POLYNESIAN ADVENTURE – PART 3 

Six days at sea might sound like a long time, and it would be were there nothing to do on the ship. Every day, we receive a detailed three-page program with activities ranging from tai chi classes, to religious gatherings, to knitter’s meetups, AA meetings, art classes, movies, how to play bridge, how to get the best out of your smartphone, trivia contests, classical music concerts, mainstage performances, even learning to play the ukelele. Elva and I spend time in the library, she walks every day and I go to the fitness center every second day, and there are walking tracks, two pools, two hot tubs, a full-service spa and several dining rooms. We attend lectures every day on a variety of interesting topics as well as presentations on what to do in the ports we visit. These “port talks” are essential sources of information on what to see and how to get around for those of us who like to make our own arrangements and travel independently.

So far, seas have been tranquil on our voyage across the Pacific. The photo below shows how calm it was as the Zaandam crossed the equator. Known to sailors around the world as the doldrums, the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone is a belt around the Earth extending approximately five degrees of latitude north and south of the equator. Here, the prevailing trade winds of the northern and southern hemispheres collide, resulting in a zone that is usually very calm. Sailors baptized this region of the Pacific Ocean the “doldrums” because their ships could be stranded here for weeks at a time.

While we’ve met a few Canadians and have heard accents from Germany and Portugal, a strong majority of passengers on the Zaandam are Americans. Given the state of affairs between our two countries, we tend not to get into deep conversations with them. One man, I’ll call him “American”, sat down at our table at lunchtime one day and the conversation went something like this:

American: Where are you folks from?

Me: Canada

American: What part?

Me: Prince Edward Island

American: That’s on the West Coast, right?

Me: No, it’s one of the Maritime Provinces

American: I know a couple of Canadians; played golf with them

Me: Is that so. And where are you from?

American: I’m from Michigan; live just north of Detroit

Me: I don’t know anyone from Michigan

End of conversation

As I’ve said, there’s really not much to talk to Americans about. Upon learning that we’re Canadian, some apologize for the behaviour of their President and his administration. To avoid unnecessary drama, we just keep our counsel. But, in the back of our minds, we’re wondering who they really voted for. Thank the gods the midterms are only a couple of days away. The onboard TV has three news stations, BBC World, Fox News and CNN International, and you can imagine what the talking heads are rambling on about. If it wasn’t so serious, it would be funny!

And speaking of funny, our last day at sea ended with a Hallowe’en Ball, a fun event held on the deck of the Lido pool accompanied by the very good onboard band. Elve and I enjoyed dancing to the tunes and examining the many colourful costumes. The onboard experience this far has been better than we’ve experienced on our last few cruises with Holland America.

La Polynésie française is an overseas collectivity of France and its sole overseas country. It is classified as a non-self-governing territory by the United Nations, in other words, a territory "whose people have not yet attained a full measure of self-government". Other non-self-governing territories we’ve visited that are recognized as such by the UN are American Samoa, the US and British Virgin Islands, the Falkland Islands, and Gibraltar. It comprises 121 geographically dispersed islands and atolls with a population of 282,596. The total land area of all the islands and atolls of French Polynesia is only 3,521 square kilometres (1,359 sq mi), making it about two-thirds the area of Prince Edward Island.

Our first stop in La Polynésie française was the island of Rangiroa, the largest atoll in the region and the third-largest in the world. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, an atoll is a ring-shaped coral reef, island, or chain of small coral islands (islets) that completely or partially encircles a central body of water called a lagoon. The coral islands are one of two types of islands in Polynesia, the other being islands that are volcanic in origin. We’ll be visiting both in La Polynésie française.

Now, we had a lagoon where I grew up in Wellington but it was no match for the crystal-clear waters of Rangiroa’s. No sir! It being the repository of the village’s raw sewage, ours had more of a brownish colour. It was a great place to skate in the winter though, as long as you stayed well away from the “hole”!

