The Really, Really Awesome Long Weekend

I stood at the end of the dock, my toes curled around the last board, staring at the inviting waters of Lake Couchiching.

I've done this a thousand times at a thousand docks all around this great province and my method of entry has always been the same: I just dive right in. This morning, however, I hesitated. In fact, I remained rooted in the same spot for ten solid minutes.

Was I afraid of giant pike biting off my toes? Was the water too cold? No and no. The answer was far simpler. It was the morning after Brian and Sue's Annual August Long Weekend Bonfire/Party and I was hungover as hell.

It was the capper on what was a awesome weekend for me.

But it didn't exactly start off that way...

Crystal Meth and Car Safety

I was doing my part-time delivery job on Friday night, with a couple of days dog-sitting for my daughter in rustic Millbrook awaiting me and the J Man when I was done (with the bonfire party to follow), when I got a Jimmy Guaco's call in downtown Oshawa. I parked in a municipal lot right across the street, although - and this is an important distinction - not directly across the street as I discovered when I was inside the burrito restaurant.

My car - foolishly left unlocked - was just out of my sight.

That fact proved to be important as I was approached by a crystal meth head/part-time hooker as I was leaving my car. I noticed her when I pulled in the lot as she was two rows back, staring at her reflection in the side mirror of a car that most certainly was not hers.

She poked her head in my window and mumbled "can...can I help you?" I said no, I'm good and walked across the street, not giving her a second thought. When I  returned to my car, I found my console wide open and a small ID holder containing my bank card, one credit card and my driver's licence, missing.

Excellent message

And there was my Crystal, still in the same spot, staring at her reflection in the side mirror of the car two rows back.

"Were you in my car?!" I shout as I walk over to her. "No," she said, all angelic-like. "Are you missing something?"

"Yeah, some ID that's not going to do you any good. Look, sweetheart, you were the only one out here," I mutter, trying to keep my anger as well as my frustration at my own stupidity in check. "Who else could have done it?"

"It wasn't me, I swear," she insisted. "But I'll help you look."

I waved off her offer, told her to beat it (she returned to the car mirror), and started looking through the mess on the floor of my car, not expecting to find anything. But after a very short search I found it hiding under the canopy of bank receipts and napkins.

I must of walked out when the heist wasn't quite finished, or perhaps it was someone else entirely (not likely) and she was an innocent bystander. In any case, lesson(s) learned. And because I couldn't be a hundred per cent sure it was her, because I found my stuff and because it's best not to piss off the street walking community if you can help it, I apologized for accusing her as I drove out.

I think she said something like "Hmmmph." I know she was still looking in that car mirror.

She sees everything, that girl. Including her next mark.

The Long and Winding Road and Starry Starry Night

The road to the classic-looking farmhouse on the road to Peterborough shared by my daughter Adrianne and my son-in-law Greg, their beautiful kids (there's usually at least five at the house, including three of my grandchildren), and their two dogs is long and winding, just like this paragraph.

Dark, too, when you take an unfamiliar route with just one headlight.

My GPS told me to take a series of country roads in Durham Region's extreme north-west that would eventually take us to Highway 115, just one exit south of Adrianne's cut-off.

All these roads were dark and my night vision ain't what it used to be, so I was at the mercy of the darkness whenever I had to shut off my high beams. Which was more often than I liked.

The night sky looked sorta exactly like this.

The bends come up awful sudden when you can't see, I can tell you with some authority. That's valuable information I am passing on to you, so make sure to get your headlights in proper working order. Oh, and lock your doors in downtown Oshawa. I learned that too.

In any event, there was a lot  of "slow down Dad!" and "don't hit that fox Dad" before we eventually made it to the farmhouse, located about 20 kilometres southwest of Peterborough and just a couple of clicks from the village of Millbrook.

And as I got out of the car I looked up and was immediately struck by the beauty of the night sky. So many stars! With the lights and pollution of the city left far behind, the celestial bodies took advantage of their opportunity to shine. I hadn't seen a sky like this since  I stood in the middle of the northern Australian outback in '89.

It was a beautiful thing.

A Squirting Akbash, Serena Ryder and Butter Tart Beauties

I should introduce the dogs Jake and I were 'sitting' on the long weekend.

Duchess, a friendly Black Lab is the grand dame of this household, having been in Greg's family for years. Hunter, on the other hand, is the new kid on the block. He's half Akbash, a Turkish livestock guardian breed that can weigh upwards of 130 pounds, and is already the size of Duchess at just eight months.

Both have spent time at the Third Floor Loft in Oshawa but this was the first time dog-sitting them both and all went well until I checked in on them at bedtime (mine) on the first night.

