Wobbling down memory lane again

My reunion with The Kid triggered some memories.

Back in the day, when my folks had the good fortune to build a house on the starting line of the Route 86 Dragway, we lived about three miles from the wee town of Maryhill. It was called Maryhill because it was founded by Catholic settlers and they built a church on the hill. 

Get it?

In addition to the Catholic church, Maryhill, population of perhaps 45 people at the time, boasted two pubs! This was back in the day when if you got caught with booze in your car, the cops took the booze and told you to smarten up.

So in addition to the townfolk and the local farmers, the two pubs enjoyed a goodly drive-home-shitfaced clientele from nearby Kitchener-Waterloo.

If I remember correctly, the main intersection of Maryhill had a Dodge dealership on the southeast corner, Vic's Commercial Tavern on the northeast corner, and Ralph's Tavern on the northwest corner.

From the time I got my driver's licence at age 16 I'd pop down the road to either Vic's or Ralph's. My fake ID worked equally well in both spots, but I gradually developed an affinity for Vic's, to the point of carving my name into one of the tables with a knife. 

Too bad they've changed the furniture since the '70's, because that table would be a real score now.

What triggered me was that The Kid is still friends with Vic's son. That's funny, because one night coming out of Vic's I tripped over a bicycle that a child had carelessly left in the parking lot. Vic and his family lived at the pub, and his kid had left his bike out.

I stomped all the spokes out of it... ya, I owe you a bicycle, dude.

Anyway, one day I was whiling away the afternoon in the company of a couple of bad-ass locals, Bill Baily and Kenny Andrews. We were sitting in the parking lot of Ralph's in my '64 Bonneville convertible with a forty pounder. I can't recall who brought the gun, but we were taking turns shooting crows out of the trees around Ralph's parking lot.

We ended up at Vic's, and I remember an acrimonious dispute about whether or not we should venture into the city and find a drinking establishment where one might find women.

Bill and Kenny apparently already had plenty of women, and refused to go along with my plan for the evening.

Well, fuck you, you assholes!

I was gonna find those women on my own, but in a parting gesture of "fuck you" I pulled up in front of Vic's. There was still some full ones in the case of beer we'd been chasing the hard stuff with, and I lobbed one through Vic's front window.

I was immensely pleased with myself as I headed down that back road to home.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a cop car sitting at the Dodge dealer across the street at the time. Also unbeknownst to me, the getaway car had a flat tire.

I wasn't a mile out of town when I saw the flashing red lights in the mirror.

I offered some good ones.

The reason the car was all over the road was because of the flat tire.

That might have had a chance, but I had a self-defeating follow-up.

Besides, I was trying to open a beer with the seat-belt buckle.

 Waterloo Region Jail, here I come!