By Claire McNeill, Times Staff Writer, Tampa Bay Times; March 22, 2018
MONTREAL
The whole scheme felt improbable, even as Amtrak officials tagged our luggage and stamped our tickets with CANADA printed in red. Even as we shuffled to the train platform and claimed our plush blue seats.
We’d cooked up this trip so long ago, half a beer into a steamy spring happy hour in St. Petersburg. My friends Zack and Zack and I had been sitting at a bar, scrolling through tour dates for the National, one of our favorite indie rock bands — no stops south of the Mason-Dixon line — when we fell into “what if” territory.
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