Neil Peart - Ghost Rider Travels on the Healing Road - dokument [*.pdf] T r a v e l s O n T h e H e a l i n g R o a d n e i l p e a r t neil peart GHOSTRIDER. But right here, we will certainly reveal you unbelievable thing to be able constantly read guide Ghost Rider: Travels On The Healing Road By Neil Peart. Peart, Neil. Ghost rider: travels on the healing road / Neil Peart also issued as: (epub); (pdf). 1. Peart, Neil — Journeys.

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A bold narrative written by a man trying to stay alive by staying on the move. Within a ten-month period, Neil Peart suffered family losses so. DOWNLOAD BOOK Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road => http:// Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing. Editorial Reviews. Review. "Well-written, harrowing and filled with just-right touches of levity, [this book] is a necessary story about the human condition.

By this point in my life I knew that bad things could happen, even to me. I had no definite plans, just a vague notion to head north along the Ottawa River, then turn west, maybe across Canada to Vancouver to visit my brother Danny and his family.

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Or, I might head northwest through the Yukon and Northwest Territories to Alaska, where I had never travelled, then catch the ferry down the coast of British Columbia toward Vancouver. Out in the driveway, the red motorcycle sat on its centerstand, beaded with raindrops and gleaming from my careful preparation.

The motor was warming on fast idle, a plume of white vapor jetting out behind, its steady hum muffled by my earplugs and helmet. I locked the door without looking back. Standing by the bike, I checked the load one more time, adjusting the rain covers and shock cords. The proverbial deep breath gave me the illusion of commitment, to the day and to the journey, and I put my left boot onto the footpeg, swung my right leg high over the heavily laden bike, and settled into the familiar saddle.

My well-travelled BMW RGS the adventure-touring model was packed with everything I might need for a trip of unknown duration, to unknown destinations. Two hard-shell luggage cases flanked the rear wheel, while behind the saddle I had stacked a duffel bag, tent, sleeping bag, inflatable foam pad, groundsheet, tool kit, and a small red plastic gas can.

I wanted to be prepared for anything, anywhere. Because I sometimes liked to travel faster than the posted speed limits, especially on the wide open roads of the west — where it was safe in terms of visible risks, but dangerous in terms of hidden enforcement — I had decided to try using a small radar detector, which I tucked into my jacket pocket, with its earpiece inside the helmet.

A few other necessities, additional tools, and my little beltpack filled the tankbag in front of me, and a roadmap faced up from a clear plastic cover on top. The rest of the baggage I would carry away with me that morning had less bulk, but more weight — the invisible burdens that had driven me to depart into what already seemed like a kind of exile. My right hand gently rolled on the throttle a little more, left hand wiped away the raindrops already collecting on my clear faceshield, then pulled in the clutch lever.

My left foot toed the shifter down into first gear, and I moved slowly up the lane between the wet trees. At the top I paused to lock the gate behind me, wiped off my faceshield again, and rode out onto the muddy gravel road, away from all that.

Just over a year before that morning, on the night of August 10, , a police car had driven down that same driveway to bring us news of the first tragedy. That morning my wife Jackie and I had kissed and hugged our nineteen-year-old daughter, Selena, as she set out to drive back to Toronto, ready to start university that September.

As night came on, the hour passed when we should have heard from her, and Jackie became increasingly worried. When I saw headlights coming down the driveway to where the house lights showed the markings of a police car, I remembered the previous summer when the provincial police came to ask about a robbery down the road, and I thought it must be something like that.

Instinctively, I took her hand as we went out to the driveway to face the local police chief, Ernie Woods. He led us inside and showed us the fax he had received from the Ontario Provincial Police, and we tried to take in his words: Then we tried to read the black lines on the paper, tried to make sense of the incomprehensible, to believe the unacceptable.

