My most recent trip to Portland, like most, is a blur. It was for Jon’s stag and it was followed up with a trip to the doctors office (don’t worry it wasn’t for penicillin.) All I can say is it involved drinking a train bar car dry (twice), strippers, troglodytes (people that live under bridges) dancing with transsexuals, dancing with sea men, dancing with seniors, the strongest beer goggles perception known to man and more strippers. Oh and thanks to us Sidney Crosby will never EVER be welcome in Portland. Sorry Sid. What I can and will talk about is my second most recent trip to Portland to celebrate a friends birthday. It, like all trips south of the border, was an assault to the body. When it starts off with Popeye’s chicken you know your in for grief.
The weekend started with shopping for the girls and terrible golf for me. A gentelmens evening at Eastburn turned into getting thrown out of bar down the street for being what we can only imagine as being too “Canadian.” I recall asking to be physically thrown out. The hippster bouncer that weighed 35 lbs looked scared when I asked that. Making you proud Canada.
The real fun started the next day with the rental of bikes and a self guided and indulged brewery tour. Portland.
Of course 2:00 AM Voodoo donuts happened. 2:45 AM throw up also happened. Portland.