Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Hero Dave - The Yoga Retreat & Dave's Truck

Episode Date: April 28, 2023

“Dave chose Happy Hour: Three honey-mint-refresh-colonic cocktails.” The Yoga Retreat: a place of well-being, calm and reflection. Usually. But not always; or not for Dave and Stephanie, at least. This week, Stuart McLean tells two hilarious stories about Dave’s good intentions gone awry. And Jess shares some road stories, including a memorable attempt to get the entire Vinyl Cafe crew up to the remote but spectacular Powell River, British Columbia.  Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. We have two Dave and Morley stories for you today. Stories about, well, you know what? I know what I think they're about, but I'm not going to tell you. I'll let you listen to them, and then we'll talk about it after. Sound good? Let's start with this one. It's a story we recorded in Powell River, British Columbia. Stuart and I went to Powell River a few times over the years. And every single time we went, we left with a story to tell.

There was a time we flew in on a small chartered plane. Actually, most times that's how we arrived. We'd charter a plane from Vancouver Island. There'd be eight or nine of us crammed in there, plus our set and our luggage and all the instruments. And the time I'm remembering, we arrived at the airport with so much stuff that the pilot of this little plane pulled me aside for a private conversation. He looked at the mountain of luggage and the gear and the instruments, and then he looked at me and he said, you're overweight. And I looked at him and joked, you know, you could stand to lose a few pounds too. He was not amused. He refused to fly the plane. He said we'd have to leave something or someone behind. So I went and I found Stuart. I told him what happened and he

looked at me and said, he clearly has no idea how bad you are at accepting no for an answer. looked at me and said, he clearly has no idea how bad you are at accepting no for an answer. I explained to the pilot that we would need everything and everyone to do the show. And then he explained physics. But I knew we couldn't leave anything behind, even if we didn't need everything right away. After Power River, we were flying on to the next stop and the stop after that and the stop after that. And if we left something behind, then that left behind thing would be chasing us from stop to stop for the next 30 days. And that happened to me once on tour. Once on tour, I left behind a pink coat of mine in some theater and it chased me for the entire tour.

It kept arriving at a theater one day after we had left that theater. Never again, I thought. So I turned to the pilot and I said, do you have a scale? And I systematically weighed not only all of our bags, but all of our bodies. And I have this memory of everyone on tour standing in line and it looked kind of like a weigh-in, you know, before a wrestling match. And I also remember calling out to everybody, make sure you go pee before I weigh you. I don't remember the details of the weigh-in, but we did get on that plane and all of our luggage did too. The next time we flew into Powell River, it was from Nanaimo on Vancouver Island.

We'd played Duncan the night before, the Friday night. And then after the show, we all drove to Nanaimo. And the next morning, Saturday morning, we were flying into Powell River. We had a show there that night, Saturday night. Takeoff went fine, no weigh-in required. But the landing, well, the landing didn't happen. We got stuck up in the sky. The fog was so dense, we couldn't land. And so we circled Powell River for, I don't know, an hour? It felt like an hour. It felt like more than an hour. We were just circling, hoping the fog would clear, hoping the show happening in like a few hours would be able to go on. Eventually, the pilot called me and road manager Ted Decker up into the cockpit. He told us that if we didn't land soon, we were going to run out of fuel. I'm sure there's been times in my life when I've made a decision faster than that, but

we made that decision pretty quickly. We had them turn around and drop us in Vancouver, and of course, we had to postpone that night's show, something we had only ever done once before. We promised the audience in Powell River that we would come back and make it up. And I turned to Stuart that night back in our hotel and I said, the next time we go to Powell River, we're driving. Well, easier said than done. It takes five hours and two ferries to get from Vancouver to Powell River. So when we returned to Powell River, we returned early. We were going to arrive a couple of days before the show. and then the next morning we got up bright and early and headed north up the Sunshine Coast. I've told you before that Stuart was not the most efficient traveler. He liked to drive slowly.