My mind was reeling in a hopeless struggle to absorb those words. Single car accident, apparently lost control, dead at the scene. No, Jackie breathed, then louder, NO, again and again, as she collapsed to the floor in the front hall. At first I just stood there, paralyzed with horror and shock, and it was only when I saw Jackie start to get up that I felt afraid of what she might do, and I fell down beside her and held her.

Our big white Samoyed, Nicky, was frightened and confused by all this, and he barked frantically and tried to push between us.

Ghost Rider

I held onto Jackie until she was overcome by the numbing protection of shock, and asked Chief Ernie to call our local doctor. Time was all meaningless now, but at some point Nicky crept away to hide somewhere and Dr. Spunt came and tried to say comforting things, but we were unreceptive. Sometime later, Chief Ernie left, then Dr. Spunt too, and for the rest of the night I walked endlessly around the living-room carpet what I learned later is called the search mode, in which I was unconsciously trying to find the lost one, just as some animals and birds do , while Jackie sat and stared into space, neither of us saying anything.

In the gray twilight of morning we put the downcast Nicky in the car and headed for Toronto, driving through the rain to face the end of the world. Just before those headlights came down the driveway to turn our relatively pleasant and tranquil lives into a waking nightmare, Jackie had been fretting on the porch while I blithely watched a TV documentary about the Mormon trek west in It quoted a woman who had survived the ordeal about the terrible hardships they had endured, and the last words I remember were, The only reason I am alive is because I could not die.

That terrible phrase would come back to haunt me in the months that followed. And neither did the two of us, really, though I tried to do everything I could for her. As my life suddenly forced me to learn more than anyone ever wanted to know about grief and bereavement, I learned the sad fact that most couples do not stay together after losing a child.

So wrong, so unfair, so cruel, to heap more pain and injustice on those who had suffered so much already. In my blissful ignorance, I would have imagined the opposite — that those who most shared the loss would cling to each other. But no. We had made it through all that, and now the loss of what we each treasured most would drive us apart.

During those first awful weeks in Toronto our friends and family filled the House of Mourning day and night, trying to distract us and help us deal with this unbearable reality as best they could, but Jackie remained inconsolable, pining and withering visibly into a fragile, suffering wraith.

It was as though she knew she needed me, but her tortured heart had no place in it for me, or anybody. She had to be coaxed into eating anything at all, and talked of suicide constantly.

I had to keep a close watch on her sedatives and sleeping pills, and make sure she was never left alone. When she did surrender to a drugged sleep, she held a framed picture of Selena in her arms. Brad and Rita had known great tragedy in their own lives, so they were a good choice to help Jackie and me begin our exile. After they went home, other friends came to stay with us for a week or two at a time, and eventually we moved into a small flat near Hyde Park, where we stayed for six months.

We started seeing a grief counsellor, Dr. Deborah, several times a week at the Traumatic Stress Clinic, which seemed to help a little, and at least got us outside occasionally. It was hard for me to try to force Jackie even to take a walk, for she was tortured by everything she saw — by advertisements for back-to-school clothes Selena!

These same triggers stabbed me too, of course, and I also felt bleak and morose and often tearful, but it seemed I was already building a wall against things which were too painful for me to deal with, wearing mental blinkers when I was outside in the busy streets of London.

I would just flinch and turn away from such associations, but Jackie remained raw and vulnerable, unable to protect herself from the horror of memory. In an effort to keep her eating nutritiously, I even learned to cook simple meals in our little kitchenette thanks to the food hall in the Marks and Spencer store on Oxford Street, which offered cooking instructions with every item, even fresh fish and vegetables , calling myself Chef Ellwood, after my unfortunate middle name.

But none of it was enough. The following January, when we were finally thinking about returning from London to try to find some kind of life back in Canada, Jackie began to suffer from severe back pain and nocturnal coughing.

Deborah finally prevailed on me to make an executive decision and get a doctor anyway. On the eve of our departure, Jackie was diagnosed with terminal cancer the doctors called it cancer, but of course it was a broken heart , and a second nightmare began. Jackie, however, received the news almost gratefully — as though this was the only acceptable fate for her, the only price she could pay. After months of misery, despair, and anger often directed at me , as the handiest object , she never uttered a harsh word after that diagnosis, and rarely even cried.