Anyway, back to Rangiroa. The atoll consists of a narrow ring of islands with a circumference of about 200 km and a total area of just about the size of La Région Évangéline. The highest point of land is about 12 meters. At its widest point, the atoll measures only 500 meters from ocean to lagoon, about the length of a par 5 golf hole. That very narrow strip of land circles a lagoon with an area of over 1,400 sq km, about 85% as big as Kings County on Prince Edward Island. In other words, it’s one very big lagoon, as the photo below illustrates. The gray area is the lagoon and the atoll surrounding it looks like a necklace.

We went ashore by tender and walked toward one of the island’s two villages, Avatoru, turning around at the Rangiroa airport, an open-sided building that is the principal means of entry for visitors to and from the island. A flight was coming in from Tahiti, so the place was buzzing. From there, we walked along the island’s only road to the other end, Tiputa pass and watched the MS Paul Gauguin, a smaller cruise ship, sail through the channel and into the lagoon. Sitting on the deck of Les relais de Joséphine, we each had a Coke Zero to quench our thirst and watched the channel traffic, hoping for a glimpse of the dolphins that frequent the area. After walking 10 kilometers or so, we were glad to get back to the ship and rest our tired feet. Before we knew it, the Zaandam had slipped through the channel, leaving behind the lovely lagoon, headed for the open sea and our next stop, the island of Huahine. The first photo shows just how narrow the atoll is, with the lagoon in the foreground and the ocean in the background.

Unlike Rangiroa, the island of Huahine is of volcanic origin and has little flat ground. It has a population of about 6,500, 1,600 of whom live in the main town, Fare. The Zaandam anchored in a bay and we tendered to a small village before boarding a local bus called Le Truck for the 20-minute drive to Fare.

It was a hot and sunny day and we enjoyed walking around the sleepy little town, watching the locals go about their business and kids enjoying the water. They seem to be born on the water here and learn to swim and use outrigger canoes from a very young age. I couldn’t resist joining them for a dip and enjoyed the warm clear water immensely.

Huahine isn’t overrun with tourists and the fancy resorts that go with the trade. We did come across a few visitors and saw a few small pensions but Fare looks like as it probably did fifty years ago, only with a few more cars. Properties are well kept and there are flowering and colourful shrubs everywhere. And the church is beautiful and lovingly cared for.

Next, we’re off to Raiatea, an island we visited in 2019.

 

POLYNESIAN ADVENTURE – PART 2

 

We spent two full days in Hawaii’s state capital, Honolulu, on the island of Oahu. Many notables were born there, including one of my heroes, Barack Obama. He Made America Great Again! Oahu is the third-largest and most populated of the Hawaiian Islands, home to just under 1 million people, 80% of whom live in the Honolulu urban area. Area-wise, Oahu is slightly smaller than our Prince County, but much of its interior is mountainous and therefore uninhabitable.

On our last visit to Honolulu, we’d spent all of our time in the city, visiting Pearl Harbour and Waikiki Beach. This time, we’d decided to do some exploring, so we boarded a city bus to pick up our rental car, planning to circumnavigate the island. We started our day with a visit to the Dole Plantation, a really nice tourist attraction located about an hour north of the city. We were surprised to be driving on a six-lane highway on our way there but, as we were to learn, Oahu is a very busy place. The site features a train ride through the plantation to see how pineapples are grown, harvested and processed. As with so many tourist attractions we’ve visited, unfortunately, the gift shop ends up being the dominant feature and the most popular place with visitors.

We drove north and followed the coast past an array of beautiful beaches. Since all the parking lots were jam-packed, we didn’t bother stopping. Along the way, it was interesting to see how gas prices have changed since the US declared war on Iran last February 28. When we arrived in Florida on that date, gas there was $2.85 US per gallon. On Oahu, it was exactly double that at $5.70! Heck, it’s even more expensive than gas on Prince Edward Island which, as I write this, is selling at the equivalent of $5.34 US. Even diesel is more expensive here than it is back home. Of course, we’re led to believe the price will plummet soon after the midterm elections on November 3. And land in the Miscouche swamp will soon be worth $1,000,000 an acre! Remember, you read it here first!

