A return to the old Canadian stomping grounds: Part 2

All righty then – six months isn't too long between integral parts of a strange and wonderful three-part travelogue. Is it?

Yeah, it is. So what happened to me?

Eaten by bears?

Suddenly and mysteriously conscripted by the CIA to become a crucial and dynamic part of a big spy operation?

Abducted by pikeys?

No. Nothing so dramatic.

I'm lazy. And I moved again. So I didn't write anything.

Mostly, it was due to complete and utter slackness.

Providing I finish this Part 2 of my big trip back to Canada in less than two days, we'll keep this gap to six months ... and the same year. I think I can do this. I'm in ... The Zone. Or not as Zoned Out as usual? Yeah, that's it.

Who knows ... I may even get Part 3 (Vancouver! And the wanton destruction of my pal Richard's liver!) finished before 2016 too!

So where were we? Here's the Rumpus:

I'd returned to Canada for my dad John's funeral. That was in June. In the last blog (Part 1), I was leaving Napanee and heading back to Beer Bro Don's place in Burlington, for a proper, extended catch-up (translation: more beer drinking days) ... with him, and as many old Humber College pals as could be dragged out of the cedar chest, with mothballs successfully shaken off. The concept here: once in the air and off to another place, it's ideal and the most fun to try and stop and see everyone you know along the way. And so, here I was close to where I went to College, and, some of the people I knew so well during those fun, foggy, fantastic days!

Once again Don met me at Pearson Airport in T.O., after my short flight from Kingston.  I particularly enjoyed a total Bruce-Willis-In-Die-Hard-2 moment when I got off the one-hour flight, when a sharp-eyed lady at the terminal watched me slowly negotiate the (tiny made-for-midgets) steps for getting off the (miniature, shrunken-Mattel-toy-sized) plane – and asked if I'd like a ride to the baggage claim via cart.

Hells to the yes I would!

My cart driver arrived quickly after the kindly lady radioed for same. As he pulled up, I noticed he had a bit of a wild-eyed look about him, and I thought: "Well you know, driving a cart around the airport to ferry gimps like me around must get boring ... I wonder how he has fun ... ?"

This photo may be a slightly embellished representation of my golf-cart
trip through Toronto's airport. Bruce may or may not have been with
me on the cart. But I sure was ... as was the wild-eyed driver. This is,
clearly, how these driver guys have fun – speeding along,  narrowly missing
loads of people in our way (um, I mean, folks walking ...)

I got my answer to that question immediately. Like the airport maintenance man did for Bruce Willis at the end of Die Hard 2, my driver stomped on the accelerator, and we were off – at top speed. UNSAFE speed, actually.

But hell ... it was fun! 

We narrowly missed small herds of meandering people as they shambled about the airport ... also, we mostly avoided signs and other things scattered about the aisles. The actual cart had a flashing light on it, but I soon realised that didn't do much good for the people walking in the same direction we were – they'd only see the flashing light after we'd gone by ... or it would have been the last thing they'd glimpse as they lay quivering and bloodied, consciousness fading, on the aisle tiles.

My excellent driver (hey – excellence for some people is "he got me there safe and sound". For me, 'excellence' means "he got me there FAST, with a HUGE grin on my face, and, my hair was STRAIGHT BACK!") got me next to the luggage carousel WAY ahead of everyone else who was on my flight. After I got my balance back, I quickly snagged my bag.

Don was on the case, as usual, and waiting for me (in the designated spot where people mill around, waiting for people to shuffle off planes). But of course, the laughs were already well under way ... as you know how lots of people will hold up signs for their off-loading compatriots/family members, so they're easier to spot?

A dramatic re-enactment of the crucial
"Don holding the Chinese sign" moment
at the T.O. airport. You can tell that's
not Don, because this guy is wearing
a tie. Also, that's not real
Chinese text ... 

Well, Don had picked up a sign that was, moments before, being held by a Chinese family (with Chinese text on it).  Don was grinning and brandishing it for me to see. I snorted so hard I almost fell over ... again ...

And once again, we were off ... well, truth be told – not quite. We weren't "off" until well after a prolonged search for where Don's car actually was, in the airport parkade ... hey, it's a big place, with lots of levels, and they all look the same. And, there is no hi-tech gizmo on the beast to make it easily found via SmartPhone. Also, it was Don who had just parked it ...

... and meanwhile, I rather enjoyed sitting there watching Don dart about the parkade level, like Pac-Man, after those magic pills. Or like a mouse being chased by a really big cat.

Anyway, sort of soon, I was in the shotgun seat of the car, chilly-bin / cooler of beery fun in the back seat, ice cold IPA in hand! Much in the same fashion as when I first arrived two weeks prior ... big silly grin firmly affixed to my face.

Only this time, instead of just having one night of boozy high-speed catchup – we knew we had plenty of time to plan. Of course, the tempo would continue to be of the "alarming" variety.

