Eastbound: Quebec, and into the Maritimes

My own kitchen party: my mom fiddling a few sets to launch the next leg of the Tour. She's still pretty quick, and she knows way more tunes than I do! It's been ten years since I've been in Toronto in the autumn. A nice visit, but now the geese are in the sky, and the time has come to point the Lincoln east. Maybe I'll ask mom to play the closing show with me in December...

Meanwhile, it's a clean road. I pick up a $190 ticket for having an out of province plate in an unposted construction zone. Welcome to Quebec...

My first stop is Morin Heights, Quebec. North of Montreal. Up the AutoRoute. Fast Quebec road. A place where the fast lane is European fast through the humpy, worn down mountains of the Laurentians. I last played here in the early 1980s-  a big show with my big band. This time I'm solo to a house concert. Do I miss the trucks of gear, the wardrobe, the road manager, the big sound on the big stage? Well, yes, a little- but I'm focused on tonight's adventure. Shows like this one are much more relaxed. My host used to operate a Cantina on the main street where- back in the 1970s- I was a frequent visitor and performer. It was a busy place. Poets, playwrites, film makers, draft dodgers... musicians. I met Jessie Winchester there, I'm pretty sure. Le Studio was just down the highway, and there was always a little buzz on about who might be recording.

On the wall: pictures of the cafe scene. Pictures of my friends. People I haven't seen since. I can't remember the names. But the faces- frozen forever young. I remember those girls. The young men with long hair and wild clothes. I can't remember the names. Well, maybe a few. And where are they today? Where did they go? What did they do? Then there's the other face. How could I forget the joy and sorrow of having my heart truly broken here, all those years ago?

House concert. My pal Andrew Cowen, from the Stephen Barry Band comes to visit. Plenty of familiar faces. A fun show. In the last set- Tour jacket raffle winner! Genuine satin, white stripe Tour jacket!

Soon, Quebec City looms large...

Little blues bar in the Limoilou district. Here: my view from the Lincoln Hotel outside. I won the blues challenge again today- stayed alive, played a show, got paid. That's the real blues challenge: cut this thing with life, soak in the neon, chase it down. The blues fantasy tour: parallel in the other part of your mind. Crowds. Girls. Laughter in the dressing room. A cab to the Marriott. A tip for the doorman. "Did you have a good show tonight, Sir?" Meanwhile, it's getting cold here. I'll be running the motor on and off until dawn. And then I'll be gone. Eastbound for Atlantic Canada. Big road blues: always good when the wheels are rolling, white lines unfolding behind, opening ahead to the horizon, to the crack in the road where it all disappears, to the edge of the sky where it all starts again. Then stop.

Blues on the river. It's not the Mississippi- it's the St. Lawrence. It's not muddy, or shallow- but it is big and cold. Like all rivers, it is filled with stories. Here they ripple on the surface. Wink. Hide. Part of the impenetrable mystery which is Quebec. More than a different language. A deep culture with deep secrets. Crosses in the distance. The smell of wood smoke, cigarettes. The sound of bells. The silver tin roof. Churches and strip joints. High art and cheap beer served in quart bottles. Crosses in the distance. I love this place. It is welcoming, yet insular, exclusive. I explore it- and sometimes it wraps it's arms around me, whispering over red wine.

Along the Twenty, on the south shore. Then, New Brunswick...

I suit up and run about 10 km from Fredericton to Marysville and back. There's a nice trail system along the Nashwaak which includes this old railway bridge across the St. John river.

Lord Beaverbrook looks down on me in Officer's Square, Fredericton. Not a blues fan, I guess...

Blood mist rising from the early morning river. A fire in the air behind City Hall. Glad to be here, but today I'm taking the back roads north to Miramichi, NB. I'll be back on Saturday for a Halloween show with Matchstick Mike. The Maritimes is busy this month with Watermelon Slim, Big Dave McLean, Joe Murphy, Monkey Junk, and the 24th St. Wailers all doing dates as well. Whole lotta shows for a little area like this! Those are all friends of mine, but it does explain why bookings to the region have been as difficult as they have been this year. The population base is pretty small, and there are only a limited number of venues and entertainment dollars.

Breakfast at Joe's Diner, and then I follow the river north...

The Maritimes in fall. Crisp air. Guns, moose, deer, salmon. I'm not sure who's got tags for what- but they got 'em. Before I know it, I'm up in Red Bank, New Brunswick with my pal Matchstick Mike. When he lived in the big city he was a wild man, guitar hero rocker. Up here, he's a guide and a hunter. For our first rehearsal we go out and shoot guns. I can still hit a target at 100 yards... I get "scoped" a little bit on the first round, but after that I get it together. We go back to the house and play guitar the rest of the night. Dark out here. Cars coming in out of the blackness. Dogs barking. James Ready beer in flimsy cans. I don't ask Mike about the bullet holes in the front window, but I don't sit in front of it either! Mike will be doing some shows with me for the next couple of weeks across New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island. I'm looking forward to having him along. I'm a lucky man that the Blues Highway brings me to so many fine people and places. Real music for real people in real time.