He liked to stop often. He liked to follow his nose. It's one of the things that made him so good at his job. We stopped a lot on this drive. We stopped in Gibson's to take a picture in front of the Persephone, that ship from the Beachcombers. We stopped at a grocery store in Half Moon Bay, very cool little store. We stopped somewhere, I don't know where, for coffee. We stopped to look at the moss. We stopped to sit on a bench. And it was during that bench stop, like, come on, that's a little over the top. It was during that crazy bench stop that I started getting frustrated. I was looking at my watch and getting antsy and Stuart was like, don't worry, it's fine. We got tons of time. We were here early. We were not fine. We arrived in Earl's Cove just in time, just in time to see the ferry pulling away from shore without us on it.

I looked at Stuart and said, I'm beginning to think we will never actually make it to Powell River. We did eventually make it, and that is where this story was recorded, in the elusive Powell River. where this story was recorded, in the elusive Powell River. Like some of my favorite places in the entire world, Tofino in British Columbia, Takatomi Island in Japan, Zanzibar in Africa, it's impossible to get to Powell River. And because of that, it's absolutely spectacular. of that, it's absolutely spectacular. You have to really want to get there. And that just, I don't know, it just kind of changes a place. And it changes the people that live there. We really wanted to get to Powell River. And I'm so glad we did. And I'm glad that some of you were there too,

so we could record this story. This is the yoga retreat. so we could record this story. This is The Yoga Retreat. So Dave's daughter, Stephanie, has a best friend. And her name is Becky. And Becky broke up with her boyfriend at the end of the summer. Still a mess at Thanksgiving.

Still crying. Stephanie said, okay, okay, we're going away. You and I. One week. Becky said, okay, okay, we're going away, you and I, one week. Becky said, where are we going? Stephanie said, I haven't decided yet. When she decided, she decided on a yoga retreat. Becky cheered up. Then Becky and her boyfriend made up. Becky called and said, I'm sorry. He doesn't want me going anywhere without him. That's what Stephanie said.

Stephanie said, but that's why you broke up. Becky said, sorry. Stephanie called the yoga retreat and she explained all about Becky and her stupid boyfriend. She was hoping for a refund. Man on the phone said, they must often change those who would be constant in happiness and wisdom. Stephanie said, what? Man on the phone said, sorry, no refunds. So Stephanie called her mother. Morley said, sweetie, I'd love to go with you,

but we opened a new production that week and I can't. I think you should take your father. Stephanie said, are you out of your mind? Morley said, he's right here. Let me put him on the line. The retreat was in the country, down a tree-lined driveway to an old Catholic monastery, up on a hill overlooking a lake. They went to the main desk and registered. The lady who was sitting at the desk smiled up at them. The lady said, well, you're here for the cleanse. Dave said, for the what? The lady said, Bodhidharma will search your bags now.

Bodhidharma opened Dave's suitcase and removed a pack of beef jerky and a bag of gummy worms. There was a tour. A woman with flared pants, a cotton wrap, and a headband showed them around. She left them at the rejuvenation desk. You can choose three treatments each, she said. It's part of the package. Well, Stephanie chose pamper yourself,

a Swedish massage, a mineral mud bath, and a sea salt pedicure. Dave looked the menu up and down while she was choosing and visibly relaxed. Just wasn't as strict as he thought it was going to be. Dave chose happy hour. Three honey mint refresh colonic cocktails. What are you thinking, said Stephanie. Well, I'm thinking, said Dave. When did I ever stop after just one?

There were already two women in the hall when Dave arrived at his first class, took a mat off the wall, unfurled it, and sat down while the room filled up around him. For the longest time, he was the only man in the room. And then another guy came in. He was wearing knee-length yoga pants and a form-fitting tank top. He had a red bandana around his shoulder length hair, yoga beads around his wrist, and a tattoo of a lotus flower on his ankle. Dave was wearing a plaid shirt, Bermuda shorts, and lime green ankle socks.