To her, the illness was a terrible kind of justice. To me, however, it was simply terrible. And unbearable. Two years previously we had enjoyed a memorable family vacation in that pleasant island-nation, and it offered sufficient medical services to allow us to continue providing home care for Jackie, even when she began to decline sharply, needing oxygen most of the time, slipping away both mentally and physically, until a series of strokes brought a relatively merciful end.

Exhausted and desolated, I flew back to Toronto, staying there just long enough to organize the house and put it on the market, with more help from family and friends, then got away to the house on the lake, still not knowing what I was going to do.

But as the long, empty days and nights of that dark summer slowly passed, it began to seem like the only thing to do. Because of some strength or flaw of character, I never seemed to question why I should survive, but only how — though that was certainly a big enough question to deal with at the time.

I remember thinking, "How does anyone survive something like this? And if they do, what kind of person comes out the other end? Something would come up. In any case, I was now setting out on my motorcycle to try to figure out what kind of person I was going to be, and what kind of world I was going to live in. Throughout that first day on the road, as I traced the rain-slick highway north across the rocky face of Quebec, my shaky resolve would be tested a few times.

Tense and shivering, peering through the turbulent wash of spray behind a lumber truck for a chance to pass, more than once I thought about packing it in. Who needs this? Why not turn around and go back to the house by the lake, hide there a little longer? When I allowed myself to consider turning back, the thought that kept me riding on was, Then what? For over a month I had tried living there alone, with occasional visits from friends to help take me out of myself, and I had still felt myself beginning to slip into a deep, dark hole.

I had tried the Hermit mode, now it was time to try the Gypsy mode. Travelling had always been a more or less normal condition for me, not only as the necessary environment of a touring musician for the past 23 years with Rush, but also as a kind of escape from all that.

Paperback , pages. More Details Original Title. Other Editions Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Ghost Rider , please sign up. Lists with This Book. Community Reviews. Showing Rating details. Sort order. Oct 31, Chip rated it it was amazing. Man, some of you people are a tough crowd! I don't see any of you publishing a book or touring the world with a megaband.

This book exists for several reasons - its a chronicle of what happened the year his wife and daughter died and how he coped. Why write a book? This way he can say 'oh, I wrote this nice book about it, maybe you'd care to read it instead of annoy me?

Reading the book s there's more than one actually expand upon the lyrics of many Rush songs and broaden the impact of the music for those intelligent and unlazy enough to find the linkages. Let's take an easy one: You can listen to the song and its catchy, stands okay all by itself, but after you've read the book you understand the imagery of the song.

What seems metaphorical lyrically is actual fact put to music Third reason: There's no grief so great that a hundred thousand miles and countless bottles of Macallan won't numb He didn't write this book for you no pictures, sorry! Finally, this book is a closure, a retirement. The author is saying goodbye to his former life, including the fans who expect too much and just won't let go, and he's moving on to happiness with his new family.

Ride on, MacDuff! We of intellect salute you and your accomplishments; let the rabble of narrow minds and pea brains be nothing more than a shadow in your rear-view mirror.

View all 6 comments. It's been several years since I've read this book, so I'm documenting my impressions from that vantage point. However, this book still resonates for me as an exquisite one. Neil Peart is the incredibly talented drummer in legendary Canadian rock band Rush, who were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame a few years ago.

Rush's most famous and commercially successful so It's been several years since I've read this book, so I'm documenting my impressions from that vantage point. Rush's most famous and commercially successful song is "Tom Sawyer," and if you watch its official music video you will be entranced by its complex, inventive and forceful drum solo.