After having lunch at the Wiamea waterfall, we drove the coastal road until we finally freed ourselves of heavy traffic and rain along Oahu’s Windward Coast, a wilder and more rugged part of the island I really wanted to see. There, we took a stroll along Waimanalo beach, watching surfers try to catch a wave.

On Day 2 in Honolulu, we took the bus downtown to Waikiki Beach and spent a couple of hours there enjoying the sun and the warm water. The place is lined with resorts of every description, and a host of activities are on offer for those looking for a bit of action or an excuse to do nothing, whatever their heart desires. While it’s a nice beach, it doesn’t compare with my favourites, Greenwich and Basin Head, for sheer beauty. I must say, though, that the urban spaces in the resort area are as beautiful as I’ve seen anywhere in our travels.

On Day 4 of our Hawaiian adventure, the Zaandam tied up at what is surely the ugliest cruise terminal we’ve seen in our many years of travelling. When we visited Maui in 2019, our ship anchored in the small and picturesque harbour of Lahaina and we tendered ashore. The port of Kahalui, on Maui’s northern coast, was the hub of the sugar trade which flourished from 1901 to 2016. Today, it’s nothing more than a collection of abandoned warehouses and barren parking lots. To get to Kahalui’s main drag, we had to walk through a fenced-in maze topped with barbed wire. Not a great welcome!

The only poet I ever really liked was the American, Robert Frost. He wrote these three lines in 1916 at the end of a poem called The Road Not Taken, and I’ve tried to live by them:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

We picked up our rented vehicle and headed southeast toward the village of Hana. To say that the drive is an adventure would be an understatement. It’s 83 km of hairpin turns, switchbacks, one-lane bridges and single-track road, and it took us two and a half hours and a lot of white-knuckling to get there. The road is heavily travelled and one has to stop often to meet and squeeze past other cars, some of them travelling way too fast! Unfortunately, the weather gods were not on our side, as we drove through rain most of the way, catching a few glimpses of waterfalls, the incredibly lush vegetation, and a pretty little chapel. The northeast side of Maui is the rainy side while the southwest side is bone-dry. After stretching our legs at the small dock in Hana, we headed back to Kahalui.

We had fond memories of Lahaina. Tragically, much of its downtown was destroyed in a fire on August 8, 2023: 102 people are known to have died; over 2,000 structures were destroyed; and damage has been estimated at $6 billion US. We drove into the town and found our way to the dock area. Downtown is unrecognizable. Where homes, schools and businesses once stood is now mostly fenced-in barren ground growing up in weeds. The banyan tree that stood proudly beside the old courthouse was thought to have been killed by the fire but it’s recovered miraculously to its former glory. The tree covers two-thirds of an acre, about the size of a football field, and is recognized as the largest one in the US. Of course, there are plans to rebuild but there is as yet little sign of that happening. The photos below show the banyan tree and the courthouse. A sign at the front of the courthouse encourages people to donate for its reconstruction. Sadly, I doubt Lahaina’s downtown will look much better five years from now. But, our day on Maui turned out to be a great one!

On our last day in Hawaii, the Zaandam dropped anchor in the harbour of Kailua-Kona and we tendered ashore. Kona town is about the size of Summerside and has a very welcoming feel to it, unlike some places that are either too industrial or too touristy. We walked along the main street in the morning past buildings like the one in the photo. I found them interesting architecturally because they add to the town’s historical character. I went for a swim near the pier to cool off from the heat while Elva did some shopping. Soon, it was time to sail south toward our next stop, Avatoru, the main town on the island of Rangiroa in French Polynesia. It will take us six days at sea to get there.

The mortality tables tell me I have a 50% chance of making it to 90 or so if I keep doing the right things, and I hope to have at least 10 more good travel years left in me. This Polynesian adventure is off to a fine start, and we have two years’ worth of trips booked ahead.

