As promised, I wanted to dialogue the tour with Doc Walker
in a little more detail so that everyone reading could feel a
bit of a connection with the stories of the road. A friend
recently wrote to me in an email 'I want more road stories,
Matty - lay them out on the blog. That's where the mystique
is - That's where the vision is - on the road and on the stage.'
The highway leading from Toronto to Sudbury (the 400 which
becomes 69) stretched out like a black ribbon with white dots
down the centre. The actual highway heads true north for
about 100 and some km's in the middle making it deadly for
wind conditions. I had to keep two hands on the steering
wheel of the big tan van I was driving. Without any music on
this trip (except for a few flicks of bad northern top 40
radio stations), I held true to the course; Sudbury.
As I pulled into the town, my memory bank was flooded with
emotions of wonder, amazement and a little bit of anxiety.
It's hard to believe I spent a full year in that city when I was
19. As hwy 69 turns into Regent St and takes you right into
the downtown hub, you feel like you're entering a town
that is stuck in the 90's (oddly enough, the 90's is when I
was last there - 96 to be precise). After speaking with the
friendly tour manager (who told me to leisurely check in
to the hotel and then head over to the venue 'whenever'),
I pulled off Paris St. into a part of the town that I somewhat
remember - the crags. Train tracks run underneath Paris
but it's hard to believe that trains operate on it because
the look of it is very dirty and decrepit. Burned out railroad
cars sit abandoned. A salvation army depot fronts on to the
tracks and houses many who look like they have seen
better days. Toothless laughter. Cigarette stained fingers.
Young girls up to no good.
I checked into the hotel in decent spirits and went up to
the counter of the quality inn. 'Uh hi - I'm just checking in.
There should be a block of rooms for a band - they're called...
oh man...' And just like that, I completely blanked on the
name of the band. The girl behind the counter was friendly
enough to figure out who I was referring to: 'I have a room
here under DW Driver? Would that be you?' I remembered.
'YES! Doc Walker. That's what they're called'. I shook my
head. The girl looked straight back at me a little excited:
'Ooooh! Doc Walker is the band, eh? That's cool!' I guess
she had heard of them. She got me to sign a form saying I
wouldn't destroy the room and gave me my key.
The elevator to the upstairs rooms seemed a little burnt and
most of the floor number lights did not illuminate. There
were only 4 floors. I headed to room 308 and crashed.
More to come.
"I want more road stories
matty lay them out on
the blog. That's where
the mystique is. That's
were the vision is. On
the road on the stage."
