A quarter-Canadian from Cleveland explores his roots–and melts your face with joy.

There’s an idea most Americans have a tendency to learn as children. The idea that their nation may be the ‘greatest.’ But this by no means stuck with Dave Hill, even though he was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio. His grandfather, you observe, was from Canada (Clinton, Ontario, to be specific). And every Sunday at dinner he’d remind Dave and other people within earshot that it was in fact Canada, this magical and mysterious land just about Car parking the Moose: One American’s Epic Search to discover His Incredible Canadian Root base across the mighty Lake Erie, that was the ‘greatest.’

It was an idea that took keep. While his peers kept busy with soccer, basketball and baseball, hockey became the only sport for Dave. Whenever bacon was served at home, he’d make sure to mention his preference for the Canadian range. Likewise, if a track by Triumph emerged on the radio, he’d be the first ever to require it to be cranked up as noisy as it would go. And he was even more vocal about the vast merits of the Canadian health care program than any nine-year-old you’d ever need to meet. (That last part is a rest, but hopefully it creates the idea that he was so into Canada that it was actually kind of weird.)

In later years he actually visited Canada once or twice. But now, motivated with a publisher’s payment of many hundred dollars (Canadian) in cash, he offers travelled from coast to coast, reconnecting with his heritage in such places as Montreal, Moose Jaw, Regina, Winnipeg, Merrickville and of course Clinton, Ontario, getting together with a range of Canadians, coming in contact with things he most likely shouldn’t and having escapades too numerous and rich in detail to be achieved justice in this blurb.

The result, he promises, is ‘the greatest Canada-based literary thrill ride of your daily life.’