It is iconic and most likely not that easy to do! I had heard that something tragic occurred in Neil Peart's personal life, and through internet searching had discovered that his year old daugher Selena had died in a car accident. In addition, within less than a year's time his longtime partner and mother of Selena Jackie also passed away. Neil Peart is an avid reader. While other bands Rush would tour with might raise hell and cavort with groupies, Neil would be off in a secluded and quiet area reading away.

To that end, he has an extensive vocabulary and naturally became Rush's lyricist. Over the decades and as an organic evolution of his talents, Peart took a stab at writing his own books.

I'm not certain if this book was the first he wrote since he has written other travelogues as well , but this one is hands down the most provocative and emotional It will take you on a ride that is very satisfying. It will tear your heart out and put it right back by the end of the book The sheer irony of this book is just how emotionally reserved Neil Peart is in public, yet he truly bared his soul in the most personal way recounting the deaths of his daughter and life partner, and his resultant journey through grief.

Read Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road by Neil Peart for online ebook

The honesty is jaw-dropping and riveting. As my brother and I read this book in tandem, he would comment daily as we read along Perhaps writing this book was therapeutic for Peart's bereavement process, but it also was a selfless gift to the reader. The book launches with Neil and his life partner Jackie sending off their daughter Selena as she drives to college. By that evening, the telltale lights of a police vehicle are winding up the driveway.

In painful detail, Peart recounts the moment they get the news of their daughter's death by car accident. In very honest and thoughtful prose, he takes you along through their reactions to this tragic news, the resultant effect on their relationship, and how they each deal with the grief.

Within months Jackie is diagnosed with breast cancer and its as if she's already given up on her own life in the wake of her daughter's death. Indeed, within less than a year's time, Jackie also dies. One of Neil's passions is travelling on his BMW motorcycle. Alone in his grief, one day he decides to get on that motorcycle and keep going.

He embarks on an extensive road trip from Canada through America, as if he's literally riding away from his grief. I love the stories that he shares of the weather, people and animals he encounters during his travels, as well as diners, restaurants and lodging he patronized. He likens it to a Jack London book. All along the way he confides in his emotional journey through grief. As the book nears its end, Neil has come to a place to his utter surprise of thinking about dating again.

The book has a very beautiful and poignant ending. This was truly a diamond of a book that I will always treasure. View all 8 comments. Dec 15, Scott rated it did not like it. He is a writer at heart, and wrote this book as he travelled around the continent trying to overcome the tragedies. I am a huge fan of Rush, and I've always loved dissecting Peart's lyrics for, really my entire life. The book was a huge disappointment for me. Though I know he wrote this book for himself and no one else, his arrogance was frustrating for me to handle.

Some of the book is amusing, and I like travelogues as much as the next guy, but I don't think this book is as important in the literary world as its supporters would have you believe; for Mr.

Peart, definitely--for anyone else, it's a tedious and disappointing read. View all 9 comments. Sep 10, Brainycat rated it it was amazing Shelves: This was a fantastic read, but I don't know if it will go down in the annals of history as a great book.

Also, I've gone through a number of huge changes in my life recently and since Neil's lyrics have been there for me through good times and bad, I thought I would give this book a try.

Neil Peart is the drummer for the immensely successful band Rush. During the course of a year and a half, he lost his 19yo daughter in a car This was a fantastic read, but I don't know if it will go down in the annals of history as a great book. During the course of a year and a half, he lost his 19yo daughter in a car wreck and his wife to cancer. Consumed with soul-crushing grief, he hopped on his motorcycle and traveled over 55k miles across western Canada, the west and southwest of the US, and down through Mexico and Belize.

He stashed his bike in Mexico during the latter part of winter, and returned to his home in Quebec through the following spring and summer, then flew back to his bike and rode it home. Two more roadtrips are documented in the ensuing months, though of much shorter and more focused duration. Honestly, though, the roadtrips cease to be an end unto themselves after he gets back to Quebec, and become more scenery for the changes happening inside him.

