Feb 5, Sweet Rossland

I am emptying my pockets. Chapstick. A few dollars. A business card. Some scrap paper with phone numbers, the name of an Australian singer/songwriter I was told to look up. The cards and scraps build up, with notes and names that map out the people and places along the tour.

Tonight I’m in Rossland, staying with Egbert, who met his vibrant wife Lindsay when he was a smoke jumper up in Dawson City. Lindsay is the organizing force behind an internationally recognized troupe of can-can dancers, to the great pride of a town with a history in gold mining. It is their home, tucked in the Rossland mountains, where I am staying, surveying my collection of cards and notes on scrap paper before bed.

Among my compilation is the card of Tracey Saxby. Almost everyone I meet here boasts either a British or Australian accent, and Tracey is no exception, a singer/songwriter transplanted here from Brisbon four years ago. After visiting Rossland, I have no doubt about why she would stay, would get fixed on in this secret town nestled in the mountains, pulling the covers up to its chin and asking the visitors not to be so crude as to pull it lower.

Tracey—who I’m told is a stellar vocalist herself—was among the splendidly attentive audience packing the Goldrush café. After the show, I got to chill with her, Egbert, Lindsay and a few others at the Uplands Hotel, talking about music and life in Rossland. The bassist for my old band Leonard, Jon Bath, used to live around here and asked me to check if the locals still ride GT Racers down the city streets that steep down from the Uplands. Indeed, Egbert confirms that young and old alike get out the GT Racers for the first snowfall every year, commenting that Rossland is a town full of people who don’t want to grow up. The vibe in Rossland is unique and I agree with Egbert: growing up is over-rated, and requires so much unnecessary baggage. Damn. We’ve overpacked again.