New Blog

Sorry Folks we have had to Switch over to a new blog with a more appropriate title as this has become an annual event.

You can find our new blog at: http://masswalkingtour.blogspot.com/

you can also find current info about the Walking Tour at: www.masswalkingtour.org

Thanks for the support!
~R.R.

To Be Stated Of Our Journey

"Unfortunately many things have been omitted which should have been recorded in our journal, for though we made it a rule to set down all our experiences therein, yet such a resolution is very hard to keep, for the important experience rarely allows us to remember such obligations, and so indifferent things get recorded, while that is frequently neglected. It is not easy to write in a journal what interests us at any time, because to write it is not what interests us."
From A Week on the Concord and the Merrimack River by Henry David Thoreau

"Walking Alongside The Insanity"

I do not take credit for this quote, although using it as a blog title is completely legal. This ["walking along the insanity"] is something Paul had uttered while walking some major route, maybe 9 or 30, I can't remember that detail. The time of day could be told by the traffic as early morning commuters raced past in glory clothed caffeine motor-vation. I'm thinkin' about how much this trip has disconnected me from that sense of gaudy dedication.

Sometimes, I happen to catch my phone going off - answering it has been inconsistent. Yesterday, I was bothered by two communications. The first had been a text from my friend Steve telling my about a New York Times feature series highlighting artists who have "unplugged" themselves from technology, undoubtedly relaying details on how they [artists] manage to function. While this might make for an interesting read or a particularly appropriate promotional service (depending upon which side you're on), the contradiction inherent in its production caused me to leave the idea somewhere back on the side of some road, somewhere.
They want you to email in your experience - noone to speak with I guess. I thought, "well I'll call some guy over there right now, talk to him/her directly from the road." No dice - no phone number. You must email your submissions. Good grief.

The second came as a call answered just as we reached our destination, yesterday after an 11 mile stretch. Some agency from the Toronto area snagged my phone number and attempted to lure me towards purchasing a $180, 2x3 advertisement for a showcase we have coming up at NXNE. Poor timing, I guess. Buying a small space in a magazine, among countless other small spaces - all to advertise our music showcase among 599 other musical acts...he should've been selling sandwiches or water, for then he'd have made a genuine sale.

We are safe in Hudson, leaving today for Acton. Raianne's family has been taking good care of our weathered bodies and weary minds. Four more days until home.

m.m.

Sounds from Worcester

Listen to an entire performance of our traveling friends here:

http://www.pieandcoffee.org/

Enjoy!

Worcester

My phone just buzzed at me from the corner of my desk and inside it I found a text message from Mark Mandeville.

"We have arrived in Worcester."

That's quite an accomplishment. In fact, that's about 90 miles.

(updated by candace)

A hymnal from the road

Oh, sight held high but head down low.
And heavy from the rain the river once flowed.
Though I keep on walkin' down this damned road,
lord lighten my step, lessen my load.

- Mark Mandeville

update posted by Steve Pavao

The Weight of the Packs

I walked to meet them and found them half standing, half leaning in someone's driveway. It was hot, they were tired, and the quarter-mile or so trek back to my house probably seemed like an eternity. We began to measure distance in turns instead of minutes. "It's two more turns from here, see that road over there? That's the first turn," or "Three more houses up on the left side." I quickly learned that telling them they were "almost there" only exacerbated the current situation.

I'm familiar with certain things that happen when you go on tour. Little things like the sheer joy you can get out of having a need satisfied, like finding hand lotion or something when your skin is cracked and dry. But that doesn't quite compare to something like this. The luxury of our cramped vehicles and the dirty floors we sleep on seemed like they came from another world. These weren't musicians climbing out of a van and complaining about leg cramps after a long day of driving. These were thru-hikers. Who also happened to be musicians.



"You guys want water?"

They were appreciative, but quiet. In awe of things like being able to sit or lean and take off their shoes. We looked at the listing they got in the local alt-weekly, which made a point of the fact that no one seemed to know why they were doing it. I never really cared much about the reason. As far as I'm concerned, they did it to do it.

It was a night off for the troubadours, mostly because despite our many attempts every show option fell through. But I think they needed the break. We took it slow. Food. Drinks. Friends of theirs descended from nearby towns to keep them company or lend a hand by taking home some of those weighty items that seemed unnecessary now.



They set up their tents in our backyard and weighed the packs. Everyone's was too heavy. Books got sent home. Things were shifted and traded.



By morning they seemed less anxious. It had almost become old-hat. A morning routine that consists of applying sunscreen and bugspray. Stretching. Helping each other into their packs. We could hear the Memorial Day parade sirens going by. Fighter jets zooming overhead. Today's goal is simple: get as far away from this point as possible. They are shooting for Belchertown.



I can see the biketrail from my porch. Every few seconds a family walks by with a stroller, a biker passes, dogs follow their owners. They will likely be stopped and asked a lot of questions. This leg of the journey could end up being one of their longest performances. Just not quite in the way they may have expected.



(This first person narrative composed by one Candace Clement who plays in the rock group Bunny's A Swine from Northampton, Massachusetts.)