Joe Hine was clearly apprehensive about the 1000 K journey that loomed before us as we gathered in my driveway under a gorgeous morning sky on Friday. This would be the first time his MGTD had ventured beyond the immediate Fredericton area and thoughts of serious breakdowns had made him edgy. I had been urging him for weeks to drive the car to Windsor and wasn't the slightest bit worried—after all, it wasn't MY car.
The drive down the 102 to Saint John to take the ferry was uneventful and characteristically beautiful. Joe took the lead, being the slowest car, and we arrived at the ferry terminal in good time where we joined up with Ralph and his recently roadified MGA.
It became a normal occurrence at each stop for people to ask about the cars and listen to our stories of the horrors and challenges of restoration. We where all traveling stag on this trip and without our wives present to keep us honest the rust holes got bigger, the wiring more frayed, and the restorations became almost insurmountable.
On the ferry, over (surprisingly) not too overpriced lunches, we played with our various toys, iPods, iPads, and an Android. We were having something of a race with the group taking the overland route and were able to track each other's progress with the help of some software and any available WiFi connection. We made a point out of the fact that as we ate lunch we were still covering ground (or water) while the overland gang had to stop to eat. I also discovered that when the WiFi connection gets horrible, one can piggyback on a smartphone's 3G connection and quickly eat up the hosts monthly data allotment—sorry Joe.
Now in Digby, we headed north towards Windsor. I'd taken the lead and true to form gotten us a bit lost. It was a good opportunity to check the location of the local winery where we ran into a group of 'B's that quickly set us on the correct route. The rest of the trip was (of course) beautiful and (thankfully) uneventful. As we rolled up onto the lawn at the show site it looked like we'd beaten the overland gang as they weren't to be seen. Just as I started to crow about our victory, Joe pointed out that the brown TR6 I'd parked beside was Carolyn and David's. Much subdued, it was time to meet folks and we all gathered near the food and wine tasting tables. Afterwards a large group of us wandered into the Spitfire pub in town where we joined forces with an even larger group to enjoy the evening and eventually the late night. Later, as I settled into my dorm bunk I made the horrifying discovery that my roomie snored. Not the polite nasal whistling or barely audible snicker, this was a floor rattling resonance that promised to make sleep impossible. Luckily my time on a Navy destroyer served me well and I pretended that the noise was the 10 inch guns which let me fall asleep immediately.
Saturday was just like Saturday the year before—but without the pounding rain. This drew many cars out and the show was great with a record number of entries. The after dinner festivities consisted of a kitchen party where our very own David Nielsen stole the show and did FABAC proud.
Sunday morning saw the final event of the weekend take place at the Spitfire pub with a monstrous breakfast that consisted of a years supply of cholesterol washed down with tea. Back on the road head towards Digby, the four of us had time to kill and we made a few stops on the way to visit friends. The highlight was a visit with a gentleman in Annapolis Royal who was restoring a 1923 Humber. He was equipped with a miniature machine shop where he made the no-longer-available hardware and fittings.
Finally on the ferry and enjoying the second last leg of the trip, we found that the boisterous enthusiasm of the trip over had become a quiet reflection of the weekend. This continued on the drive to Fredericton as we enjoyed the balmy evening and empty road. Parting company at my place, Joe was visibly relieved and grinned broadly at his little MG's accomplishment.
- Bob E.
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