Crossing the Assiniboine

I walked down Osborne to the riverbank,
Watched over by a tall Louis Riel,
Who winked up at the Golden Boy, who fell
(Exciting, but I'm not sure whom to thank).
I launched a sailboat, gently, but it sank.
Riel was laughing at me, I could tell,
So I hit Broadway, where they know me well,
And taxis stood and waited, rank on rank.

I travelled north, and ate my evening meal
In Garden City, where the air was cool.
Where were the old spots? When I was at school
We hung out on the corners. Was that real?
I don't remember what I ought to feel.
There must be ways to manage this, some rule.