottage. Real pretty. Still needs some paint, but most of the walls are going to be replaced, along with the roof, so whatever for now.

I painted the porch nicely, and we accepted the offer from a neighbor (Mr. Super Nice Guy) for some stairs that he saw in the junk pile at a construction site. Imagine, new, beautiful stair components used once, thrown out to be burned. He said that by Bathtub Weekend, the stair treads and stringers would be there, and that he would help bang it all together. Cool guy. I like him.

I also drove my bike by a FREE bike on the side of the road one day, as I pedaled to the public wharf to get a bar-b-que (that a friend had given us), off of another friend’s boat. After a few passes along the road…

(Long story, feel free to scan……….)

I noticed that the FREE bike was actually quite cool, in great original shape, and likely from the ‘50s. I talked to the owner in her yard, and she said that she is delighted that the bike is going to a loving home. She has had the bike since she was a kid, and she offered to deliver it to our place in her golf cart. I got rid of the FREE sign, and had to canoe back to town to do something else.

Right. I had to go back on the road. I had planned to get back, patch the front tire of the cool new bike and give it to Tracy, because it is a Woman’s bike, and quite cool.

S10 YELLOWKNIFE NWT

If I recall, I left the night before we were to fly out, stayed in a hotel, drove to the airport early in the morning, flew out, did the gig, flew back the next day, so it was a few days before I was to go home from this one-off gig.

It was awesome. I had never really spent time in the Northwest Territory before this.

We got to the city of Yellowknife early in the day, and settled into a hotel surrounded by Tim Hortons, Mark’s Work Whareworld, Walmart or whatever, like any town, we could have been anywhere. Ra swung a cab ride to the old part of town, and I joined him for a walk-about up some stair to the view point. The cab driver was Eastern European, talking about diamond mining, the problems with alcohol and people sniffing gas and propane (never heard of that one before!) and we walked to an art shop in the amazing 24 degree heat. I was sweating in the North, and I thought it was supposed to be cold there!

Ra and I split up, I bought some apple juice and looked for a place to swim in the Great Slave Lake, which is so huge that it almost rivals the great lakes of Ontario. I am told that the lake is very cold once you get into it, but by the shore I found it to be quite swimmable. I asked several locals where a good spot to swim would be, other than the docks where all the boats are. I couldn’t really get an answer. Fishing is the thing, not swimming.

So I walk around and around and around and ask a big Native guy (who had really long hair and beaded moccasins) where the good swimming is. NO SWIMMING” he tells me.

I reply “whatyu mean NO SWIMMING?”

“TOO SHALLOW” he deadpans me.

So he led me through his yard and pointed out a path to a dock. It was sandy, shallow for a while, and consequently perfectly warm, no one around.

This swim was a serious highlight of my summer. I never, ever, swim alone, unless it is something amazing like this, where I can add a totally bizarre location to my list of great places I have swam in North America. My list is actually quite amazing, exists only in my mind, and covers Miami Beach, to The Great Salt Lake of Utah, dozens and dozens of lakes and rivers all over Canada, and now, the North West Territory. Something to brag about at home, and I had many HUGE mosquito bites to prove it!

Ra offered cab fare back to the hotel if I wished, which is really nice of him, but I chose to walk what locals described as a long long way back to the hotel (not very far) where Scott was reading one of the 9 books on spirituality and meditation that he read over the summer. Funny. He used to be the one out on adventures while I acted like I had a desk job at the hotel. Scott does get out, to golf.

The gig was an arena, about 2000 people I guess, all really reacting and seriously listening. I got the most detailed compliments all summer from that audience. Tons of Natives, really super friendly. I love them.

Ra gave everyone in the band a copy of the book The Power Of Intention by Wayne Dwyer. He said that it is really insightful and encouraged everyone to read it. I think I was still suffering with the Neil Young book at this point. I planned to read the new Ra book in the Hammock on the Island when I get back. That never happened, because the hammock is a serious sleep magnet.

