We had been in my 2001 Ford Focus since 9am. It was now 6pm. Usually our 1996 GMC Savanna chauffeurs us to our next destination but without the burden of equipment, the much more economical car let us keep some money in our pockets. After crossing through Buffalo and the great Niagara Falls, the border came quickly, but not without our plan of attack.
Adam said, “Alright this is what we do. We say we’re going to visit our friend in Toronto. His name is Matt Bod. If they ask us if we’re playing shows, we say they got cancelled but we’re still going up because we already had the weekend off. If they ask about the merch, we just say that we’re giving it out. Any questions?”
“Yeah, what’s the guy’s name again?” asked Kurt.
“It’s Matt Bod! Not that hard to remember.”
“Alright.”
You see, for a band going into Canada with merchandise, the band is required to claim the goods, and they either have the necessary papers, or get taxed heavily. We weren’t prepared for either. So what we usually do is lie. We’ve lied directly to the Canadian government twice before.so why not a third? However, we’ve never had the best of luck at the Canadian border. Our first experience resulted in a full gutting of our minivan and Adam being thrown into a cell. The second time was better. We were only fined $100 dollars because we failed to claim three boxes of CD’s instead of two. This time we were prepared, Kurt had even thrown away his bag full of wine coolers before we got to the border. We all had the story down and a half hour later we were free. But not without some questioning in the waiting area, watching all of our bags being screened and searched.
“If you’re students then why don’t you have class today or tomorrow?” the border official asked.
“We all took the day off today, and none of us have class on Friday.”
“What kind of university doesn’t have class on Friday?”
“One’s in America.”
That’s how it began. Toronto was an hour away.
11/13 – Toronto, Ontario – The Bovine Sex Club
The last two times we’ve been to the biggest city in all of Canada, we’ve played a bar called the Bovine Sex Club. Sounds intriguing, I know, and it also looks intriguing. Attached to the center of its pitch black storefront are countless rusted and broken bicycles, with colored lights and other shards of metal weaving through them. It continues inside on the ceiling, the same twisted decorations let us know were not at Amigo’s anymore. It’s a long, narrow, cavernous stretch of concrete slabs. TV’s play music videos, and there’s a back room, closed off, with a zombie movie on the projector and paintings of The Ramones hoisted high. I wish this bar would relocate to Portland.
We met our fellow touring pals, the PG-13’s shortly before their set at 10. Jeff, Shaun, and Pat are all from the nation’s capital of Ottawa, about a two hour drive from Toronto. As expected, they are huge fans of hockey. However, it just so happened that the New England Patriots were playing a Thursday Night game so we searched for a sports bar that might be carrying it. Surprisingly they were watching the NFL instead of the Canadian Football League. Who would have thought? Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay to see the complete pounding of our native team; our set time was closing in.
Back at the Bovine the mood had changed. The air was thick, moist and smoky. People were crowding around the bar after the band before us had finished. We began to set up. Its always weird using someone else’s equipment, you get so used to your own. Adam had it the worst. Drummers are the most specific when it comes to other kits, but at least Matt and I had our own guitars.
“Well, well, well,” Kurt announced. “It’s good to be back with our cousins from the north. Today we are proud to say that this weekend celebrates our 6th year anniversary as a band! We go a little something like this.”
The set was good I think. We were a little rusty and Adam wasn’t used to the kit, but it didn’t seem to matter. We weren’t in Maine anymore so we were loud and fast. The after party was a good time as well. I would go into details but this is obviously a campus publication and I don’t think it would best serve my fellow students.
11/14 – North Bay, Ontario – 211 Highland
I woke up on a couch, stood up, stumbled my way into the bathroom and flicked on the light. “This is gonna be a good day,” I said to myself. Everyone woke up, brushed off the dust from the day before, and got dressed. A four-hour drive lay ahead, straight north into Ontario’s version of Aroostook County. North Bay just sounded like it was in the middle of nowhere. After a stop at the Canadian favorite Tim Horton’s, we were ready. I sat behind the wheel and saw the slow transition from highways to no ways. The darker it got, the more it rained, and the more the roads got smaller; the kind of driving that kills your eyes. It was like driving through a combination of upstate Maine and Wisconsin, which are similar in some ways. The trees grow more sporadically and the farmland lets you know you’re not in New England.
As we closed in on the town, the sign read North Bay, population: 52,000. Not bad, North Bay. We thought it would be a lot smaller, but it didn’t matter. The funny farm came out of the woodwork that night. A quick stop at the government-owned-and-operated “Beer Store” gave us a preview. Walking towards the door we realized we were entering the exit, as a man was trying to exit.
“Wow, you guys are pretty smart eh? The sign says exit. You guys must be college students or something.”
“No, were just Americans.” It’s funny that we used being American as an excuse two days in a row.
Something about pale ale made in Canada stills tastes like a Bud Light, and I thought the beer here was better! A Comfort Inn would be our home for the night. Two days into the tour and we were already pampering ourselves. As per usual, we would share two beds. By now we’re all pretty comfortable with it. You either sleep in a bed or not. We weren’t playing until later, around 11, so we stopped at a grill and bar to get some eats. Walking in, the hostess and waitresses already knew we weren’t from North Bay. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I overheard one of them say, “You can put them in my section.” The food was pricey, but with the exchange rate, it leveled it off in our favor. We invited our waitress to the show, and she told us she would come when she got off of work, but she lied.
The show was at 211 Highland. Exactly, an address; this is because the show was in an upstairs makeshift venue. The guy who ran it also lived there. You gotta love small towns. Somehow, the people who had put on the show and a few other show-goers had heard of our band and it was good to get some excitement brewing. Somehow everyone was allowed to drink and do whatever they wanted; a BYOB party! There must not be any cops in North Bay, or hopefully they’re following more important leads.
Our set was a little better than Toronto. We mentioned the 6th year anniversary bit again (Hey, we’re kind of proud), and mixed the set up a little. One of the handful of fans yelled for us to play an old song called “She Doesn’t Like Me Anymore.” There are always those times when you have to just sigh, put your head down and play. It wasn’t that bad, and Matt somehow remembered it after only playing it twice in two years. Actually, his playing was kind of a metaphor for the whole show; we were rusty but we pulled it off anyway.
We sold some shirts and much-slaved-over CD’s and returned to the Comfort Inn. All of us were falling asleep while we bit into the last slices of pizza. We go to the nation’s capital tomorrow. To be continued.
Stay tuned for more magic and mystery as The Leftovers continue their weekend tour to Ottawa and Montreal!