Saint John Run Report from Bob E.

(To be read while listening to Fr¸hlingsstimmen, Waltz Op.410 by Strauss)

It was just another Sunday morning sitting in the Jag at a gas station swatting at the cloud of black flies around my head wishing for the wind to pick up and blow them away. I was also wishing that 10:30 would "Hurry up dammit!" so that I could follow the rest of the gang and leave the black flies behind.
10:30 came and went... no FABACians. Wait! is that the clatter of an MGB engine?... No! darn! just another motorcycle.
A welcome gust of wind cleared my car of the incessant buzzing insects while I (again) checked my watch then remembered that the Jags clock worked perfectly (thanks to a transplant of Timex guts). That too said no FABACians.
Then what to my wondering eyes did appear?, Ya, there they where, motoring around the curve. With a great waving of arms, blowing of horns, and flashing of lights, I fell in behind the good folk of FABAC.
A perfect day had been forecast and indeed, had arrived. We drove under blue skies but kept a wary eye on the approaching clouds. At the service station just past the Trans Canada we stopped for PT (pee & tea). The first few runs of the season see the people who we've not seen all winter tire us with tales of warm southern ocean breezes and this was no different. I hid my jealousy by showing off the mini video camera I'd installed in my car. This would (hopefully) be the start of the great FABAC video.
We where waffling a bit since we had to wait for Karen and Terry to catch up with us. They couldn't put the top down on the TR3 and the fearsome aerodynamic drag was slowing them down. Having said that, they crested the overpass and joined us. A bit of friendly ribbing ensued and we headed off.
I was leading the gang and did my best to be 'leaderly'. The skies had darkened and taken on the air of impending rain as we headed south. The 102 has to one of the best drives in the region but was not as pleasant today as I'd hoped. It continued to get cooler and 'it's gonna rainy-er' as we got closer to Saint John. I was wishing I'd brought a jacket... and a hat... and maybe some gloves. I turned the heat on and rolled up my windows which did little good. Sure enough, just as we turned onto the 177 after the Nerapis marsh (and someone ELSE made the wrong turn) it began to rain in earnest and we stopped to put tops up. Somehow I got separated form the rest and had to find my way to Ralph's place all by myself.
Much to my surprise, I didn't get lost. Ralph's new dog did its best to tie me up with its rope
and we chatted on his lawn for several minutes while the rest of the club pulled in.
Now at the B&B, we, of course, had to check out the Church of Ralph. True to his description, it was an honest to goodness hundred year old church next door to the B&B. We toured the partially gutted remains and made numerous suggestions for it's use (some immoral and a few illegal). The place sorta smelled funny so we all left. Outside, the clouds had miraculously disappeared revealing a beautiful blue sky and pushing temperatures towards something more comfortable. A quick flurry of top lowering ensued as Ralph got us both a place to eat and special parking privileges. We where led down to the wharf and through a barricade to park on the roadside beside the patios.
As we sat on the patio, we watched as our cars attracted more than a little bit of attention. People took plenty of pictures (I'm sure we'll be all over 'YouTube' tonight) and posed with the cars. A few even got down on their hands and knees to check them out more closely. For once, the slow service was welcome. It was a positively pastoral afternoon and we chatted away. The smell of rotted seaweed and dead fish (the more romantic among us referred to it as "That ocean smell") added to the atmosphere. Maybe that was why so many of us had seafood. We where even treated to a small historic re-enactment of some type.
Apparently, on this day 400 years ago, the disloyalists were kicked out of somewhere and landed here because no one was here at the time to tell them to go somewhere else.
Finally on our way out, we had a contest to see who had the shortest turning radius. I believe that my six point turn-about on the road qualified me as the winner. Most of the crowd decided to take the dull, boring highway 7 back to Fredericton while myself, ever the dissenter, headed towards the 102.
The drive back was everything the drive down HADN'T been. It was warm and sunny, beckoning a relaxing cruise along the river. I barely say three cars during the hour and a half drive and my favourite road lived up to it's reputation. I'm looking forward to rubbing that in during the meeting this week.
...oh yes, I almost forgot! We had eleven cars and 17 folks.
Bob E.

(Click on the photograph for more pictures from Ellie B.)