Canadian Adventures

We are currently making our way through the rugged, rocky terrain of Montana, in the midst of a 56-hour drive home. The drive is long, tiring, and I’ve just been fed the devastating news that not only is Hannah Montana not from here, she doesn’t even visit.

Thinking back on this tour, a lot stands out, and it’s hard to think of how to describe it all here.

There was the first show in Victoria: my mum brought us a huge bounty of Merridale Cider and the opening band was called Lesbian Fist Magnet. Result: Guaranteed Success!

The near-constant stops for poutine: a culinary obsession of ours. We have consumed something on the order of 75 poutines between us in the past two weeks, and some of us are beginning to take on a decidedly “pregnant” look. Luckily, I hear that look is “in”.

Ottawa: a crowd of chanting, clapping-in-unison university students outside Ottawa University walked past our car. Their beaming, fresh, optimistic faces contrasted with our scraggly, sunken, gin-soaked visages. Squid Vicious, ever eager to do the right thing, rolled down his passenger-side window and offered them a curt suggestion:

“FUCK YOURSELVES!”

We spent most of the time in the van either playing Travel Trivial Pursuit or discussing vegetarianism and the state of the North American agricultural system. Oh, god above in heaven, how I wish I were making that up.

Montreal: a massive mosh pit culminating in a “Wall Of Death” which actually caused serious injury to several audience members. We also consolidated a new club: the Gintlemen’s Club. This is an extremely exclusive club consisting of anyone who has drank two shots of gin with us, pounded their fist on the bar and shouted: “GINTLEMEN’S CLUB!”. The shouting is important.

Winnipeg? Winnipeg can go and fuck itself.

Finally, Chicoutimi, a sad and happy night with a bizarre ending. Fred Simard, ever the gentleman, supplied us with gobs of poutine and 18 litres of Quebecois Hard Cider (10%). We played one of our best shows of all time and made merry well into the night. On a more serious note, we met Joe Desgagne’s mother and father and talked with them for a while about Joe and Claudine. We signed messages for our departed friends and received an incredible gift: the roulette wheel we used to play Epic Drinking Game “Let It Ride” with Joe and Claudine the last time we saw them.

Joe was too tipsy to play the game properly at the time, so he just left all his chips on the number “26”. Thus freed from the responsibilities of playing, he just drank when he was told to drink and gave a gleeful holler whenever the very unlikely “26” came up and he was allowed to distribute a ridiculous number of drinks to his friends. He spent that night grinning, laughing, dancing, and shouting “Twenty-Six! Vingt-Six!!” at everyone and anyone.

As we left the venue this last time, thoughts of the recently departed Joe firmly in our mind, Squid suddenly decided to pull out the roulette wheel and declare that we had to spin it one last time in his memory. He threw the ball around, spun, the wheel in t opposite direction, and shouted: “Let it ride, folks, let it riiiide!”

And, dear readers, you must be assured that I would not ever make this up in a million years: the ball landed squarely on black 26.