And, as there was ample time to really enjoy several consecutive sunrise/sunsets of "day drinking" (a most noble thing to do when all concerned don't need to be anywhere to make sense, or important decisions).

There were some briefly-mulled concepts of other potential activities, like taking a brewery tour of nearby Nicklebrook. But, we soon realised that nothing short of a house fire, marauding dinosaurs, or attacking terrorists were going to prod us off of the patio at Donny's Bar & Grill (DBG).

You know the scene ... it was summer, warm, and there were no mozzies. There were chairs and a table upon which to rest asses and drinks, respectively. A BBQ lurked, with the promise of hot tasty grilled meat, in one corner. The trek from couch to patio was, at the slowest/drunkest/most hungover possible wobble – :02 seconds.

The famous Man-Eating Lazy Boy Chair, mere inches from the equally
famous DBG Patio. Don's interior design is best called "Feng Schwill"–
everything within easy reach. Especially drinks.

And the fridge was right there. And so was one of the two toilets. Besides, we could easily "virtually tour" Nicklebrook by drinking the many, many litres of their fine product already in Don's fridge. And, we could look at photos of the magnificent Nicklebrook operation on the net. And, being really keen Greenies ... we vowed like hell to make sure all the recycled Nicklebrook IPA got in the toilet when we were done processing it. (Well, most of it).

One exceptionally good plan we concocted was almost TOO good, however – as it had little chance of failing, because it didn't involve either of us needing to move off the DBG balcony. As well, it was a simple one: all and sundry friends and former Humber classmates who were available were to show up and have fun at DBG, any time on the Thursday (at least we thought it was Thursday – it was a day with a "y" in it, that much we were sure of!)

And so, Thursday arrived! The weather cooperated! Amigos/amig-ettes amassed as planned! Humber journo-pal Ann Cavanaugh was one of the first to arrive, as was the lovely Jen Jackson, partner of our (recently deceased and much-missed) great mate Pete Bell. As the afternoon progressed, Beer Bro Glenn Hendry and "Mr." Steve Pecar showed up.

The Photographic Evidence – The
Humber journalists unite! Headline:
Beer good; Old friends excellent!

Don and "Upstairs Amy" pretending to like each other.

Glenn (left) and Mr. Pecar opine knowledgeably on the
right-royal mess of drinks and food on the table.

Darkness settles in, and somehow Glenn's hi-viz vest
has been replaced with a red shirt. I blame pikeys.

The photographer (me?) catches Don in mid-list;
Mr. Pecar looks on in bemusement.

The photographer (clearly NOT me) has Glenn and I
boondoggled and vexed as to where the camera
actually is. Maybe ... over there?

Don receives yet another shirt. Apparently
words like "Beer" and the name "Redmond"
appear with alarming regularity on
shirts and things. Often, together.

Ann C. leans in to get a closer look at
the awesomeness that is my most excellent
purple Hawaiian shirt.

Of course, the locals also wandered in –  "Upstairs Amy" and son "Wee James", along with best pal Sandi materialised (hard NOT to do, as Amy, Wee James, hubby Simon, and Sandi often wander in to Don's pad, in true TV SitCom fashion – only here, it's the normal neighbours coming to Kramer, and not Kramer [Don] sliding maniacally in to their apartments).

To say that much of my stay at Don's was a "blur" would be watering down what actually transpired. "Blur" is usually a term deployed when some things are remembered. I'm not entirely sure what we can call this particular event.

Overall, though, it seemed (by photographic evidence) that we had a blast. Can't speak for Don's neighbours though ...

There was that enormous apple pie Mr. Pecar brought. Glenn was always easily spotted due to his hi-viz vest, until he changed rapidly and surreptitiously into a red t-shirt. (Damn pikeys!) Big smiles on everyone's faces also helped to lend evidence to some serious fun ensuing.

Most fun must eventually end ... or at the very least, it's told to calm down and move along. I knew I had to ultimately wend my way westward, to Vancouver, for another "visitation" with old friends there – enroute to a return flight to Wellington. So the fun wouldn't really end ... it would just relocate. "On location", as it were.

Sadly though, the centre of All Things Fun in Ontario (DBG) had to be abandoned, by me ... but not before a trek to Don's favourite crafty bar, Ribeye Jack's, to meet the good people there – who regularly look after (and medicate) Don when he's not either at work, or at DBG's.  "Upstairs Amy" and "Wee James" proved once again why they're the bestest characters in this sitcom (of the ones who keep Don out of jail and rehab, anyway!), as Amy drove us to the bar ... because of course we started the morning with more beer! Once there, Beer Technician Kylie kept us well hydrated with superior IPA-ness ...

... and when it finally came time to catch that plane west, Amy transported everyone (including me and my luggage) to the airport to catch what turned out to be my cheapest AND worst flight yet!

More on that shortly ... as Part 3 (and the last part) of this travelin' saga will soon unfold – I hit Vancouver, and proceed to slowly and methodically help my pals Richard, Steve and Dale destroy their livers!

Until then, I've been