Very nice of Ra to swing all these books. As I sit here writing this in the van, I have my copy with a few pages to go, Frankie is reading his, and I just saw him kiss the cover.

We had a 5-hour layover in Edmonton on the way back. Scott pretty much devoured the Power of Intention book pretty much that day, I believe. He didn’t disagree with a word of it. I found that it was all stuff that I had either read about before, figured out on my own and had practiced, or taught by weather, my Mom, or the years and years of church music.

It wasn’t until I got near the end of the book that I found some new stuff; stuff so relevant and valuable that I would go as far as to say that it could change my life. Page 176, if you have a copy in your local library. It is probably illegal for me to copy it here. The concept: if you don’t even THINK of shortages in your life, let alone wish or pray for them, you simply won’t have shortages. Rather than “I have no luck with love,” try, “I AM LOVE.”

Rather than “Oh I have not enough money,” try, “I have lots and THANK YOU!” NOBODY has every said that to me, and I have been listening for a long time about this stuff. Any questions about this one, EMAIL me.

The rest of the book deals with forgiveness, generosity, kindness and stuff.

Scott is mostly interested in the meditation aspect of it all, and as the tour rolled on, so did I, and it is so great to have a so interested roommate to discuss spiritual stuff with for hours and hours. I have been doing colour meditations on chakras all summer, which are great, now I am doing a real clear-your-mind one. Balances me.

Ra is also very into positive life stuff, and our conversations have become ever increasingly enlightening. This doesn’t mean that we can not be stupidly funny and crude as we drive back to the hotel after successful gig to totally wildly successful gig, one after another, all summer.

There is also a concept about living an egoless life. This doesn’t mean that a person like myself doesn’t have a ton of confidence, it just means that we are all equal, and that we are not what we own, what we do, or what we have done. We are all spirits.

This may have been the flight stopover in Edmonton where the plane was delayed in a rainstorm.

Apparently, there was a storm that wrecked the city, or something. I am a narcissist, so I don’t worry about that stuff.

HOME

We had several days off here, which was ultra-glorious. The Nanaimo River actually got warm, unlike last year. So, Tracy and I swam every day with my favorite colourful hat and had our bar-b-que fun parties at the new cabin.

I even finished the Neil Young book, and I was so happy when it ended. I love Neil. He could have used a more interesting, and relevant biography.

We slept in the cabin, after I painted it a new coat of white, played acoustic guitar in the hammock, biked from beach to beach, ate well.

I took photos of the Nazareth tour earlier in the summer, and didn’t bring the camera for this leg of the tour, so I have no road photos. I have lots of Protection Island photos, and some of the river, but you probably don’t wanna see those ones.

(As I write this, we are in the van leaving Liverpool, heading to Halifax, listening to Dwight again, while Ra reads a letter from a 15-year-old fan to Frankie).

MAD………..

I did get mad once, at home during the break. Stupid, but, well Tracy and I arrived back on Protection Island, walked down the road and a lady on a passing golf cart says, “so you got your bike then did you?”

The bike story continues……….

I was still excited about the FREE retro bike and told her that I had been out of town. She said “Oh then go to our house and the bike is beside the house.” So we go to her house and another lady says “so you got your bike then did you?” I said, “Not yet,” and she said, “Oh the golf cart was out so we didn’t bring the bike to your place and I guess someone else took it.” I said “thanks anyway,” went on my way and found that I was actually getting quite MAD.

I don’t like being mad, and I tried to be rational, but where I come from, someone taking a bike from someone’s yard is THEFT. Perfectly sunny summer day in the Gulf Islands and I am MAD. So, I thought there are 3 things I can do:

1. Pretend not to be MAD, hard to do
2. BE MAD and get it over with, which I don’t want
3. DO something about it!!!!!!!

So I made a really nice note, using what I had, a rumpled paper bag and a silver pen (note looked quite evil actually), and tacked the note in triplicate to all the local notice boards, and EVERYONE reads these notices. The note asked the person to PLEASE RETURN THE BIKE.