The one place we don’t intend to return to is the United States. Other than a family trip to Disneyworld next March, one planned before the Trump administration began its latest round of foolishness, we will not return. Trump’s lack of respect for Canada’s sovereignty and for our Prime Minister, Mark Carney, crossed the line for us. We can handle the tariffs, but not the disdain. Knowing that many of the Americans we know voted for him and continue to support his policies would make it difficult for us to spend time with them. Besides, this world is full of interesting places to visit and of people who respect who Canadians are and what Canada stands for.

I celebrated by birthday in Hawaii. I was born at the Prince County Hospital on a Saturday, 73 years ago. My mother was 36 years old then and my father was 47. Since my father left us when I was only about a year old, I have no memory of him. I remember looking through my baby book and asking my mother what it was like when I first came into the family. A photo shows me in my parents’ lap the day of my baptism. It’s the only photo I have with both my parents.

I remember asking her if there was a photo of me when she came home from the hospital. She answered: “The day you were born, we couldn’t find your father”, by which she meant he was drunk somewhere. I could tell it upset her deeply, so I never asked about it again. I would later find out that my father was serving time in the Queens County Jail on October 24, 1953 for passing bad cheques while he served as the MLA for Third Prince. She was trying to protect me from the shame she must have felt.

My life may not have gotten off to the kind of start my parents intended but it has been a very good one. Though I never knew my father, I carry his genes, the good ones and the bad. I’m my mother’s son and very grateful to her for the way she raised me. She recognized early the independent streak I was born with and was wise enough to always let me do my own thing. And she never once questioned my decisions. Wellington was a great place to grow up and I have nothing but fond memories of my childhood there.

Though my body may be slowing down, my mind continues to expand and grow. I find that to be one of the great ironies of life. Today, as I post this blog, I’m thankful for a life well lived and, especially, for the family I am a part of: a life partner who has been by my side since we became best friends fifty-eight years ago; three wonderful children who make me proud every day; and five grandchildren who continue to impress me with everything they do.

 

 

 

POLYNESIAN ADVENTURE – PART 1 

The first time I flew on an airplane was in 1967. My mother and I boarded an Eastern Provincial Airways flight at the Summerside Airport that would take us first to Moncton, where we changed to a bigger plane, and then on to our destination, Montréal, where we’d visit Expo ’67. Those were different times: paper tickets, no boarding passes, a good meal on the plane, and NO SECURITY CHECKS! I was 13 that summer, and had never been to a big city. We stayed with friends, the Thibault family, and I went to the World’s Fair site every day by bus and Métro, even making the trip to and from all by myself before the week was out. This experience marks the beginning of my wanderlust.

We boarded an almost-full Boeing 737-8 at Alexander B. Campbell airport for the early-morning flight. Before doing that, we had to wait in line a good half-hour to get through security. I was even told to remove my open sandals and plastic belt; I suppose to make sure I didn’t blow anybody up! We were treated to stale coffee and a cookie on the way to Toronto where we boarded an Airbus A220 for the flight to San Diego.

The reason I mention the names of the aircraft is to illustrate how times have changed. The plane from Charlottetown to Toronto has a capacity of 210 passengers and was full while the one from Toronto to San Diego held only 120 and had more than a few empty seats. It’s not that long ago that that we’d have flown from Charlottetown on a De Havilland Dash-8 with a passenger capacity of 45 or so! There may be a message there. I’m not sure what it is, and I’ll let readers arrive at their own conclusions.

It was our third visit to San Diego, one of our favourite American cities. It doesn’t have the charm of other favourites like Charleston, Savannah or St. Augustine, but it’s clean, has a very nice downtown and a lovely waterfront. After checking into our hotel in the Little Italy quarter, we took a walk down to the Navy Pier and past the massive USS Midway, a floating museum featuring the retired aircraft carrier and a collection of 60 or so vintage aircraft displayed on its flight deck. The Midway, 1,001 feet long, operated from 1945 until 1992 when she was decommissioned. She’s that big that it’s hard to capture her in a single photo frame.

