The weekly gathering of specialty cars (informally called "Freddie Beach") is starting again on Thursday evenings. It takes place at the Legion parking lot just off Queen street. Folks normally show up around six or seven. It's a fun little low-key weekly event and a good excuse to go for a little drive afterwards for ice cream.
from a Forum note by Bob E.
A Beautiful Day for Mothers and Others
Here's a fine report on the tour by our talented resident author Johanna Bertin:Thanks to James Bleakney, he of the problematic PCV valve, we have identified an essential item to be added to our trusty “remedial kit” to be carried on all FABAC tours.
A little bit of background is required. We started the day in fine form, heading off from Tim Horton’s only a few minutes behind schedule. This was due in part to Johanna Bertin “absolutely having to finish the novel” she was reading. (When she was younger she could read in a moving car, but alas that ability has gone by the wayside.) So, novel finished and handed on to Margot Russell, we headed out.
As we crossed the Westmorland Street Bridge, we were momentarily taken aback. It seems that they were electing a pope in Nashwaaksis, or so it appeared by the plume of black smoke arising from the west. Uncertain as to whether black smoke meant that a pope had been chosen, or that the vote was defunct, we carried on. The stream of police cars coming our way with sirens on indicated that there was probably more amiss. Later we learned that vandals, hearing of our passage over the bridge had sought to provide entertainment for us.
We headed east to Gagetown and the Old Boot Pub where Bruce Pendrel was greeted with a great hug by a bountiful young woman. While other men looked on in awe and some jealousy, the women managed to order tea and seafood chowder. Replenished and warmed, for it was a chilly day, we carried on to another eating establishment in Queenstown. (Did I mention that we had eaten already at the Old Boot Pub?)
But the eating establishment whose name I know not, was full of people celebrating Mother’s Day. Surprisingly, seeing our lot, they didn’t ask everybody else to vacate the premises, but they didn’t and a sorry and hungry bunch we were. All except for Bob Earle that is. He was too busy using rolls of toilet paper to soak up the gasoline that was flooding his carburetor. The more he sopped up, the more there was, until there was this huge pile of rather disgusting yellow reeking toilet paper beside his car. Initially we stood guard, lest a Mother’s Day reveler chose to fling a cigarette butt, but as the pile of paper grew, we found ourselves standing further and further back until Bob and his car were a mere speck in the distance. We love our fellow FABACians, but are not prepared to be blown up for them.
So then it was onto the Evandale ferry. The Evandale Inn is for sale, and though I suggested that it would make a most nifty clubhouse for our lot, there were no takers. All of us fit onto the one ferry and we trundled across the water, clearly with one purpose in mind – to reach the Big Canoe for food. Did I mention that we had already eaten at the Old Boot Pub? Bruce Pendrel’s Sunbeam Alpine was making rude noises as he had put bigger tires on than would fit.
But then came the moment that this story is leading up to, in a long and roundabout way. We are at the Big Canoe. Well, that is, most of us are there – the Bertin Pendrels, the McKeown’s, Stephen Wheatly, and the Russels. But where were Jim and Ellie? We thought maybe they had snuck off for a romantic interlude, but no. It seems that Jim was having trouble. Not with Ellie. But with his car. He pulls into the parking lot, turns off the engine and announces “I’m dead.”
Well, he looked very much alive to us. But no, he declared again,”I am dead.”
There was something amiss with his PCV valve. It seems that the cap had taken an opportunity to do a bunk. Jim searched through his tool kit, all the time muttering on about his demise. But Jim hadn’t counted on the one sure fire thing in this group of aging boomers. It is not the frequent pit stops to which I refer, not is it the insatiable appetites. It is “intensive rehydrating cream”, known to some as “anti-wrinkle” cream. It seems that the cap off a Vichy’s Thermal Fix 2 is the perfect cap size for a PCV valve.
Mechanical challenges fixed, we carried on to the dining room and ate. You would think we had run a marathon rather than simply sat in cars considering the turkey and fish and chips that we managed to put away. It was noted that “even Stephen Wheatley” had pie. Fully satiated, we headed back to the cars for the trip home. Only two specks of rain had fallen on this happy group and it was a truly wonderful way to spend Mother’s Day.
Click on the BMW for pictures. Thanks to Ellie Bleakney and Margot Russell for the photographs.
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