As a travelogue it works wonderfully for me. He writes about the things I'd notice, though he's much more concerned about food and booze than I am. He's an incredibly well read and thoughtful man and the depth and breadth of his knowledge spills across each page effortlessly. He doesn't just describe the scenery, he places it into ecological and geopolitical context while he ponders his own emotional state with ideas from most of the greatest writers ever.

His relationship to his motorcycle and the roads provide a sound material counterpoint to the internal turmoil he wrestles with constantly and makes every mile seem real and vital. He writes about his encounters with strangers and friends and family with equal aplomb, capturing the essence of what he felt at the time without sharing so many details the emotional landmarks get lost. The format of the book is mostly redacted journal entries and letters he writes to a few close friends, interspersed with short recollections to frame the letters and maintain continuity.

For all his protestations of being essentially a shy loner, it's obvious he thrives on the company of people he loves and trusts and it's in his letters where you really see him work through his grief. Most of the letters are to his friend Brutus, who was originally planning to join him for this adventure but unfortunately got himself invited into the US penal system shortly before their planned departure.

Brutus begins to take on an almost mythic quality to Neil, a larger than life hero who is equal parts confessional and unquestioning sympathetic listener. Brutus takes on the role of Neil's "better judgement", and several times Neil refrains from too much excess because Brutus isn't there to take care of him. I've seen several reviews that say the middle of the book is "whiny" - it's a book about a man getting over the deaths of his two greatest loves!

What did they think it was going to read like? I feel he does an excellent job of keeping the writing moving and describing the tides of emotion that wash over him, even as he too slowly for himself to see at the time processes his feelings and puts himself back together. I felt the ending of the book was rushed see what I did there? I would have liked to see the book either end one chapter sooner, or expound on how he discovered room in his life for love again in the same sort of detail he used to describe how he put himself back together again.

I can't relate specifically to Neil's situation, but in the last 19 months I've given up a 25 year long relationship with alcohol, gotten divorced, changed jobs, completely changed my living situation, lost my cat companion of 16 years, and basically re-engineered my life from the ground up.

The best part of this book, for me, was how he visualized and verbalized his "baby soul"; how he related to it and felt it were a small flame that needed nurturing and protecting.

The therapist I talked to when dealing with my alcoholism used a very similar metaphor, so it resonated deeply with me. As Neil learns to cope day to day with the jagged holes in his life, different aspects of his personality emerge and he gives each of them names, not unlike the heroes of greek tragedies who are alternately possessed by different gods archetypes as they change through the story.

While the topic of this book is grieving, and the format is a travelogue, this is ultimately a book full of hope and an homage to the triumph of the human spirit to dig deeper into itself than anyone could believe possible.

Neil is a rationalist much like myself, and there aren't enough books by rationalists dealing with deep emotional pain, IMHO. To watch someone go through the healing process without the crutch of superstition was very empowering for me.

View all 3 comments. Nov 02, Buck Swindle rated it liked it. Neil's writing style is wonderful. He is open, honest and portrays his life and observations in a unique light. The events that transpired as the impetus for this journey and book were truly tragic.

Things no one should ever be forced to endure. Having said that, the middle of the book gets whiny. What struck me about this was that because of the authors career and subsequent success, he had the opportunity t As an Ex-Pat Canadian and a motorcyclist, it was in my DNA to read this book.

What struck me about this was that because of the authors career and subsequent success, he had the opportunity to run away from his life and what had happened before having to face them and wallow rightfully so in 'woe is me'. For the rest of us, we don't have that luxury. We have to go back to work, pay the bills, participate in the mundane day to day tasks that aren't going to wait while we avoid the grieving process.

Makes me glad I gave up music lessons to chase girls and download motorcycles. D Great: I bought a GS and then another one and they have been the best internal combustion decisions I have ever made. I have Neil to partially thank for that. View 1 comment. Mar 25, Stephanie "Jedigal" rated it did not like it Shelves: My friend's review of a different Peart book reminded me of this one. I borrowed this from my cousin's bookshelf back closer to its original publication.