Guy snapped his mat open in the middle of the room like a flag. And then he bent forward at the waist as if he was going to touch his toes, except he didn't touch his toes. He went way beyond his toes. He went over and right up into a handstand. Then he started doing push-ups. Handstand push-ups. He did ten.

And then he unwound slowly until he was standing again with his palms pressed together in front of his chest. Looked like he was praying, but he wasn't praying. He was looking around the room to see if anyone was looking at him. After class, handstand guy came over to Dave and put his arm around his shoulder and said, stick with it, bro. Poses don't begin until your mind forgives. And then he said namaste and he walked away. Dave's first treatment was scheduled for just before dinner.

was scheduled for just before dinner. Cocktail hour, he chirped to Stephanie. And then he skipped out of their bedroom. He didn't look so chirpy when he came back. Came back all pale and sweaty, his clothes disheveled. How was it, said Stephanie? Well, a little different than I expected today. Then he said, whoops, excuse me.

He ran for the washer. Next morning, class began with the sun salutation. Dave peered around the room. Everyone else had landed the first posture with their palms flat on the floor. His palms were swinging around his knees. He felt stiff. He felt clumsy and awkward. Surely he thought there was someone worse than him in the room. And so he looked around, he caught the eye of handstand guy. Handstand guy winked at him through his ankles.

Keep at it, bro, said handstand guy when class was over. Pose doesn't begin until you want to leave it. Another classroom, another class, and Dave was lying on his back. There was music playing softly, and there was a teacher at the front of the classroom, and teacher was saying, bring your right knee to your chest. Now hug your knee with your arm. Bring your head to your knee and exhale. And right then, right then in the deep silence after teacher. Some of you are familiar with this pose. Laughter Right then in the deep silence after teachers said exhale, there was an explosion. Or more accurately, a series of rapid little explosions.

And teacher said, well, now we all know why they call it the wind-releasing pause. Bro, said handstand guy on the way out. That's not what they mean when they say exhale. The lotus position. The lotus position is not the most dramatic-looking yoga posture, not by a long shot. At first glance, you would think anyone could do lotus. The Buddha did it, after all. So did Gandhi.

And neither of them, said Dave to Stephanie at dinner that night, strike me as the most athletic-looking dudes. Opposed to said to be the path to enlightenment. And all you have to do, said Dave, is cross your legs and sit there, like a lotus flower, open to the light. Best of all, handstand guy had bad knees. Handstand guy couldn't do lotus. Duh-ha, said Stephanie.

Well, it's not about that, said Dave. Seriously, it's not about that. It's not a competition. The problem is that as simple as it looks, the lotus is virtually impossible for a beginner. Only a fool would try to pry themselves into lotus without years of preparation. But fools do rush in. Dave woke early and slipped out of bed, let himself into the studio at the far end of the building. As the sun came up, he stood by the window and studied the chart of yoga postures, limbered up for a while.

And then he sat down and he placed his right foot on his left thigh. Then he grabbed his left foot and tried to muscle it up onto his right thigh. There was no way, but there had to be a way. And so he leaned both elbows and all the weight of his upper body on his knee. And there was a sudden snap and a... And then a flash of pain deep in his body like a flash of lightning. It was there and then it was gone. That was odd, thought Dave.

And then he looked down at his legs. His right foot was on his left thigh. His left foot was on his right. He was in lotus. A profound sense of well-being washed over him. A sense of oneness with the world, until he realized his left foot was asleep and he couldn't move his legs.

His legs were knotted together, and the more he tried to free them, the tighter they got. He wasn't in full lotus. He was in Sheep Shank. It took him an hour to drag himself down the corridor back to the bedroom. used his hands to pull himself along on his bottom. Anywhere else in the world, he would have been a disturbing sight. Here, everyone just nodded as he passed.

