Before we hit the airport, we must hit Lotus Sound Lounge (455 Abbott Street). Why? Well, when it comes to deejays, downtown's Lotus is a sure thing on the weekend. Owners, promoters and deejays took their cue from big cities like New York and San Francisco. Lotus has a music policy that is hard dance with a capital H, and though it’s still early, the club is kicking like a stallion on steroids to the resident deejay's banging house barrage. They throb en masse to anonymous thump music, trying to exorcise the high-school misery from all that luxuriant flesh, while old folks retreat elsewhere. I might be jealous if I had the energy.


As they say: isolation kills. It’s now time to connect with intelligent, evolved souls who fill up that black hole that even your fabulous Dolce & Gabbana gear can’t hide. We hit the road toward the airport and soon we can continue our Clubathon in Montreal.

The flight is a breeze and an arranged car has dashed us to the heart of Montreal. We’re all wobbly-kneed to the point we can’t walk straight. It’s not the drinks; all around us, Montreal’s disco faithful are freaking out to vintage chic and the mad shuffle of boots and designer shoes is bringing Baldwin Barmacie (115 Laurier Ouest) to life. The land of 10,000 recovery programs is well served by this kick-off-your-office-manners hangout, and if you've given up the three-flags-to-the-wind lifestyle of old, give their fruit-based martinis a shot. These refreshing heavy-pour drinks are made of premium vodka over crushed ice, served up in nicely chilled glasses. Ironically, the bar's best highlights - the considerably beautified crowd generating business on funky seating arrangements - don't derive from the high concept. Driver!

This Saturday night dogma has been firmly established by our next location; young hardbodies pose and prop at La Maison Lyall (1445 rue Bishop). The young, gorgeous and thirsty bar crowd is the most fickle in town. One minute the limos are double-parked in front of the club, expelling eager, well-dressed mobs brandishing limitless credit cards. Then suddenly they're gone! On to the next hot spot, leaving only a vacant building to mark their trajectory. Very hard to keep on track of this revolving-club phenomenon. Tonight, La Maison Lyall is cordoned off into lounge-style seating that grants patrons a sense of privacy (and protection from unwanted advances). The décor is an elegant but tongue-in-cheek hybrid of '40s-'60s sensibilities, and the staff are kind and unpretentious.

Yikes! We've landed at a home for the very, very young: Stereo (858 Ste-Catherine Est). Here we have the smell of turned-on club kids, innocent by reason of temporary hormonal insanity. Unlike the work-weary cocktail folk who show up at over-age lounges, these kids adorn their flesh with hip and oddly expensive designer-wear. By the sounds of things, this bad boy means business. One thing is clear from the start: this ain’t for the fainthearted.

It’s pitch black and we’re being delivered down a part of town officially known as nowhere. Okay, we must be lost. Turn the car...Hang on! Can you hear that? Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Holy shit, there's actually a club in St-Hubert’s shopping hub. Zoobizarre (6388 St-Hubert) oozes with e-induced charm. Though the music pulls you out of your chair here, there are good and bad things about the setup. For starters, the place does take a long time to get wound up; people don’t even trickle in until after midnight. When they do it’s off to the back area they go - leaving the main space somewhat vacant. As soon as we arrived at this place, we got the feeling we weren’t going to leave. But we must. Move. On.

Okay, this wasn't such a great idea. The one that makes you sing for joy ‘cause it’s so devious and delicious. That’s what happens when you spend the night at 20 of the most interesting venues, ranging from the raw charm of Montreal, the corporate clubland that is Toronto to the glam refuge of Vancouver and the country/urban hotspots of Calgary. It's 6:30am and we're winding down at Aria (1280 rue St-Denis). Inside, the club is three floors of hardcore music ecstasy (in all imaginations of the word), offering distinctive sounds on its multi-level layout. The club takes everything fabulous about the old Berri movie theatre and combines it with a new flair of ravish cool that capitalizes on the small space. There's even a laid-back patio area - when in season. Aria’s spaciousness is one of its greatest attributes, allowing for bigger event bookings and ultimately less irritated patrons - people seem to be happier when they aren't forced to stand back-to-belly with strangers.

We clock in to finish at 10:25am. Our limo is delivering us (we are eight now) to Chez Cora (6685 rue St-Jacques) for a much-deserved breakfast. (Sleep is for wimps.) Our collective nerves are frazzled as our drunken friends (we're seven now) have rediscovered junk food. We tune into our iPod and rock out to Human League's "All I Ever Wanted" (alter-ego remix). All in all, our total clubbing time was 17 hours and 40 minutes. Our ladies had mentioned that a local newspaper wrote up a similar event, but it took an entire weekend due to amateur stops at expense account hotels. I sat down in the car, put my feet up, closed my eyes and grinned.

- R.L., S.W., A.J., R.B.