They were nowhere to be found, but one of them, and possibly both, had left calling cards.

The dogs. Mostly they're adorable

There was shit everywhere. There was shit in the middle of the kitchen. There was shit at the back of the kitchen. There was shit under the table. There was shit ... okay, there wasn't any shit on top of the table, but there was shit to the left of me and there was shit to the right of me. And all but one pile had the unmistakable texture of chocolate pudding.

One of these damn dogs had the squirts but which one? And why was there one offering that was 'normal' in consistency?

One of those answers came to me when I found the dogs, who were both hiding by the back door with guilty looks plastered all over their adorable faces. No doubt in my mind that the second dog saw all that squirting going on and wanted in on the action.


Anyway, I shooed the dogs outside, cleaned up the mess, brought the dogs back in for the night and went to bed, where I slept the sleep of angels.

I've suffered with the omnipresent humidity that has plagued Southern Ontario for the entire summer (especially the Third Floor Loft), so the cool country breezes were a blessing I cherished both nights we spent at the farmhouse.

As I write this they were the only cool nights I've experienced all summer.

I rose early to let the dogs out, where I discovered both ♫who let the dogs out♫(me) and which dog had the bowel issues (Hunter). I thought for sure it was Duchess (sorry girl), but one look at poor Hunter squatting and squirting on the back lawn every five seconds was enough evidence for me.

I felt bad for the pup.

Downtown Millbrook

Jake and I fed the dogs and spent some time with them through the morning, and we were just getting ready to go into town when I poked my head in the kitchen and found SHIT EVERYWHERE. Again.

It was under the table, around the table, in the front of the kitchen and in the back of the kitchen and everywhere in between. But after seeing the look on Hunter's face it was pretty hard to get mad at him, so I shooed the dogs outside and once again cleaned up after them.

Jake, by the way, stayed  far away from this operation.

With the kitchen swabbed down and Hunter  promising he'd be good while we were gone (I could see the sincerity in his eyes), the J Man and I ventured down the road a piece and into the village of Millbrook, home (as the sign proudly declares) of singer/songwriter/pop star Serena Ryder.

Millbrook's only celebrity

The downtown is just one block long but its history is well preserved. The architecture is gorgeous, there is a thriving theatre community (4th Line Theatre) and the butter tarts at the Pastry Peddler (which has  two local breweries - The  Publican and Smithavens - on tap) are matched only by the beauty of the staff.

But the pizza place I sourced out online was vacant, so I took Jake back to the farm, told him to take the dogs for a walk and went back on my own to look around the village. I found the grocery store (Foodland), a pizza joint (Bewdley Pizza) and a local bar called Mo's Tavern.

That's Mo's as in Maureen (who was outside  on the patio when I walked in), though they're not afraid to reference Moe's Tavern from The Simpson's in their bar decor. I would too.

Serena Ryder

So I whiled away a half hour or so in Mo's while my pizza was cooking, drinking a Molson Export (at least it was an ale, I told myself) while  chatting with a few locals about almost meeting Serena Ryder, the curious and controversial case of funding for parents with autistic children, and who has the best BBQ in town, which, I was told, was the guy sitting on my right.

Then it was back to the farm and Jake and the dogs, with a really expensive but also really, really cheesy pizza, which I enjoyed with a few Naughty Neighbours (the beer) and a Fat Tug or two (also beers).

We enjoyed an incident free afternoon and evening (the dogs got walked a lot) and our final night's comfortable sleep, interrupted at 5 am by Hunter, who let me know in no uncertain terms it was time to go outside.

We made it out the door just in time.

The Bonfire, Brian & Sue, Couchiching and Tom Barlow

I was part of a party crowd at Humber College that threw some wicked-ass parties, and my friend Brian threw some of the best. And on Sunday morning, after I dropped Jake off in north Oshawa, I was headed to one.

Brian & Sue's Annual Bonfire and Party, in fact, which has been going on for the past 15 years or so, which makes me think "where the hell was I for the last 14?"

I'm kidding, of course. Life gets in the way sometimes when you want to maintain friendships, but thanks to the magic of Facebook, we hooked up last year and have been chatting ever since. And I did get an invite to last year's bonfire as well as an 80s Here Comes the Sun Reunion earlier this year (I told you they threw wicked parties) and couldn't get away to attend either one.

Our hosts Brian and Sue, along with fellow
Humber pal and social media superstar Jim

I wasn't going to miss this one.

Toss in the tranquil waters of Lake Couchiching, some stellar musical talent at the bonfire and Sue's legendary lasagna, and well, it was going to be a fantastic day.