We visited the nearby elevated plaza called A National Salute to Bob Hope and the Military. From a distance, it looks like a small crowd assembled around a man standing at a microphone. It’s a bronze likeness of Bob Hope, the legendary comedian and entertainer, in his prime. Before his death in 2003 at age 100, Hope had entertained US military audiences in far-flung theaters of conflict, from World War II to the Gulf War. The photo captures Hope’s unmistakable profile and his adoring audience.

On Day 2 of our visit to San Diego, we decided to revisit a couple of our favourite attractions, Coronado Island and Old Town. We got a few tips from the hotel receptionist and set out to get around by public transit. I’m not sure why but I just love travelling with the locals. The San Diego Trolleys are an above-ground version of a subway and they’re cheap and very easy to use. The Green Line took us to a transfer station where we boarded the bus to Coronado, stopping at the luxurious Hotel Del Coronado, circa 1888. At $700 to $1,200 per night for a standard room, we couldn’t justify staying there and, with a sushi lunch advertised at $100 CDN, a meal wasn’t an option either. But, as La Sagouine liked to say: “On pouvait quand-même regarder…” The beach is fantastic and, since it was the end of the peak tourist season, we were there on a rather quiet day.

Back in the city, we boarded the Blue Line trolley for a visit to Old Town, the location of the first Spanish settlement when San Diego was founded in 1769. The State Historic Park makes for an interesting stroll and features many Mexican-style restaurants, gift shops and historic buildings. The theme for this time of year was the Festival de los Muertes, the Festival of the Dead, as Hallowe’en is known in Spanish. All in all, it made for a very relaxing day. And we finished it by watching Forrest Gump. We’d forgotten how good a movie it was!

The next morning, we hoofed it down to Pier B to board the MS Zaandam, our home for the next 34 days. Since taking our first cruise on the MS Rotterdam VI in September 2013, we’ve been Holland America fans, and we feel at home on their ships as soon as we step aboard. We found ourselves surrounded by the usual Holland crowd: grey hair, walkers, wheelchairs, motorized chairs, oxygen tanks, canes, the odd facelift, and lots of wrinkles, including ours! The Zaandam may be a bit dated, but she’s got a lot of charm just the same. We watched from the top deck as the ship sailed out of the harbour past the USS Abraham Lincoln, recently returned from its infamous deployment near the Strait of Hormuz.

Five days at sea may sound like a long time, but you soon get into the routine. The food is excellent and you don’t have to wash the dishes, your room is serviced twice a day, there are interesting lectures to attend, entertainment in the evening, a fully-equipped fitness center, and pools and hot tubs to soak in.

Polynesia is one of three major cultural areas of the Pacific Ocean islands, along with Melanesia and Micronesia. The Polynesian triangle extends from Hawaii in the north to Easter Island in the southeast and New Zealand in the southwest. The first humans reached Hawaii through deliberate long-distance ocean voyages by Polynesian navigators using stars, ocean swells, and natural signs. They sailed roughly 2,400 nautical miles across open ocean from Samoa or the Marquesas Islands, arriving around 1,200 AD. I still can’t get my mind around the fact that they travelled that far without any instruments, just handed-down knowledge and observation of natural phenomena. How many of them were lost at sea we’ll never know.

The Hawaiian Islands are an archipelago of eight major volcanic islands, several atolls, and numerous smaller islets in the North Pacific Ocean, extending some 1,500 miles (2,400 kilometers) from the island of Hawaii in the south to northernmost Kure Atoll. The last State to join the Union in 1959, Hawaii is home to 1.4 million people, most of them of Polynesian or Asian descent, and it's the only State with two official languages, Hawaiian and English. Its economy relies heavily on tourism and military defense.

The islands were formed by volcanic activity initiated at an undersea magma source called the Hawaii hotspot, essentially a hole in the earth’s crust. The process continues to build islands because the tectonic plate beneath much of the Pacific Ocean moves northwest continually while the hotspot remains stationary. It works like a conveyor belt; the oldest islands, including Kaua’i, are to the northwest and the newest to the southeast.