Namaste, namaste, namaste, namaste. It was exhausting work. Halfway back to his room, he stopped and propped himself up against the wall. When he woke up, there was an embroidered hat sitting on the floor next to him full of spare change. Took Stephanie 40 minutes and a container full of Vaseline to untangle her father. When she finished,

his legs were way too wobbly to walk, although he could put them behind his ears. Look what I can do, he said. And that's what he was doing. He was sitting on the bed with his feet behind his head when there was a knock on the door. It was Bodhidharma. Cocktail hour! That night Dave dreamed he was being chased through a dark kingdom.

There were baboons and eels and, in the distance, a volcano that rumbled and groaned and kept erupting over and over and over again. Next morning, he dragged himself out of bed and staggered off to class. Teacher said, if you haven't done headstand, you should do tripod instead. Well, he had been defeated one too many times. He was not going to be tripod guy in handstand guy's room. Dave said, I've done headstands. Not recently. But it wasn't

hard, was it? Teacher said, place your head on the floor in front of your knees. Now raise your legs slowly and gently place your knees on your elbows. Well, that wasn't the way he remembered it, was it? The way he remembered it was to go up quickly and with commitment. Get to the top, you had to commit. Everyone else was lined up in front of the wall, their knees on their arms in a sort of tripod squatty way. Finally, thought Dave, finally there was something he could do better than everyone

else. So while everyone else balanced there on their arms, Dave counted to himself. One for the money, two for the show, and on three to get ready, he put his forehead on the ground and he kicked his feet up with all the force he could muster. He hit so hard his heels broke through the drywall. There was an explosion of dust, and everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at Dave, who managed to hold the pose for a moment or two. But after a moment or two, his arms started to shake, and then they gave out. But after a moment or two, his arms started to shake. And then they gave out.

But he didn't fall because he was being held in place by his planted heels. He was hanging on the wall like an upside down picture, trying to project a look of yogic calm, he crossed his arms. And there was a beat of yogic silence until everyone heard the sound of a faraway rumble beginning in his upside-down tummy. Dave checked out that afternoon. Two days early. They bumped into a handstand guy in the lobby. Leaving early, he said. Well, bro, said Dave. And he set his suitcase down and he walked around the desk and he put his arm around handstand guy. And he looked at him and he said, everybody knows the poses always end when the plaster breaks. They didn't charge him for the damage to the studio walls, but they weren't pleased.

In light of the circumstances, said the lady who checked them out, you will understand if we don't give you the third of your complimentary cocktails. Dave nodded. Namaste, he said. Namaste. that was the story we call the yoga retreat we recorded that at the arts and culture center in powell river british columbia i love that story i mean's hilarious. I think we've all met Mr. Handstand Guy or some version of him. I have someone that I know, someone I used to work with many moons ago, who I used to refer to as Mr. Excel. He's the one person I know on earth who actually knows how to use Excel, you know, like the way it's supposed to be used.

And he used to seek out any and every opportunity to show me how much more I could be, and I'm quoting now, getting from my spreadsheets. But beneath the laughter of Mr. Handstand Guy and the colonic cocktails, what I really love about that story is how Dave, in his own highly idiosyncratic fashion, just shows up for Stephanie. She needs him, and he's there. It's as simple as that. But sometimes, a lot of the time, really, that's all it takes, being there.

All right, we're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back with another story about Dave, so stick around. Welcome back. I told you we had two stories for you today. Here's the second. This is Dave's Truck. You'd be sorry to hear that Dave's aunt Elizabeth died this autumn in her house in Halifax. She dozed off in her chair one afternoon and that was that. The call came a few weeks later, a lawyer in Glace Bay. There were two boxes, a box for him and one for his sister Annie. Where did he want the boxes shipped? Boxes, said Dave. Electric kettles, said the lawyer. Twelve for you and twenty-five for

your sister. And Elizabeth, who spent the last decade of her life boiling every drop of water she used, even her bath water. It removes the poisons, she said. Dave called his sister, Annie. I knew she liked you better, he said. Sometimes Elizabeth would get all her kettles boiling at once, and her house would fill with steam, and Elizabeth would sit in the parlor with her cat, her blue hair, and her house would fill with steam and Elizabeth would sit in the parlor with her cat, her blue hair and her powder running down her cheeks. She looked like the character from Batman. The Joker, said Sam. She was a piece of business, said Marley. One of a kind, said Dave. There's also some money, said the lawyer. The idea of getting Aunt Elizabeth's money made Dave sad.