It was the first time I got Mad all summer, and I didn’t like it.

Stupid. Things don’t matter, I know, but it is a cool bike, and I don’t like too much BS.

I Love Summer.
It is the reward for all the good work we humans carry out all winter.

BEFORE THE TOUR………….

Last gig I wrote about was on the waterfront in Vancouver. Right? Ok, we’re back.

First off, Protection Island stuff, being that that is mainly what I babble about in the van anyway. I had mentioned in the last report how successful the new foundation and floor installation went on the new Protection Island cabin. We physically hauled almost 200 5-gallon buckets of aggregate later. Tracy and I have been spending as much time at our cabin as we can. While the weather is so great.

We accomplish all of this without depriving ourselves of swimming in the fresh drinking water of the Nanaimo River. So, this amounts to a lot of canoeing back and forth across the Nanaimo Harbour, and plugging my ears when the float planes take off in our path. Life is a breeze. Hopefully not too breezy.

We always bring more food than we think that we will need on our Island camping expeditions. I get on my mountain bike and drive around the Island inviting friends over for Bar-Be-que almost every night. We have managed some decent acoustic guitar strummin’ parties this way. The only drawback of our summer-camp-Island vibe is the intention of some of our new friends to get some sleep. They mostly all work during the day. I keep a decent rock and roll schedule all year, and when we get our holidays, I assume that the rest of the world is also on vacation. Ya, they all work a lot. I don’t know of anyone who is actually unemployed on Protection Island, except for the retired folks who relax on some of the verandas that I see by the sea. They just drive golf carts and go to the odd meeting and talk elitist Island talk.

When Tracy and I were looking for a piece of land to build on (last year), I really liked the idea of living in a holiday destination. We have been totally successful in swinging that dream. Everyone who visits, gasps (WOW!) when they see the place. Am I bragging? OK.

We had set goals of what we wanted to accomplish by the camping season (Bathtub Weekend being the deadline), and man, if you wanted to play badminton, baseball, bar-b-que, go to the hammock, outhouse, solar shower, picnic table, sleep, bicycle…….it is all there now. No longer a jungle lot with a rotting old shack full of garbage.

One long-time resident told me that 20 years ago, there were several old poor people, and some young working guys who made up the entire population of the Island. People lived there because it was a cheap place to live. In the late ‘70s, lots were 5 grand. There were also no cops, and no building code. Most of those people have since passed on or moved away, leaving some old cabins behind. The Island isn’t quite as cheap anymore, but WOW is it pretty!

Speaking of vacations, summer is also prime touring season for the Trooper people. Scott Brown often goes over to Vancouver (to start the road trip) a day before I do, well, lately that has been the case, because he sees a Chinese herbal specialist and visits family, so I am finding my way onto the ferry, and to the airport all by myself on occasion.

T1 PORT MOODY B.C.

I had to figure out where Port Moody is, and get myself there, which was a total reality break from wrapping lemon rice in grape leaves and swimming in the ocean. (not at the same time.)

Fortunately for me, a life-long friend (Mr. Chris) was planning a trip to Vancouver at the same time to get new wire wheels for the white walls on his Cadillac. He can say that really fast. He offered to be my chauffer for the one day gig, just for fun, and I can tell you that the HUGE white 1988 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham luxury beast of a highway-GOD car has quite a different feeling than that of my tiny little 1982 TOYOTA with the stars all over it. (Although mine gets more smiles from kids, hippies and art people.)

So Mr. Chris and I went over to the mainland several hours early, toured Stanley Park in downtown Vancouver, and searched in vain for a sushi joint that meets Mr. Chris’ stamp of expectation, based on his experiences of living on the mainland, working for the Canadian Blood services and going to Long John Baldry concerts. Mr. Chris’ Dad and my Dad were best buddies since in the 1940s, in fact my Dad named the moving company The Minute Men. That is the family fortune of the Mr. Chris family. And as Mr. Chris would tell you, that is “TOTALLY WICKED.” Almost as wicked as the 7 different pies at The Saint Peter’s Parish Picnic in 1981, the same summer as he saw The Police in Vancouver.

