Mimico to National Yacht Club, Toronto - 4 nautical miles sailed, 11 kilometres walked, 2 miles in dinghyI awoke at 7 am feeling rested and refreshed. I made a hot barley drink then climbed up into the cockpit for some quiet writing time while my gang enjoyed a sleep in.
Once everybody was up we enjoyed a bountiful breakfast in SeaLight's cockpit, bid goodbye to Mimico, then cruised the four miles to National Yacht Club in Toronto proper. As usual, we were greeted with an orchestra of city noise - helicopters flying overhead, Porter airplanes taking off and landing, police and fire sirens, stereos booming music from passing party boats, and today something new - the radical engine screams from the Indy car racing event happening directly across from the marina, where they had transformed Toronto city streets into a racetrack for the gearhead jamboree. Although we couldn't see the racing cars from the marina, the engines were so loud it seemed as if a car could fly off the track at any minute, take flight, and plunge Dukes of Hazard-style into the lake.Daryl and Lydia arrived shortly after us, as did a few of Stella's friends who she'd planned to meet up with for the day in the big city. A team meeting ensued and a plan was hatched.
We all left the marina at the same time with Stella and her posse walking in one direction and Ana, Magnus, and I headed in another, with plans to meet up at the boat later in the day. We walked east along the waterfront, beneath a rapidly clearing sky which exposed the hot summer sun. We reached the Wilderness consignment store, and I lounged across the street in a park while my people browsed the treasures. The city was alive with activity, tourists and locals, enjoying a perfect summer Sunday. Magnus left Ana shopping and joined me on a park bench, and we planned our next full Olson family adventure, a backpacking trip to Southeast Asia in the summer of 2027. It seems a long shot that all our schedules will harmoniously connect at that time so far in the future, but every ambitious trip begins with an idea, gels with planning, and is executed as if there were never any doubts.
We had a lovely time throughout our wanderings. We sipped pints of PBR at Duke's on Front Street. We ate authentic Portuguese bifana sandwiches at St. Lawrence Market. We browsed the massive craft sale in the circus tent adjacent to the market. After dropping Magnus off at Union Station to catch a train home, we continued the long walk back to the marina. Along the way we ran into a massive street brawl, the likes of which had never before been seen in Toronto.
Three gangs met at the base of the CN Tower. First were thousands of Jehovah Witnesses, from the convention centre, gathered for some sort of Worship festival, enflamed with the Holy Spirit, determined to spread the word by any means necessary, but preferably through violence. They carried pitchforks, holy lances, and wore brass knuckles.
Second, were the gazillions of Blue Jays baseball fans, elated with their afternoon win over the Giants, all wearing signature blue hats and shirts, carrying bats, shanks, and projectile balls in slings. They chanted and sang, revving up the crowd, looking for a target to release their violent energy.
Last, were the Indy race fans, the gearheads, wearing Kid Rock wife beaters and chugging Coors Light. The smells of burning rubber and explosive exhaust had eradicated their sense of decency and driven them octane wild, delirious for trouble. They carried tire irons, pipe wrenches, and knives and wore race helmets for armour.
These three radicalized armies met and the killing began. Blood spilled as JWs lanced gearheads, and gearheads skewered Jays fans, and Jays fans brained the JWs. Mercy was absent, rage abundant, chaos unstoppable. Those of us non-affiliated stood back to enjoy the rumble. The roar of war attracted the attention of local police and soon uniformed officers were in the killing mob shooting some and beating others, indiscriminantly, enjoying the ruckus, earning their danger pay. The passing helicopters got in on the action, dropping fertilizer bombs from the sky, vaporizing large swaths of combatants. The army was called in and they trained their large calibre weapons on the fighters, taking off heads and limbs, laughing while they did it. A few homeless dudes joined in, throwing sandwiches and Russian vodka botttles, loving the non-typical Toronto afternoon.
It was a lot of fun, but after a while we got a little tired of it all so kept walking.
Here's the great thing about Toronto. As we neared the marina we stopped at a Loblaws grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. By chance, we ran into Daryl and Lydia there, just like a small town. That's just awesome.
Stella and her buddies were already at the boat when we arrived, having drinks and playing games. I took the dinghy out for a ride into the bay and went for a blisteringly cold and heart-arresting but refreshing swim to wash off the blood and gore that had accumulated in my hair from watching the rumble. I felt like a new man.
Daryl had picked up a box of oysters and demonstrated proper shucking technique as I had somehow in my life never opened an oyster. Ate many, yes. But prepared one? No. I shucked my first oysters and loved it. As we shucked, the ladies played with Zachary, and the kids lounged in the cockpit then left for dinner out then a lakeside fire, allowing us to move into the dining space for fresh buns, chili, and conversation that flowed late into the night.
