Some said Kane had become an ascetic monk. Others conjectured he was obsessed with Dolly Parton collectibles. Many said he was blocked and couldn’t turn over a story about a guy ruining a dinner party with a giant shit anymore. Or he no longer had the wherewithal to investigate the shocking amount of Monte Carlos in an Alden trailer park. And finally some said he lost perspective and didn’t have the insight to profile a renaissance man like Jesse Nolan and his never ending fashion statements. 

While the enigmatic author remained cryptic about the previous shutdown, this hiatus will find Kane engaged in an exciting new project—a travel blog called: Going Mobile With P.A.Kane.

The 1.5 millionth ranked Amazon author and his wife of nearly one-million years, three decades, Donna are heading out on the road to see and explore the U.S.A in their fully equipped Ram Promaster van. This first van life expedition will find them in such places as the South Dakota Badlands, the Grand Tetons in Wyoming and the Colorado Rockies, plus many others. This fall, instead of reporting on the failed congressional bid of Hitler enthusiast Carl Palidino—guess Western New York it isn’t Carl Country—Kane will posting daily updates from the road highlighting the beauty, grandeur and the indomitable spirit of the American people—hopefully without getting his liberal ass shot. 

“It’s a dream come true,” Kane said. “Ever since I read “On The Road” as a young man I’ve wanted to see America from a speeding vehicle. I hope this will be the first of many trips throughout the U.S., Canada and beyond. I should note, in “On The Road,” Kerouac never went to Canada even though he was of French-Canadian heritage. He went all over the U.S. and Mexico, but not Canada. Kerouac probably didn’t go to the great white north for the same reason I’m a little hesitant—bears. I know, Canadiens are gentle, peace loving people, but they have bears—like everywhere. There’s more fucking bears in Canada than jelly doughnuts and it’s a little unnerving for a slow footed white man such as myself.”

Please join bear repellent equipped author P.A. Kane as he goes mobile across America. You can link to his new travel blog here or on the side panel of this site. And look for the return of Buffalo Mud in the near future. Thank you for the continued support.

Also, don’t forget to make the toast and tea. 

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His first sign came at 6:40 am when paying for a medium double double and a honey cruller at Tim Horton’s the balance on his Tim Gift Card was $21.12. This made him smile and all day long, happy Overture riffs from Rush’s 2112 album filled his head.
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After work he stopped at the Podollan Pub and in addition to being thoroughly rebuffed for his lame come ons to the no nonsense bartender Renee, the dozen hot wings and two Canadians he consumed totaled… $21.12.

“Holy shit,” he said to Renee pointing at his bill, “$21.12. That was the balance on my Tim Card this morning. You know, like the Rush album, eh.”

Renee, who really didn’t like Logan said, “Yeah…so?”

But, even Renee’s rejection couldn’t bring Logan down and he backed out of the bar singing Closer To The Heart to her. All through the Maple Leafs v. Oilers game with a couple more Canadians he was thinking about the 2112 coincidences. As the game was coming to an end just before 9 pm in the west he received a call from his distraught pal in Kingston, Richard Butler. Into the Canadians himself Butler explained the recent death of Tragically Hip front man, Gord Downie had really affected him to the point where he was going to make big changes in his life.

“Like how, eh?” Logan asked
“I’m going to blow the whole fucking thing up, eh,” Butler said with a slur.
“And, do what?
“Play my music. Fuck all this day to day running around. Everybody knows this is nowhere,” Butler said quoting the legendary Canadian rocker, Neil Young.

Logan remembered what a good guitar player Butler was and pointed out some of the challenges his friend might face, while still trying to be encouraging. Logan admired Butler’s defiance and resoluteness and looking up at the clock on his living room wall when the call ended it was a little past 9:10, ‘No way,’ Logan thought as he gazed down at his wristwatch, which was set to military time, it read: 21:12.

“Holy shit,” Logan said to the empty room, his head tingling. Thinking about the call from Butler, the coincidence of 2112 popping up three different times in a single day, there could be no doubt, these were messages from some higher source. Lost in thought for a few more moments the revelation was clear: start a Rush cover band.

It didn’t matter that Logan had no musical experience or talent whatsoever—he couldn’t even keep time snapping his fingers. He gave his notice at the oil fields, told his mom in Ontario he was coming home, started to grow a mullet and blew all his savings on guitars, drums and amps.

He called Butler, who was so bombed that fateful night he didn’t even remember talking to Logan and thought the Rush cover band idea was “…fucking crazy, eh.” Butler pointed out the market place was pretty tight and even with all his experience it was hard to get bar gigs. Further complicating the issue was the fact that Rush, the real Rush, was still touring and putting out music and yes people loved them, but that love wasn’t so big that it could support a shitty cover band on the margins.

But, feeling the first few hairs of his emerging mullet touch his neck, Logan just smiled and said, “Good points, but I’m on a mission from God, eh. See ya, when I get home. You get the first audition.”

Logan tapped off his iPhone, dropped the arm down on his turntable and turned Cinderella Man way loud, eh.

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