Don't get me wrong, he said to his pal, Kenny Wong. It's very nice. I appreciate it, but I wish she had spent it. Gone on a trip or bought herself, I don't know, even if she had bought herself more cattle. What do you want to do with it, said Morley. They decided to do nothing, or not right away. They decided they would each make a list. And so they spent a few weeks with ideas whizzing through their heads. Put in a steam room, said Kenny Walden.

Do the kitchen cabinets, said Mary Turlington. A few weeks later, one night after dinner, Morley dropped a file folder on the kitchen table. Dave sat down and stared at it. Dave said, you first. Morley opened her file folder. She had a list of plumbers, a recommendation for a roofer. She had information on GICs, a brochure for a fitness camp, and I could go on. She did. Morley had lots of ideas, sound, sensible ideas. Dave listened carefully until Morley said, your turn. And Dave reached into his back pocket and he took out his wallet and he pulled out a single piece of paper and he flattened it out on the table. Morley leaned forward. The page had been torn from a car magazine, a vintage car magazine, magazine. Truck for sale. One of a kind. A 1948 GMC panel truck. Viper red. My grandfather had exactly the same truck, said Dave. Exactly. Morley stared at the picture. Looked like a vintage fire

truck, but smaller and the cab closed at the back. The truck maybe the chief would drive. Dave said, my dad got it when grandpa stopped driving. Dave said, he drove it right through the 60s. Dave said, he used to put everyone in the back and take us to Glace Bay for ice cream. It was the car Dave learned to drive in. Same model, said Dave. Same year, same color, same everything. It's in Portland, Maine, said Morley. As if that pretty much made it impossible. I know, said Dave. Isn't that cool? Took 15 minutes. No more. 15 minutes and Morley gave in without a fuss. You might even say she gave in gracefully. Elizabeth was, after all, his aunt. Dave flew to Portland, Maine.

The Friday he left, when that Friday came and he actually went, the reality of it rankled Morley a little. She was not exactly resentful, but she was rankled. It was not as if they needed a 1948 panel truck. He called Saturday morning, got it, he said. He sounded positively gleeful. Great, said Marley. She sounded less so. He drove home along the interstate, going as fast as 55 miles an hour when he was going downhill. But when he went that fast, the steering wheel would start to shake and it scared him. So most of the time he rolled along in the slow lane, waving at everyone who slowed to wave at him. It was like he was in a parade, like he was a fire chief. It was that

very Saturday afternoon, the Saturday he was driving home from Maine, that Morley's friend Susan phoned. I'm in town, said Susan. Can I meet you for brunch? Susan and Brian were splitting up. Susan and Brian were splitting up. Oh, Susan, said Morley. But at brunch, Susan seemed just fine. Susan said, Sure, why not? You know Brian, do you? Yeah.

Susan said he always wanted the best of everything because we couldn't afford to buy anything cheap. If I never hear that again. His shirts are custom made, said Susan. Who gets custom made shirts? Who has a hand carved cherry wood shoe rack in their walk-in cedar closet? Susan held her hands out, palms up. Susan said, he's ready to pay for the best stuff, but he isn't ready to work for it. They're not with me. Morley just sat there and nodded at her friend. Susan said, state of the art. That's Brian's big deal. Everything has to be state of the art.

One morning I woke up and I asked myself, is our marriage state of the art? Susan sat back and cocked her head. Morley said, state of the art. Susan said, exactly. Morley, I'm not happy and I'm getting older. This might be my last chance to find happiness. Brian and I don't want the same things anymore. And that is when Dave drove by the little cafe where they were eating

in his brand new Viper Red 1948 panel truck. The truck was in the garage by the time Morley got home. It stayed there for the rest of the winter. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Over the winter, Dave, Dave, Dave who considered it a mechanical achievement to drive a car through a car wash. Dave who had never displayed an inkling of interest in this sort of thing, became mechanical man. Every night he came home, ate dinner, and as soon as dinner was over, he disappeared into the garage. What exactly was going on out there was a mystery.

