Remembering Montreal
Right about now, I suppose John Atkinson and Wes Phillips are pulling into a rest stop, somewhere off the New York State Thruway. The sky is Sinatra blue and the air whispers secrets of spring. The doors to the Land Cruiser shut with a gentle thud, and the guys stroll into a 7-11 for some black peppered beef jerky, Nacho Cheesier Doritos, and a couple of tall Mountain Dews.