Rolling into Havre (pronounced "Hav -er") is something that prospectors and pioneers have done since the birth of this nation, and we may have been the first Irish band to do so.
We didn't get funny looks from behind curtained windows, or the canned music didn't come to a scratchy halt when we entered the hotel lobby, but if it had, we wouldn't have been too surprised.
The town still has the feel of a western frontier, perched up in the high lonesome plains about 2 hours from the Canadian border , and the noon day sun was steadily melting muddy snow from the quiet streets.
Between soundcheck and gig , I had time for a quick walk around the town, which presented me with the occasional bar/casino, closed down cafes and stores, and in the thawing afternoon, a train yard which , for the enthusiast, evokes all the wide-eyed romance so many of us little boys-on-the-inside enjoy , with a statue of James J. Hill, founder of the Northern Line, and resident of St Paul MN ( one of my favorite towns) front and center outside the station. Yeah, I spent a little time.
Casinos and motels dot the main drag, which is also padded with some of the more modern and ubiquitous fast food chain peddling burger or "chicken"
The gig came and went, the sun rose above the snow-flecked town, and our time in this little patch of our great planet was coming to a close. Plus, I was hungry.......
I opted for "4B's", the 24 hour diner across the street with a casino attached, and grabbed a booth . In the corner , four R.O.M.E.O.s ( Retired Old Men Eating Out), chatted over coffee, until one of them explained he'd better go "or she'll wonder where I am".
a smiling young local girl served me coffee and eggs, breezing around the fading decor making sure we all had enough of everything, and about a half hour and eight bucks later, it was time for the road again . Pulling away I wondered what it must be like to live here. I'm guessing I'll never know.
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