Not because Dave kept it from anyone. He reported endlessly on what was happening out there, as if he was curating some sort of exhibit. However, he did this in a language that was not quite English, talking about cowls and clock springs, flanges and pans. What Morley understood was that he was renovating the car. Restoring, said Dave, not renovating. And that involved searching parts. Vintage parts, said Dave not renovating and that involved searching parts vintage parts said Dave knobs for the radio handles for the doors at first it was easy to ignore but ever so slowly the garage made its way into the house odd bits and pieces of stuff, which seemed to attach themselves to Dave like iron filings attached to a magnet. Bits that came into the house with him and then were shed.

Everywhere. There was a box in the front hall with something dark and geary that sat there for weeks. Thumbed magazines and greasy manuals in the bathroom, the family room, and the indignity of it, the bedroom. And then one night Morley opened the cupboard below the sink and her tea towel, the one with a picture of the wine bottle, the one that Mary had brought home from Napa Valley, the one that gave Morley hope that one day she too would go to Napa, that tea towel was covered in grease and oil. Dave tried to make it up to her the following night.

Do you want to go for a drive in the truck, he asked. Her first time. Sadly, this was February. And sadly, back in 1948 when Dave's truck was built, heaters and defrosters were not high on the GMC radar. Morley spent her first ride leaning out the passenger window with an ice scraper, trying to keep the windshield free of ice. This is amazing, said Dave.

This is exactly what we used to do. This is amazing, said Dave. This is exactly what we used to do. Dave was determined to get the truck back to its original magnificence. He added wood paneling on the back panel walls. He had his friend Jeff, who paints tour buses, paint a vintage sign on the back panels. Vinyl Cafe, we may not be big, but we're small. He fussed over the font for weeks. What exactly are you doing, said Morley one night.

She was trying to understand the impulse behind the fever. I'm getting it ready, said Dave. Ready for what, said Morley. The question seemed to catch him by surprise. Dave tried to explain it to her. I don't know, he explained. It was like he was building the ark. Did the Lord tell you to do this, asked Morley. Lord tell you to do this, asked Morley. And then she said, you really love that car, don't you? Truck, said Dave. Right, said Morley, truck. You really love that truck. And Dave, who had been feeling guilty about all the time he had been spending in the garage, felt a wave of relief in his wife's apparent change of heart. He stood up and he wandered across the kitchen away from her.

It's strange, he said, as he stared out the window. He was staring at the garage. I don't think I've ever loved anything as much as I love Ruby. Ruby, said Morley. The truck that had moved into their garage had a name. It hadn't occurred to Morley that she was living with another woman. Morley was first to bed that night. As she sat there, her book open across her knees, she looked over at Dave's

empty side and then at the little piece of cord dangling from the bedpost. She reached over and gave the cord a tug. A thermometer leapt over the back of the headboard and landed beside her. The thermometer was tied to the end of the cord. It had been there for years, close at hand in case Dave needed to take his temperature in the middle of the night. Morley stared at the thermometer, and then she stuck it in her mouth, wondering as she sat there, her arms crossed over her chest, if there was something wrong with her. For years, she had accepted stuff like this as normal. Was it possible she was out of her mind? The thermometer beeped. She took it out. Normal. She shrugged and dropped it back behind the headboard. There were so many things that she had thought were sweet and endearing, like for

instance, the Christmas Dave who was on the roof putting up the Christmas lights froze his tongue on the television antenna. Maybe these things weren't sweet after all. Maybe they were crazy things. And if they were crazy, what was he? She got up and went to the office and fetched a pen and a pencil, and she sat in her bed and began a list. She wrote tongue frozen to antenna. Then Christmas turkey. She wrote down presents he has given me and underlined it.

