Tonight, was a quest that fell short. Armed with a grocery list, I was ready to invade Little India’s supermarkets. The prime directive was to gather enough ingredients so I could “attempt” to cook like my Indian friends. It fell short because I underestimated how far the walk was and had to turn back empty handed. I will try again and use a BikeShare when the roads are better.
However, all was not lost as I did discover another of my early downtown apartments (Gerrard and Logan Ave) and more good memories. This apartment was the only time I ever lived east of Yonge, and it was during my motorcycle era. A few blocks south of my apartment was the Vagabond motorcycle gang headquarters. It was the house with only two tiny windows just below the roof and a huge wall made up of cinderblocks protecting the front door. It was ominous. Anyway, I was zipping around the corner by their clubhouse when the clutch cable on my motorcycle snapped. Perfect timing as it rendered the motorbike useless as I coasted towards the gang members gathered outside, working on their Harleys. I remember being both terrified and embarrassed. Embarrassed that my bike was a Suzuki Katana and not a Harley and terrified that these bikers would kill me for riding it. After they finished laughing at me and telling me to get a real motorcycle, they offered me a beer and replaced my broken clutch cable and off I went. More affirmation for me in life to never judge a book by its cover.
P.S. The cannabis store presently across from my old apartment sure would have come in handy for a twenty something Steve. 