Sorry to say, I pretty much hated it. Have loved Rush since I was a teen, in large part due to their technically complex yet passionate and moving musical arrangements, and in large part due to Peart's insanely intellectual lyrics, which combine to complement each other perfectly. But, as I am not the first to say, Peart comes off primarily as My friend's review of a different Peart book reminded me of this one. But, as I am not the first to say, Peart comes off primarily as an arrogant jerk.

I'm sorry for the circumstances under which he came to write this, but - well - losses happen to jerks and to nice people too, and in this case it seemed they happened to a jerk.

The best I can say is - he is probably a really honest jerk, because he doesn't make himself look good here. This book totally confirmed me in my view that - for me - its usually best to NOT know too much about the personal lives of entertainers. I'd rather respect their work if I do, that is , let that work stand on its own, and be grateful for that.

View all 4 comments. Jan 05, Michael rated it liked it. If I were looking for great literature, I would choose another book. But what I expected from this book is what I received. I was able to share in Neil's pain and his search for healing and understanding after the death of his daughter in an automobile accident and then, much too soon, the death of his wife from illness.

Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road

The writing of this book was therapy for a broken man. He used a solitary motorcycle trek over thousands of miles to rid himself of the many demons that crowded his mind and spi If I were looking for great literature, I would choose another book. He used a solitary motorcycle trek over thousands of miles to rid himself of the many demons that crowded his mind and spirit after these terrible personal losses.

The resultant book was made from the journals he kept along the way. I can understand why this book may not appeal to the general reading audience. It is not exciting and there is no plot.

Also, I have had opportunities to travel over most of the U. If you have read a few of my reviews, you know that I have some history of music from the mid 60's to the present.

But for whatever reason, I did not connect with Rush until So, I am just getting to know Alex, Geddy, and Neil. Perhaps my newly found interest in the band and its players is why I may be a bit more tolerant of Neil's dry prose. Also, I can be comfortable around people and have always had the ability to fit in I am also very content to be alone.

I get it, about how Neil needed to make that solitary trip on the healing road May 09, Laura rated it really liked it.

The reader is brought into his inner thoughts through his journals and letters to dear friends and family. The level of his grief is profound, and for me it meant that I sometimes needed to take a break from the book. And his journey through that grief goes on, and on, just like the Ghost Rider.

The author is very gracious for allowing the reader into this tender and painful part of his life. I was amazed at the kindness he displayed toward his own pain-- noting that his grief had splintered him into many characters, each of whom served a different purpose in helping him cope. He seemed to have a tenderness toward these fractured aspects of himself and treated them as if they were all friends.

It was a very profound lesson in moving on by keeping moving but moving in a previously unforseen and unknowable direction. I was relieved and satisfied that eventually he is able to exit "Death Valley" and find access to joy again.

One thing that I found very interesting in the book were the common literary references didn't expect this from a drummer in a rock band. Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road giving you information deeper and different ways, you can find any guide out there but there is no reserve that similar with Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road. It gives you thrill reading through journey, its open up your own personal eyes about the thing which happened in the world which is maybe can be happened around you.

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We highly recommend you for having this specific Ghost Rider:I'm sorry for the circumstances under which he came to write this, but - well - losses happen to jerks and to nice people too, and in this case it seemed they happened to a jerk. Man, some of you people are a tough crowd! When I saw headlights coming down the driveway to where the house lights showed the markings of a police car, I remembered the previous summer when the provincial police came to ask about a robbery down the road, and I thought it must be something like that.

That much I could manage. Remove the spark plugs and clean them, twice. WordPress Shortcode. Show related SlideShares at end. A few other necessities, additional tools, and my little beltpack filled the tankbag in front of me, and a roadmap faced up from a clear plastic cover on top. Great book, tragic and hopeful story, recommended to RUSH fans and those who love journal soul baring. In the gray twilight of morning we put the downcast Nicky in the car and headed for Toronto, driving through the rain to face the end of the world.

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