MtH #11 A Reason To Be Leary
Hey everybody
Anyone got the blahs? The festive hoopla is over and what are we faced with? Ten weeks at least of WINTER. The Toronto area has it easy compared to the rest of Canada with the exception of extreme south western British Columbia. Travel 50 kilometres outside of the Greater Toronto Area and there’s usually three times as much snow. All the same, we still have the freezing cold, the short days and little to look forward to until that first hint of spring, usually in mid March.
I remember winter in my school years wishing for anything at all to break the doldrums. I’d skip school and watch TV all day just for something different. Reruns of Bewitched, That Girl, I Dream Of Jeanie……….
Some people I know did really weird things to get through winter. Like skiing.
I went just once. ‘Nuff said.
When I got into the music business at age 20 and went on the road I recall feeling imprisoned in my hotel room during the winter. I travelled all over Canada and got to experience extreme winter. Temperatures so low that Celsius and Fahrenheit were the same (minus 40). Driving on Sundays to the next gig helped to break the monotony. More than once I was in a van full of equipment (including things like microphone stands that’ll put a hole through you with just a little momentum), sliding sideways down a hill on the Trans Canada. And still, even with those panic, cobweb clearing, full alert moments, winter was still a snoozer.
Except For One Year
I didn’t even think about the time of year or the temperature (although Christmas week, I’m told, was near record cold) in December ’80 and January ’81. I was getting ready for my new gig with Gord and the band.
If learning the new material wasn’t enough to ward off Seasonal Affective Disorder there was something else looming.
Two Wings and a Prayer
Bev Lightfoot, who I’ve spoken about before, was Gord’s business manager at the time. At an early meeting she said “I hope you like flying”.
I didn’t. Not at all. And that was in large airliners which are like getting on a city bus compared to what was coming.
“Gord and the band fly from gig to gig in a private jet. A Lear 25.”
Gulp………I already knew what a Lear jet looked like. Short stubby wings with fuel tanks at the ends that looked like missile launchers attached to a thinnish cylinder with just three windows on each side looking like it could haul ass. It would have to, I thought, because the wings were too short. It would have to rely more on momentum than lift to stay aloft. I imagined that rather than file a flight plan, the pilots instead would plot a trajectory.
I made the mistake of telling the guys about my fear of flying.
My first shows were at the Mill Run Theatre in Chicago. It was a three night run. We flew commercial to Chicago because the jet wasn’t ready for some reason, but it would be there to fly us home the third night. The shows went well and without the usual jitters I usually get with the first few shows of any new band. There were larger issues. I got the feeling that they were planning something. I was right.
The take-off was like getting shot out of a cannon. Even with a valium and a shot of vodka (I was prepared), my heart was buzzing like a hummingbird. I relaxed a bit once we levelled off. Half an hour or so into the 60 minute flight there was a conference like a football huddle and then Terry Clements headed up to the cockpit. He sat back down and five minutes or so went by when suddenly the seatbelt sign came on with a “bing” and the jet seemed to slow down. The roar from the engines abated somewhat and the nose pointed up for a moment. Then the airplane turned sideways, the nose dropped and we fell.
I don’t know how far, maybe 10,000 feet and when they pulled out of it the sensation was like being on a roller coaster with that same sort of “I’m gonna barf” feeling.
Everyone was hooting and laughing and looking at me to see my reaction. The downer had taken full effect by then. I think I looked up from my book and said “What?”
See you next week