Under that she wrote silly putty. That was the first gift he ever gave her. Sent it in the mail without explanation. Next she wrote, glow in the dark shoelaces. How did she ever find these things endearing? Brian gave Susan diamond stud earrings. And Susan was leaving Brian. If Susan's marriage wasn't state of the art, what was hers?

A state of disrepair, if it was a state of anything. A state of confusion. It was like one of those shabby coffee makers you see at a yard sale. Dinged up and grungy. Missing bits. Old. But not old enough to be vintage. Dave was coming upstairs.

Morley scrunched her piece of paper under her pillow and turned off her light. She rolled over and pretended she was asleep. Hey, said Dave. She heard him, but she didn't answer. Stephanie came home a few weeks later, her boyfriend Tommy with her. Dave said, let's take the truck and go for ice cream. Sam came, the Turlington twins too.

Morley said she didn't feel like ice cream. It was fun, said Dave. We went to the place with the gelato. We stopped for gas and he threw a fit, said Sam. I didn't throw a fit, said Dave. I just explained to the man he shouldn't rest the gas tank top on the roof of the truck. I explained how he could scratch the paint. He threw a fit, said Sam. The next night, Stephanie and Tommy said they were going to the movies. Stephanie said, can we take the car? And that's when Morley looked at Dave and said, why don't you let them take the truck? Dave looked astonished. No, not astonished. Dave looked horrified. Morley said, your dad used to let you drive to the movies

all the way to Glace Bay and for ice cream. Sam said, can I go too? It happened as they always say these things happen. It happened in slow motion. Stephanie parked the truck on an empty street around the corner from the theater. It was late enough that they didn't have to put money in the meter. They slammed the doors and they began walking. It was Sam who saw it. Hey, he said. And they all stopped, the three of them, and stood in a line staring.

The truck was moving. It wasn't just and they all stopped, the three of them, and stood in a line staring. The truck was moving. It wasn't just moving, it was rolling, rolling ever so slowly out of its parking spot. Tommy shouted, parking brake! Stephanie said, uh-oh. Tommy was the first to move. Tommy ran towards the truck, but the truck had veered away from the sidewalk and was heading down the hill that they were parked on.

By the time Tommy started running, the truck had picked up speed. By the time he got close, it was a red blur. Stephanie said, uh-oh, again. Sam said, wicked. again. Sam said, wicked. It got further than you would have thought. It made it all the way to the bottom of the hill where the road curves. Sadly, it didn't make the curve. Where the road curves, the truck jumped the sidewalk, rolled once, twice, landed on its roof, skidded maybe 10 yards, and plowed sideways into a lamppost. After the crash, there was a moment of silence.

Stephanie was standing on the sidewalk, her hand over her mouth. Tommy was ahead of her, clasping his hands over his head and rocking back and forth on his heels. Sam was the first to speak. Sam said, I think you're in trouble. And then there was a loud crack in the street lamp, swayed and toppled, and more or less severed what was left of the truck. Sam said, yup, you're in trouble. Sam said, dad is going to kill you. And then he whistled, this is way better than the movies. When Stephanie called Morley, she was crying. It was Morley who called Dave. The hill behind the theater said, Morley, I'll meet you there. She had her arm around Stephanie when Dave stepped out of the taxi.

No one said a word. Sam pointed down the hill at the police car and the tow truck, the fire engine, and the severed 1948 Viper Red GMC truck. Dave didn't say a word. He began to walk down the hill. Morley, Stephanie, Tommy, and Sam stayed at the top. They watched Dave trudge to the bottom and stop in front of the wreckage. They watched him stand there and nod to the tow truck driver who was hovering there with a hook.

And then they watched as he walked up the hill again. When Dave got to the top, Stephanie took a step towards him. It was an accident, she said. Well, said Dave quietly, I didn't think you did it on purpose. Tommy cringed. Well, said Dave quietly, I didn't think you did it on purpose. Tommy cringed. There was an uncomfortable pause. But there are accidents and there are accidents, said Dave.