Have you noticed that these road reports are getting stranger lately?

OK, We didn’t know where to park the immaculately clean white Cadillac  when we found the open-air park gig in Port Moody, so we (Mr. Chris and I) parked at a local boat launch and walked through a beer garden that was jam packed with people, all standing, so you really had to work to get through the crowd. There were thousands and thousands, at least 6 thousand people in the park, and we found the stage, the backstage, and Mr. Chris found a better parking spot behind the dressing room, where some passing kids observed “that must be Trooper’s car!” Mr. Chris liked that one.

There were tons of people that I know at the gig, (which is rare on the road). I saw a grade 9 buddy from Gabriola Island that I haven’t seen in 15 years, and I also saw a girl that I sorta dated in the summer of love (1986). That summer PALES in comparison to our present Summer of love. That girl (lady) tells me that she has a teenage old daughter, and a small son. Without getting too personal here, I thanked the lord for guidance, good fortune and blessings throughout the years. I would not have been happy if my thing with her had worked. Gad. I was 19 when I met her, playing in a nasty rock band with excellent stage boots.

A few days after we met, she was on the cover of the Province newspaper being held up like a mermaid with the band Platinum Blonde supporting her in their arms. Do you think my friends razzed me about that? Sorry I don’t have that picture to post. She had been a teenage runaway, spotted by her Mom in a rock video. Yikes.

Anyway, we had no idea what to expect from the Port Moody gig, thinking more toward the quaint concert in the park type vibe. I was surprised with the ecstatic love mob that totally ultra freaked out for the duration of the show. There was not a quiet moment. Smitty had tons of family people there (his MOM is SOOOOOOO sweet!!!) and everyone got a really good impression of what we do. The crowd was AMAZING, totally unlike anything that I see on TV for another show. Seriously, wild with love. Way above the ordinary, and I have been to many concerts. If I sound like I am bragging, so be it. The band has somehow been raised from being a cool old band to a really deep cult thing that spans every age group, and appears in masses. The love meter is peaking, and the glass that holds the dial has broken.

Somehow I was not surprised, yet totally delighted, when I found that this gig set the pace for the crowds to follow at the next batch of shows as well. The crowds are HUGE and totally wild EVERYWHERE this summer.

This was the gig where Ra said a word that is in most dictionaries, (starts with F, ends with trouble), said by most people, and strong enough to get the attention of The Province Newspaper, which is the big one in BC. We got a column dedicated to us, and a full page of letters to the editor debating Ra’s stage chatter. I think Ra detailed this on his site, and it all worked out in the end (Ra, and the guy who brought the issue to public attention made a good vibe). I was surprised, once again, how powerful the media is. Even on Protection Island.

I got people asking what is up with the language used by our singer. Little shit can be big shit if the newspapers decide that it is something to be big shitty about. I think that that shit is the shits.

I find that stuff (media BS) boring as hell.

The point that I remember from the experience is that the whole town got to be a part of an ultra-magical sharing of our music and summer vibe. Outdoor rock show! The best! Those that were there understand what I am raving about.

Scott and I were staying at a hotel in Port Moody, about a wee drive to the airport in Richmond. 45 minute drive? Half hour, dunno. We had a 5am wake-up in order to catch an early flight to the next show. I informed Mr. Chris about our need for a ride to the airport in the morning, and he went to the doughnut shop to get a chicken sandwich and to contemplate the situation. He came up with a solution; he would donate $20 to our cab fare so he could get some sleep and not get fatigued in the afternoon when he searches out the wicked new wire wheels for the white walls for his Cadillac. Fair enough. So Scott and I got a few hours snooze, got the front desk to arrange an early morning cab, hit the airport for a short and kinda funny flight to….