Before we knew it, our ship was docked in Nawiliwili on the Hawaiian island of Kaua’i. We’d been to Kaua’i before on a cruise in 2019. That time, we’d rented a car and driven west and east to cover most of the island’s roads. This time, we walked to the Enterprise car rental agency, picked up our vehicle and headed up the east coast of the island. While there were a few places on our list, we just drove until we reached the end of the road at a State Park. Along the way, we stopped at this beautiful and almost deserted pocket beach where a creek flowed into the ocean, forming a small pond ideal for children to swim in.

On the way back, we stopped to check out this beautiful United Church in the town of Hanalei, famous for the beach of the same name. Then, we stopped at the Kilauea National Wildlife Refuge overlooking the lighthouse and, finally, at Wailua Falls. All in all, a full and interesting day.

Next, we set sail for Honolulu on the island of Oahu, where we’ll spend two days.

 

 

SHIPPAGAN GRAN FONDO

(voir la version française ci-dessous)

We’d all been three times around the sun since our last Gran Fondo in Baie-Sainte-Marie in 2023. For a variety of reasons, the Over The Hill Gang (OTHG) missed out on 2024 and 2025 out-of-province rides. It was time to get back on the circuit and the Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne was our choice for this year.

We drove five hours from Charlottetown in two vehicles stuffed with bikes and gear and arrived at the Motel Brise Marine in Shippagan. Those who have followed our Gran Fondo adventures will know that we have very low accommodation standards. While the Brise Marine is listed as a two-star facility, it turned out to be well above our usual benchmark, with nice clean rooms and a good location.

Once settled in, we made our way to the event registration at the Centre des congrès de la Péninsule acadienne¸ an impressive facility that would serve as home base for the Fondo. The place was hopping, with 350 participants and dozens of volunteers. We picked up our jerseys, had a snack and headed to Pizza Delight for some carb loading.

OTHG has had a number of members over the years with the core consisting of five of us: Ira Birt, Russ Melanson, Richard Birt, John MacQuarrie and myself. This year, we picked up a sixth member, Marc Périard, retired RCMP dog handler, and he’s quickly become a valued member of the team, mostly because he owns a really nice truck! Actually, Marc, who just turned 60 and is our youngest member, was looking to join a group of experienced riders, and he’s adjusted well to our pace, often challenging us to pick it up a bit.

Coach Ira sets the training schedule for our annual out-of-province event and, this year, the target was 120 kilometers. Marc and I had decided to try the long version of the Fondo at 145 kilometers while the other four tacked on 30 km or so to the 90-km Medio course. The event website showed that there wouldn’t be many hills, a situation that suited me just fine.

Marc and I were up early for the 7:00 sendoff, riding from the motel to the start line at the Shippagan Aquarium. I love the feeling of excitement at the start of a long-distance group ride. Riders and volunteers are full of anticipation. The event photographer caught Marc and I at the start line, and soon we were off, following the pace bike at a steady 15 km/hr on the seaside promenade, with me hoping like hell my 28 mm tires wouldn’t slip on the slick boardwalk. After a nervous 2 km, we hit the road and were soon on the paved Véloroute.

It wasn’t long before the fast guys zipped past us, some coming dangerously close to me on the inside of tight curves. We stayed with a fast group for 15 km or so before deciding we’d slow down a bit. Marc and I rode alone for most of the way through Caraquet and toward the turnaround at Maisonette, picking up a couple of riders who had fallen back from the élite groups. The first 40 km were on the Véloroute, an impressive paved circuit that covers 610 km on New Brunswick’s Péninsule Acadienne.

Rather than stop at Maisonette, we did the 180-turn and made our way north toward the Baie-des-Chaleurs. We fought a stiff headwind for 12 km or so until we reached Grande-Anse and headed inland toward Saint-Léolin. It was smooth sailing along a sheltered stretch of decent road until we came across a guy from Stratford, PEI, who’d stopped due to leg cramps. After making sure he was OK, we noticed a group of five barreling toward us, and decided to hitch onto their train to see if we could match their pace.