The drive up Highway 12 was problem-free and I arrived just after one, offered my "has it been more than 30 years?" hugs and tossed my stuff in my spacious accommodations, aka the trailer that served as Brian & Sue's 'cottage' for the early years.

And then jumped in the warm waters of Couchiching (known to the locals as 'Cooch') to get myself ready for the party.

First, though, there was the matter of the Floral Park Field Day activities. I was signed up for the Horseshoe tournament and Jim, another college chum (and my roomie this weekend) and I took on Kwan and Denver in the first round.

We kicked some serious butt, but to be fair, it appeared Denver had never played the game before and as for Kwan, the best part of his game was his smack talk.

He talked trash all through the match and continued chirping in the shoe toss (I think he finished last) and tug-of-war competitions. He was even talking smack the next day to his young son regarding the finer points of jumping off the dock.

A great guy, that Kwan. I hope to see him next year.

Proof I was there.
Participating and stuff

Anyway, the second match in the Horseshoe tournament didn't go as well as the first. We stayed with our challengers for the first half of the game - I hit my only ringer of the day early in the match - but they pulled away late, with my opponent, Tom, doing most of the damage with singles and doubles to close it out.

Next year.

The bonfire, which got underway just before dark, was the highlight of the weekend for most of the residents of the community, with upwards of 100 people jammed into Brian and Sue's backyard. The set-up, complete with stage, was fully mic'ed and the crowd heard a few songs from the opening act (led by Bryan with a 'y,' who has been doing this so long he commemorates the one year - a decade ago - when he didn't attend), before settling in to hear the feature attraction, recording star Tom Barlow.

Tom, who has been described as having a bit of "Van Morrison soul and Bruce Springsteen honesty" and is best known for his 2003 hit 'Walk Away,' played a set of mostly old favourites, with a few songs standing out. There was Brian, our host, joining him on stage - harmonica in hand - for a raw and bluesy version of 'Bo Diddly,' and there was a rousing rendition of 'Fat Bottom Girls,' in which a trio of slightly inebriated women (including Sue's pal Jessica) sang backup vocals. Jessica punctuated the song by pulling Tom in close for a hug and then grabbing the mic and proclaiming she just "jizzed" in her pants.

You had to be there.

The  highlight of the set was the final song, an original piece called 'I Live While I am Still Alive,' written to honour Sue's brother Wally, who was a noted musician in his own right and had collaborated many times with Tom.

Sue with friend and recording star Tom Barlow

It was a catchy tune to those like me who didn't know Wally, a former fixture on the Bonfire stage who died five years ago. But most people listening were regulars at the annual event and knew all about Wally, with the song resonating particularly with Sue, who was near tears.

It was a beautiful moment.

I tried to pace myself so I could party until the bitter end on this night, sticking to my Naughty Neighbour pale ales (4.9 per cent) for the most part. I did share a bottle of Rochefort Trappiste 10, a much sought after Belgian brew, and I'd like to tell you that I shared it with one of the many  beautiful women at this party, but that would  be a lie, as I ended up sharing it with a well travelled Englishman named Antony, who was here on holidays.

I think he appreciated it.

Despite my efforts to stay the course I couldn't get rid of a headache that had bothered all day so I was trailer bound by 2 am.

Next year I'll try to be there for the long haul..

Early to bed (relatively) meant early to rise and I was up before the crack of nine cleaning up the yard and I was soon joined by Jim, and  together we put all the bottles and cans away and headed inside to put coffee on and see if we could rustle up some grub.

We were in the process of doing that when we heard a series  of grunts and groans - particularly groans - followed by the sound of unsteady footsteps coming down the stairs.

It was Sue and she was hurting. Bad. Which didn't stop her from immediately firing up the stove and getting the first round of breakfast underway, nor did it stop her from smiling like the rest of us when we heard a series of grunts and groans - particularly groans - followed by the sound of unsteady footsteps coming the stairs.

Brian was up, and he too was hurting.

Us, on a lazy, hungover Holiday Monday

It was during breakfast that Jim checked his phone and discovered he had footage of most of Tom's set, including the final song.

That news made Sue very, very happy.

"I guess you have an invitation for life," I told him. "Not to mention a job as social media Champion for this and all future bonfires."

He's in.

The rest of the day Brian and Sue and their houseguests - me, Jim, Kurby, Mark and his son Nick - spent chilling on the deck, catching some rays and jumping in the lake whenever it got too hot.

I hated to go.

It truly was a really, really awesome long weekend.

Cheers!

If you want to hear more from Tom Barlow, check out http://www.barlowonline.com/  for music from his latest album, The Fire, which was released August 11 at Toronto's legendary Horseshoe Tavern.