Memories from the weekend;

This year’s event was situated in Prince Edward County, the little island jutting out into Lake Ontario. An easy choice for yours truly since it meant I didn’t have much of a drive to get there, plus it provided the perfect venue for a favourite pastime – driving – which became the inspiration for the main event of the weekend,  but I’m getting ahead of myself.  So back to the start, beginning with a record attendance:  Freud, Mowbs, Beaups, Cruiser, Leo, Scotty M. Guy, Darryl, Rob, Gary, Cookie, and a NEW and very welcome attendee, Albert Baumann who missed the first 30 events but saw fit to join us this year.

The evening started off at my place in Wellington where we crowded on the porch with the usual displays of bravado and vulgarity…and thirst.   After a BBQ dinner, it was off to Sunshine Cabins which were conveniently located just 5 minutes down the road right on Lake Ontario.  The ritualistic bonfire took place and catching up the past year’s events, or in the case of Albert, explaining the last 30 years of your life.  Everyone  got in a good sleep except for Daryl and myself who ended up sharing a pull out bed which collapsed around 3:30am (my bad for poor accommodation planning, but who knew 12 months in advance when the booking was made the turnout would be so good).

Saturday morning breakfast was the traditional fare of eggs and bacon, setting ourselves up for the main event:  a car rally through the back roads in the west end of PEC.  The flag dropped at 10:30a, with 5 teams of two heading out in a staggered start, in search of clues, booze, and boobs.  Over the course of 90 minutes, most teams managed to find their way quite easily, got many of the clues, and so the tie breaker ended up being the fence mending competition which ultimately separated the men from the boys.  (revealed below)  

And speaking of lunch, we enjoyed the fine cooking and pleasant smile of Andrea, Taco Girl, who made special arrangements to meet us in Bloomfield.  After the refueling, it was off for the final leg of the rally.  We headed up to the abandoned WW2 air base where a mysterious rendezvous took place at the workshop of Glenn Wallis, a local artist whose workshop is located in one of the barrack buildings.  With a few bottles of wine in hand, we walked into the shop to see something positioned on a workstation.  At that point it started to dawn on a few of the boys that the AOTW trophy, which was notably absent the night before, was about to make an appearance.  A short presentation was made before the refurbished trophy was revealed, in the hopes of proving a sufficient rationale for what they were about to see, including its own carrying case to ensure safe passage form one year’s event to the next.  Yours truly was anxiously awaiting to see the reaction, as certain changes were expected to be controversial, but in the tradition of AOTW, each “winner” has free rein to do something.  And that first reaction seemed pretty good, but maybe it was more about breaking out some wine.   And then the next distraction:  Floyd holding the trophy for pictures.  It seems he was an early front runner for AOTW’15, and with him leaving for his son’s wedding announcement party, the sentiment was “better get that picture now.”  

After the wine was polished off, we left Glenn and the trophy behind (some final work to it still needed doing), and it was back to the cabins to determine the Rally Winner.   As indicated earlier, it was the quick hands at fence mending that ultimately made the difference, and on that score, it was Floyd and Scott Cruise taking the prize.   Many objections were put forth as to the actual calculations of the winner - others demanded recounts and/or to scrutinize work sheets for themselves.  All criticisms and demands were met with a “fuck-you-I’m-in charge-and-if-you-don’t-like-it-tough-titty” type response.  In last place, ironically was the accredited WestJet pilot (and amateur copilot) who got lost and showed up 30 minutes late  for lunch.   

After the hostile crowd settled down, there was some time for bit of R&R and bacci ball before heading out for dinner.  

After several failed attempts to get cabs to pick us up, it was off to The Hubb in Bloomfield where Laura awaited us.   And to her credit she handled this raucous group with a charming, yet firm hand.  Putting us in the back room was a smooth move.  The fixed menu strategy proved to be a good way to go, especially given the bar bill portion was $400.  But apparently the portions weren’t quite large enough, at least for a few assholes, as some had to stop at the Mac’s milk – 50 yards away – to pick up some additional food items.  And so it was back to the cabins for traditional bonfire and eventual a late night broiler meal courtesy of Paul. 

Saturday night was also notable for the pile on as regards to the trophy.  True feelings started to come forth as a few more drinks were consumed.  Also to come out was a hammer….those who were most pissed with the trophy metamorphosis were encouraged to give it a few good whacks.   More constructive feedback later ensued as to how to perhaps revise some of the changes.  These were duly noted and will be applied before next year’s event. 

After some loud episodes at the bonfire, including a rather lengthy Queen Mother joke, it was time to retire in preparation for 12 holes of golf the next day, which was played at Wellington on the Lake.   Scott Cruise Ernie and two others whose names I failed to record were the winners.  Albert was given the coveted golf trophy in the hopes he might consider coming back next year.  At this point, the beat up trophy was wheeled into position (the only aspect of the change that seemed to get some thumbs up), and the voting commenced with predictable results:  Floyd capturing 61% of the vote, with the remainder spread out across 5 other assholes.

And so it was time to say farewell until next year.  In reflecting on this year’s event,  it was clear to me as the organizer that this is a tough, demanding group of assholes.  I take solace in the fact that I will have been collecting CPP for five years before it’s my turn again.  On the other hand, I was moved by the passion for our history and tradition that still exists among a group of fast approaching senior assholes who are now playing the back nine of holes of life.   Hope all of you survive another year and make it out in 2015 for another round of cussing, guzzling, and storytelling.  Good luck Floyd, you’ll need it.

Attendees:

Cruiser, Cookie, Harps, Boomer, Deano, Dinesy, Beaups, Daryl, Freud, Guy, Mowbs, and Nob 

Special honorary Guest, "Ernie" Albert Baumann

everyone but Rod, John and Mel