Home from the Horseshoe ... what , no gig tonight ? The weather blew plans out the window but we think everyone made it to where ever they were going . Not much was moving sunday and that was a good thing after the after party . Ever chat with Mary Margaret O' Hara ? Delightful . Some people made it out on early flights . How did they even get up ? Others made no attempt to get to Pearson at all .
And some of us drove straight through , 20 hours ; down the blue and white 401 to Kingston and Cornwall , past Reals truckstop and on to Montreal . Thankfully going against the traffic on the 40 . We motor under the St. Lawrence , and up to Quebec in darkness . Adjusting the leather jacket at the small of yer back and covering the glaring lunacy of the stereo lights with a scarf draped over the dash. Radio Australia . It's dark and cold betwixt Cubano and Edmunston. But also peacefull . It is the crest of the journey and it's all down home from here . Northern New Brunswick may feel like home but it's still 8 or so hours to the MacDonald Bridge . No traffic here , though , just snaking wisps of blowing snow in the dull headlights and the dark shoulders of the wooded hills under the cold bright night . Mezmerizing . Leaning forward on the wheel , yer eyes constantly rebooting for moose , maybe deer , the windshield fluid soothes like industrial visine . It's quiet now , the others are dozing .
We follow a giant star or planet that doesn't move all the way to Halifax and are kept busy making up new wishes for the many shooting stars along the way . Silently smoking .