It’s The East I Can Do
Hello Everyone
According to Google Analytics, I have a sizeable group of stalwart readers. Thanks for tuning in from time to time.
I’d like to hear from you. That whole comment thing has turned out to be a pain in the ass. It works just intermittently plus it randomly erases everything from time to time.
But the email account I set up for my blog is solid.
Unless I get your permission, I promise I won’t identify you if I comment on something you write.
A little bit of feedback is all the incentive I need to keep posting.
Lately, I’ve been getting some live input from people I meet at The Lightfoot Band shows. They usually have some kind words to say, but a common complaint is that the posts need to be more frequent.
It’s not often that a criticism is also a compliment. I’ll take it. Thanks.
Speaking of those shows, we’ve done some really great ones lately. But before I talk about Hamilton, Burlington and Orillia I want to say a few more things about our recent trip to Canada’s Atlantic provinces.
I Miss Plain Ordinary Maps
We took two vehicles: Rick’s truck and my SUV. Carter traveled with Rick, and Barry rode with me. It made sense for Andy to fly to the first gig. He lives in Florida.
The first stop was Fredericton, New Brunswick, a drive from Toronto that Google Maps said would take fifteen hours. It was longer than that for Barry and I. We missed the Montreal bypass and got stuck in rush-hour traffic. We were using a GPS, but the signs were all in French, and though we could translate, the slightest hesitation in making any decision while traveling in that city will make you get lost quicker than a drum solo.
It cost us an hour, but that wasn’t our only mistake. The fastest and most highly recommended way to travel through Quebec is to use the highway on the south shore of the St. Lawrence River. We were up on the north shore and only realized it once we got to Quebec City, almost three hours later.
We crossed over the river and proceeded on. When we got to Riviere Du Loup, which is where you turn south east across Gaspe toward N.B., we got going in circles. We were still having trouble with the street and highway signs. Meanwhile, Rick and Carter were checked into the hotel by this time, likely watching Netflix and enjoying a glass of wine.
We finally arrived in Fredericton after about seventeen hours of driving.
Barry volunteered to go to the front desk while I waited in front.
Just What I Needed
Tap, tap, on the windshield. “You can’t park here.”
“I’m not parked. I’m waiting for my friend to check us in.”
Tap, tap, “You can’t park here”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning! I haven’t seen one car go by in the last ten minutes. It’s deserted. Who cares if I’m stopped here? Go away!”
Tap, tap “You can’t park here.”
After seventeen hours of driving, I was ready to read this mystery tapper the riot act, but he had disappeared.
At this point, Barry returned with the room keys and pointed a half a block down the street to a gated lot. “That’s where you park. Your hotel key opens the gate. Let’s unload our suitcases. Oh, and the night manager is a good guy. Very helpful. Do you want me to stay and help?” “No, I’m good” I replied “See you in the morning”
I drove to the lot but couldn’t make the gate do anything. I have the worst luck with those credit card-style hotel keys. I left my vehicle there, blocking the entrance, just daring the fates for another asshole to come along and say, “You can’t park here,” so I could unload some of the invective that was building up. I returned to the hotel’s front doors and entered the lobby.
Much To My Surprise
I remembered that Barry said the night manager was a good guy, so I prepared to be cordial.
He didn’t notice when I walked over to the desk, so I said, “Excuse me.” He looked up, and, lord love a duck, if it wasn’t the phantom windshield tapper from earlier!
Gritting my teeth, I snarled, “My card isn’t working on the gate. Could you make me a new one?”
Almost hoping for the lecture about “Did you have your key near any other magnetic cards?” or “Don’t put it in a snakeskin wallet,” he instead very cheerfully said, “No problem, enjoy your stay.”
Without the satisfaction of even a tiny rant, I trudged back to the gate, inserted the key and it opened.
And this was how the trip began.
To be continued