Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road

Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road

Neil Peart

Language: English

Pages: 460

ISBN: 1550225480

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

This bold narrative written by the drummer and lyricist for the band Rush shows how Peart tried to stay alive by staying on the move after the loss of his 19-year-old daughter and his wife. The book will be sold as part of the band's official merchandise during its 47-city American tour. 20 photos. 15 maps.

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chickadee-soul into the grave new world of Spring. I remember you once describing the order in which you put together a landscape painting, starting with “what was there first,” and I’ve found that my own process of world-building has had to start with the land. The first things I began to appreciate were landscapes, highways, and wildlife, and of course they were the elements I needed to start building a world — from the ground up. Quite the task I have ahead of me: build a world, a person, and

distract yourself from that task with other jobs, willing or not, it only means the grief work remains to be done. Better if you can simply concentrate on the matter at hand, do the work you have to do as best you can, and find occasional diversion in something therapeutic, like moving, which also yields other benefits: fitness, stimulation, temporary distraction, something to plan, and even some small things to look forward to. That’s important to hold onto as well: something to look forward

your lane. And obviously I don’t want to get too tired and possibly make a dumb mistake, so I was off the road by 5:00 every day, and away again early, early in the morning. The last day, as I got close to home, I went longer — 1,300 kilometres [813 miles] in 14 hours, but even then I arrived before dark. And I can see now it was the right thing to do, back then: taking off during the change of season. I was “sinking” a little, day by day, and needed to make a change. Take my little baby soul

softened. “Oh, you’re a rider. You’re a real rider.” Evidently I was now worthy of respect, and he agreed to do what he could for me when I arrived in Fairbanks. I rode down to the Yukon River and caught the ferry across, then headed up to the “Top of the World Highway.” I had been skeptical about that name, thinking maybe it was another northern exaggeration, like “highway” often was, and by “top of the world” they only meant so far north, but the hyperbole was justified. The narrow paved road

I thought of possible sources of “hassle.” Before setting out, I had asked Sheila to get me a set of credit cards under an alias, John Ellwood Taylor (a fine “bluesman” name, I thought, made up of Jackie’s last name, my own middle name, and the most ordinary of given names), to help preserve my anonymity in motels, restaurants, and gas stations. To a law-enforcement mentality I imagined those might appear suspicious. Plus I carried a few “emergency sedatives” (in case I got stuck somewhere!)

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