This must be the place: ‘Could have been the Willie Nelson, could have been the wine’
The CN Tower in Toronto, Ontario. Garret K. Woodward photo
Hello from Room 12106 at the Fairmont Royal York in the heart of downtown Toronto, Ontario. For late summer above the Canadian Border, it’s quite warm and pleasant on this Thursday morning. Bright sunshine peeking through the window drapes of this luxury hotel in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Canada’s largest city.
I’m up here for Rolling Stone covering the premiere of The Tragically Hip documentary “No Dress Rehearsal,” which will be the official kickoff for the prestigious Toronto International Film Festival. Arguably Canada’s most beloved rock band, the film itself is a four-hour, four-episode masterpiece in cinema and in music.
But, for me, this surreal experience is an incredibly full-circle moment. Being a North Country native growing up on the border in Rouses Point, New York, the music of the Hip resides at the absolute core of my melodic heart and soul. And the same can be said for those I grew up with, for the Hip’s lyrics and songs remain a pillar of our long-gone youth and unfolding adulthood.
I think of the first time I heard the Hip. September 1998. I was in eighth grade. First period earth science class at Northeastern Clinton Central School in Champlain, New York. A friend of mine pulled out a bright yellow CD from his backpack. It was the Hip’s new album, “Phantom Power.” As a lifelong music freak, I was curious and asked him about the record.
He put the headphones over my ears and pressed play. The opening track “Poets” echoed in my head, forever shifting my musical trajectory, as all timeless and unique bands should. I was never the same after that day, nor was I after seeing the Hip live on my exact 14th birthday: Feb. 5, 1999, at the Molson Centre in Montreal, Quebec. Onward to today, once again interviewing this group of musicians whose work is eternally etched on the walls of my mind.
With the film premiere a couple of hours away, I decided to toss on some running clothes, lace up my shoes and go for a jog around Toronto. Stroll the endless, pristine hallway of the 12th floor to the shiny elevators, down to the lobby of elaborate marble floors, slick walls and cathedral ceilings. Stunning architecture and intricate antique fixtures in the Royal York, first opened in 1929.
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Exiting the quiet nature of the Royal York onto Front Street, I was immediately inundated with the incessant white noise of a world-class city in motion. Taxi cabs honking. Delivery trucks motoring by. Passerby conversations in French. Airplanes high above descending slowly into Toronto Pearson International Airport.
Looking left, then right, then left again, I momentarily pondered what direction to trot down. Utter organized chaos in seemingly every direction. Knowing the harbor and greater Lake Ontario was just a few blocks south of my position, I headed that way. Cross the street and meander by the historic Union Station, countless faces emerging from the train onto Front Street, off to work in a hurry.
Take a right onto Bay Street and by all the city buses picking up and dropping off folks from all walks of life, backgrounds, ideologies, creeds and colors. The beauty and essence of an international city. The feeling of endless possibilities when it comes to interactions, conversations and cultivation of adventures and knowledge lying just around the next corner, block or street.
Huff and puff joyously and gloriously along Bay Street, by the Scotiabank Arena, home of the Toronto Maple Leafs, a professional hockey team whose games in that venue I’ve watched over the years on CBC’s “Hockey Night in Canada.” Either as a young kid in Rouses Point or in recent years when I’m home for the holidays visiting my parents, sitting in the back den of their farmhouse.
Cross Queens Quay and enter Harbour Square Park. Watch the ferries cross the water to Centre Island and commercial freighters in the distance heading into port. Seagulls floating gracefully in the cool breeze coming off the lake. Numerous houseboats tied up to the docks along the harbor. Other joggers, walkers and bicyclists also partaking in the same sacred act of sweat and tranquility of self only found in exercise in your own time, at your own pace.
Back onto Queens Quay heading west. Finding that ideal rhythm of a brisk run, but one of consistency and endurance for the long haul of the jaunt, the long haul of life itself. Beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. A slight grin of pure happiness rolls across my face, my eyes gazing up and taking inventory of the skyscrapers, apartment buildings, boutique stores, cafes, bars and restaurants.
By the time I had decided to stop, turn around and head back to the Royal York to get ready for the film premiere, I realized I was standing next to the Toronto Music Garden. A green space of splendor and peace, I entered it and immediately found myself transported into the simple pleasures of Mother Nature.
No more white noise of traffic and the go-go-go city. I could hear crickets and songbirds, only to look up and appreciate the sheer magnificence of a lone willow tree hanging over the small summer concert stage. And towering right behind the tree, several blocks away and some 1,815 feet up in the air, was the CN Tower.
I took in the CN Tower in amazement, this colossal monument and tribute to human ingenuity and imagination. The tallest free-standing structure in the Western Hemisphere. To note, it was the tallest free-standing structure in the world from 1975-2007. And there it was, just sitting there staring down upon little ole me while I was on my morning run.
Saying goodbye to the CN Tower, I began making my way back to the Royal York. Another maze of joggers, walkers and bicyclists. Red lights, green lights and crosswalks. Traffic and sunshine. Fresh harbor air and seagulls. Back up Bay Street to Front Street. Along Union Station to the lobby of the Royal York. Across the shiny marble floor and up the shiny elevator. Gratitude remains.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