F2 VERNON B.C.

In the beautiful BC Okanogan region. I always tell the story of the $75 jaywalking ticket I got in 1987 when I was starved-out on the road, walking from the hotel to the grocery store. I was filling in for the corny band 911.

This band went to Hawaii after that gig, and I refused to go, because: the entire band ate the lightman’s nacho chips one afternoon in the band house, and he was enraged, asking who ate them, I said “I had some.” Everyone else said nothing, and he, the wanna-be PE teacher from hell, insisted that I go to the store and pay for a new bag of chips for him. I had to spend the rest of the week with the brotherhood-lacking people (I guess I could have caught a bus back), and I decided then that I am not going to live like that in Hawaii as well. In truth, the band guys were not so bad to hang with. I was just PO-ed that they didn’t fess up to the chips. The drummed cooked a steak and ate it before going to bed after the gig, and the guitar player (a drop-out engineer) didn’t like modern keyboard technology. I wonder what ever happened to him? I always wonder what happened to people that I used to gig with, and occasionally do google searches at night.

I had 5 different opportunities to go to play Hawaii with 5 different bands during that era, and I refused them all for similar reasons. The people involved just were not enough fun to be around.

The lightman I was just referring to also said that my keyboards looked RIDICULOUS set up sideways (the way I still have them set up) and nobody stood up to him then as well, except me. After the gig (we were there all week), I would stand in the kitchen of the band house above the club and watch the fights in the parking lot. One morning a guy came back and demanded a refund for the beer he was drinking when he got kicked out the night before. Imagine! He was mad all night!

Anyway, I had to pay my jaywalking fine in Vernon BC when I later applied to get a drivers license. (I got a drivers license when I was 28, after driving my dad to the hospital during his heart attack).

I wrote a bitchy letter to the Vernon newspaper last year about my jaywalking fine, (imagine! I was mad for years!) (kidding.) The newspaper published my letter and a friend that I met on the road mailed me a copy (around here somewhere!) Thank you for that!

One thing that I don’t miss about the ‘80s is having to spend a whole week in one town, playing the same gig over and over and over again, and staying in the same space as the other guys. Not so bad with some bands, with fun people. These days, with Trooper, we move along at a nice pace. We make fun a priority.

Andy, the guy with super long hair (and I am talking Doobie Brothers hair) picked us up at the airport, told us stories (his Mom was there when Jimi Hedrix’s dead body was taken into the ambulance) and he drove us to the hotel, offering to reappear if we need him. I liked him right away.

There was a Rolls Royce, owned by the hotel, used for special stuff, so I asked the front desk lady to open the doors and let us check it out. I couldn’t get the hood open to see the engine, and she didn’t want me to start it up and drive around. I don’t know why not! It had a ripped-up old sheep carpet in it, and generally came across cheaper than any other Rolls I had ever seen. It was a 1986 Silver Wraith, which didn’t make sense to me, because any Silver Wraith I had ever seen was a BIG glorious beast from the ‘40s.

I got a ride into the USA to a Rolls Royce meet with the amazing marine artist Robert McVitty when I was a kid. There was a Phanton 1 from 1929 there at that Rolls Royce meet, my fave, and when I think of it now, between the church and the theatre group, my parents had some pretty eccentric friends. I loved the Rolls Royces so much when I was a kid that I started a Rolls Royce club at school, where we discussed the history and drew pictures.

Do you think that I am being enough of a snob yet?

Ok, we were not staying downtown Vernon this time. It was really nice and sunny out, so I walked across the highway to the drug store, grocery store, bought 3 big tubes of sunscreen on sale and a little traveling supply of groceries. I realized that I would be better off having some sleep, because we had all day to do nothing, and I always start these trips with no sleep from having too much fun at home. Always start a tour bagged out. Great idea.

