And so the Great White Tour begins. After getting out of Chicago with no help from the Blue Line, the Uptown Sound made it to Canadian soil in Calgary, where we met up with Billy, fresh from a directing gig in Philly. It was smooth sailing on to Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon Territory. It was still pretty light out at 11pm, so we just rolled with it.
The production assistant from Dawson City Music Fest, Renee, met us at the terminal and immediately had to handle a, ahem, situation: my bass didn’t make it with us. There was no way to carry it on the tiny plane from Calgary, and the airline seemed to think it might’ve gone to Vancouver. I’ve always wanted to visit British Columbia and I can’t believe my bass made it there before I did. But no worries, the airline rep was super helpful so we just left it to them to sort it out so we could settle in for our overnight layover.
It’s a beautiful town on the river with some low-lying mountains off in the distance, even some snow caps. On the cool side, but a welcome change from Chicago summer.
After checking in at the Gold Rush Inn, we hit the bar and started sampling the local beer, Yukon Gold. The place shut down early and we were told to check out Foxy’s. There was mention of an interesting place called the 68 or 98, but it sounded a little rougher than we needed. Off we go into the night, where it never got completely dark, so it felt like the sun was already coming up. After wandering a few blocks and meeting the local graffiti tag crew, we heard what sounded like a party and figured that was good enough.
Wandering in through the smoking patio out back, we found ourselves in a good sized club with an awesome bar band and Thursday night in full swing. We’d definitely found Foxy’s. JC was ready to jump onstage to help with “Sweet Child of Mine” but we just started making friends with the locals and dug the scene. Everyone was super cool (I met a guy who works as a diamond mining expediter and plays in a horror-core band) and when we told anyone why we were there, they said the Dawson City Music Fest is the place to be. Like Mardi Gras of the North apparently.
We haven’t even made it to the fest yet and already everyone’s ready to name their first born children after Tim Jones, the DCMF promoter who’s responsible for bringing us up here. So now we’re up at 7am, ready for a private charter flight, the final leg, to Dawson. The sun is up and there’s a 3-story tall wooden Mountie statue out front, we’re waiting for Renee to pick us and take us to the local cafe (Starbucks, McD, and Tim Horton’s are all here, but a place called Baked is more our speed)