I’d been talking to Stan the whole morning. He was full of stories. From bouncing at Jilly’s on Queen St in it’s Biker heyday, to getting thrown out of his ex-wife’s apartment at Jane and Eglinton, “Brand new at the time around the 70’s, there”, to getting into some trouble, going to jail, then finally getting back into the ‘real spirt of biking’, and finding a resurrection of sorts, by going underground, and mining in Northern Ontario.
Standing in the middle of the driveway, his 2 year old Golden Retriever shoving it’s wet nose into my palm, Stan got into a story about a mining camp, up somewhere north of Kapuskasing,
“They were all pissed because we were there in the first place, and they thought we were gonna take all the women or something, too. So one morning I go down to the mess there or whatever, and we’re getting’ frisked by cops on the way in. So I ask a guy who’s in front of me, like, ‘what’s goin’ on?’, right? And he says that the locals are on their way here with fuckin’ guns and bats and that, and that they want to have it out with us for us coming in and taking all the girls. So sure enough, when I’m going back up to our bunks or barracks or whatever they were, there’s fuckin’ guns and rifles all pointing out of the windows. Yeah, the cops, though, intercepted those guys about a mile away and made them turn around, the OPP or RCMP, I forget. But it was something… Anyways my cousin went up and taught even past there, if that’s where you’re thinking of teaching… she loved it, yeah. But about… about 3 years there, she got raped, eh. Never went back. That’s a shame.”