Scott and I got a ride to a music store where Scott bought some cheep bass strings that ended up being really good. They lasted a long, long time. We also went to the outdoor venue, around all the baseball diamonds with hundreds of baseball people from all over (I think it was a baseball related gig) and to the stage, where another band was setting up. A guitar player, who also played beautiful flute, was probably quite hammered, because he was very loud and not very receptive to my attempts at talk about beautiful shite. I think he may have been a time-traveled local music teacher at a school from the late 1970s, or that is what he reminded me of, anyway.

The gig was another big sold-out many thousand people love out with lots of people along the stage to smile and slap your back whenever you pass. A guy (Mike McNaught) from a company called CULT INDUSTRIES was on hand to give us a nice supply of excellent shirts which I see both Scott and Smitty wearing as I write this, in a cramped van on the highway outside of Halifax, a month or so later.

I recall some REALLY loud excited ladies backstage, so loud in fact that I had to leave the dressing room (a metal room with stair going up and down) to get a rare bit of quiet, which didn’t really exist anywhere. It was a good vibe all around, but regardless, sometimes a bit of quiet is what you need to relax for a moment.

Ok, I am not really a snob, just an antisocial.

There was also 3 HUGE trays of beautiful fruit and veggies, all lovingly sliced up backstage. Unfortunately, and this happens more often that one would believe, this stuff is brought out on hot days hours and hours before we play, so by the time we get to the show, it is all rotting. Big beautiful mound of sliced, funky pineapple, stinking the place out. Our crew is on top of this when they notice it, and ask for it to be put back into the refrigerator from which it came, until show time.

I have built a pretty high tolerance for rotting fruit in my years of rock and roll, so I don’t get too stressed about it anymore.

S3 DAUPHIN, MANITOBA

Another flight, and a long van ride with a really nice man from Cape Bretton Island; a retired cop with a great vibe. He was an enlightened good-old boy that we spent a lot of time with in the van, chatting, and he didn’t poo poo any of the craziness that we laugh at, and sing about.

I was reading a big long book about Neil Young’s life story that, in my opinion, was sifted and edited and fluffed up to the point where only 10% of it was interesting at all. I love Neil, but the book was boring as hell and I really had to convince myself that I should read it to the end. I got to have the great song After The Goldrush in my head for several days, and in the van we sang the line and I felt like getting high to every other ill-fitting song that we could think of. Flintstones, meet the Flintstones, and the nice retired cop guy drove mile after mile and totally got the joke. We all really liked him. This may have been the drive where we saw a guy with a flat tire have a total bow-out on the highway.

I lived in the moment, didn’t pay attention to details, don’t recall where we stayed, but I can tell you that the gig was a HUGE country music festival with fields of campers and trailers. We were the only rock band, and we got there in time to stand on the side of the stage to see and hear Dwight Yoakam band.

They were amazing, from slow country ballads to rockabilly. Johnny Cash’s great old stand-up bass player was loud, (reminded me of Ra’s dad), the super Clark Kent Cowboy drummer, and the hip guitar player all made a fantastic, yet quiet stage sound for Dwight to sing over (his stage vocal monitor was loud!) He had the BEST blue tassel jacket. Long tassels up every sleeve up to a V on his back. Amazing, cool outfit. Totally great band. We were up next, on the beer garden stage.

It had been raining, so there was a lot of mud (there is a smoking car on the highway as I write this) and the stage was low, so the thousands of people who crammed all around us had limited view points. It was another mad love fest, quite late at night as I recall, and I snacked out backstage (no rotting stuff this time), joked with some happy cowboys, signed a ton of stuff and inherited a wonderful black cowboy hat that I proudly wore back home as I raved about Dwight’s band.

We flew home. Scott had a very mild panic at the airport when Mr. Chris wasn’t there to pick up. Scott was ready to catch a cab, when Mr. Chris magically appeared from the bathroom after having parked the Cadillac. I put my luggage in the huge trunk, next to the wire wheels for the white walls, and we drove on towards and onto the ferry. My Chris had mellowed from the journey and we had lots of laughs.