Stephanie stiffened. Morley held her breath. Sam was grinning. But as far as accidents go, said Dave, this is the best kind. This is the lucky kind. No one was hurt. Dave moved over to Stephanie and put his arm around her shoulders. He looked down the hill again. The front end of his truck had been hoisted onto the back end of a flatbed. Dave sighed, and then he turned around and he smiled at Morley. Well, he said, it was fun while it lasted. And then he said, aren't you guys going to the movies? You better get a move on.

Sam turned to his mother. Isn't he going to kill her? I guess not, said Marley who was smiling Sam's shoulders slumped rip off Dave said let's go home. He was talking to Morley, not the kids. He held his hand out and Morley handed him the keys to their car.

We'll take a taxi, he said. And he handed the car keys to Stephanie. You bring the car home when you're done, he said. Stephanie shook her head. Dave said, back on the horse, sweetheart. And then he took Morley by the arm and said, come on. Stephanie and Tommy stood on the sidewalk for a moment, watching Morley and Dave walk away. Wow, said Tommy. Yeah, said Sam. Just when you think you're going to have a little bit of fun. Morley and Dave didn't take a cab home. They walked. And they didn't talk about the truck.

Dave told Morley about a guy who had come into his store that very morning with a box of vinyl from the UK. Some of it was still sealed, he said. You don't often see that. He listed off the albums one by one. Morley walked along letting it wash over her, not really paying attention. She was thinking he liked his stuff, no doubt about that. He liked his comic collection and his record players, and he liked his truck. He loved his truck but he never got seriously wound up over any of it. He got goofy maybe and obsessive, over-involved, ridiculous but not wound up. Say what you want about him.

He knew what was important. Morley thought of that little list that she had written in bed, the one she had shoved under her pillow. She took Dave's hand. You know what you are, she said. What, said Dave. State of the art, said Morley. You are a state of the art guy.

I don't know about that, said Dave. But he didn't disagree. That was the story we called Dave's Truck. You know, from the outside, it would be easy to wonder why Morley would stay with Dave. I mean, it would be a challenge. But I think what Stuart was trying to do with that story was remind us all that Dave might be crazy and he might mess things up. But he has his priorities straight. For Dave, life really is about the people you love.

So, yeah, I think that's what those two stories are really about. I think they are about Dave doing the right thing for all the right reasons. Doing things for people he loves. Okay, we're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute with a sneak peek from next week's episode. Okay, that's it for today, but we'll be back here next week with two more Dave and Morley stories, including this one. Whenever Dave starts to really get into a potential disease, he likes to do Tai Chi. He only knows a couple of Tai Chi movements, which he repeats over and over, but he feels they center him. So before dinner, he went into the backyard and he started to do Tai Chi. Now, Morley's been around long enough to know what's going on when this happens.

So when Morley saw Dave in the backyard, awkwardly spinning and stretching and bending, she opened the window and she called out, Dave, she said, there's no such disease. That's on next week's episode. Until then, we now have 15 episodes of this podcast. They are still up and posted. So if you missed any, or if you're new and you want to start from the beginning, they are there wherever you get your podcasts.

And if you want to hear more about Powell River, you can listen to Stuart's essay about our time there. He wrote an essay or a poem, really, an ode, an ode to those ferry rides, and it's on an album we call Postcards from Canada. The album is available in bookstores and record stores if you're someone who likes, you know, a real-life CD that you can hold in your hands.

It's also available digitally, places like Apple Music and YouTube and Spotify. Again, it's called Postcards from Canada, and the essay is called Powell River. It's a fantastic essay, maybe my favorite one that Stuart ever wrote from our time touring, so check it out. Okay, that really is all the time we have for today.

Thank you. Check it out. Okay. That really is all the time we have for today. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Greg Duclute is the recording engineer. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. The show is produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.