At the 92 km mark, still hanging on to the fast group, we stopped at a refueling station at Trudel, took in a little food and topped up on Gatorade. Marc said: “We only have about 50 left!” Easy for him to say; he’s 13 years younger. Actually, I felt pretty good as we headed toward Bertrand, climbed a few hills and took a right at the roundabout that put us back on Route 11, a beautiful stretch of two-meter-wide shoulder. The group of seven worked very well together, although the other five were, I’m guessing, about 35 years younger than me. They were good riders and pushed me to my limit.

We turned east at Village-Blanchard and were soon back on the Véloroute, barreling along and passing riders who were doing the Medio and Piccolo routes. One of the guys had us doing 40 km/hr, and I ran over my tongue a couple of times trying to keep up. I took a turn on the front just before we crossed Route 113, and the boys turned up the heat yet again! "Let's go, les boys!" We had about 10 km to go at that point, and it was every man for himself. One guy jumped off the front; the rest of us struggled to keep up, then just let him go. The rider in front of me died, so I dug in and pulled what was left of the bunch as hard as my old carcass would allow.

Five of us rode the last stretch across the marsh and along the shoreline at about 38 kph, arrived back in town and made our way to the finish line. My Garmin read 144.69 km and 4:25 moving time for an average speed of 32.7 km/hr, a lot faster than I expected.

There’s no better feeling than finishing an event and being satisfied with your ride, and I’ll never get tired of it. There were high fives all around, and Marc and I couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces. We took in a bit of food and drink, and I got myself a massage from a local masseuse who had me nearly in tears as she quickly worked out all the sore spots. We waited for the other four OTHG members and had a rider take a group photo before heading back to the Brise Marine for well-deserved and well-needed showers.

After a visit to the NBLC store and supper at Pizza Delight, we headed back to the motel and gathered in a room to tell a few tall tales, reminisce about past Fondos, and watch CBC’s replay of The Tragically Hip’s last concert before Gord Downie passed away from brain cancer. Ironically, we’d been in Drummondville for a Gran Fondo in 2016, and had watched it on TV there. I remember shedding a few tears as Downie sang their last number, “Blow at High Dough”, and said goodbye to his adoring audience. This is what I wrote then:

“I could feel his pain and his joy and, like everyone at that concert, including the band I’m sure, didn’t want it to end.  After three encores, he finally made his way off the stage, a tragic end to an iconic career.”

The Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne is a first-class event. I’ve done 19 Fondos so far, in Ontario, Québec, Maine, Nova Scotia, Italy, Prince Edward Island, and New Brunswick, so I have something to compare it to. And for anyone looking for an active vacation experience with beautiful scenery, excellent trails, and friendly locals, the Véloroute is a gem. Thanks to the organizers of the Fondo and to all the volunteers who welcomed us into their communities. It is an experience I’ll treasure.

GRAN FONDO DE SHIPPAGAN 

Cela faisait trois ans que nous n'avions pas participé à un Gran Fondo depuis notre dernier à la Baie-Sainte-Marie en 2023. Pour diverses raisons, le groupe « Over The Hill Gang » (OTHG) n'a pas pu participer à une randonnée hors province en 2024 et 2025. Il était temps de reprendre l’habitude et le Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne s'est imposé cette année.

Nous avons roulé cinq heures depuis Charlottetown dans deux véhicules chargés de vélos et d'équipement pour arriver au Motel Brise Marine à Shippagan. Ceux qui suivent nos aventures Gran Fondo savent que nos exigences en matière d'hébergement sont plutôt modestes. Bien que classé deux étoiles, le Brise Marine s'est avéré bien au-dessus de nos critères habituels, avec des chambres propres et agréables et un emplacement idéal.

Une fois installés, nous nous sommes rendus à l'inscription au Centre des congrès de la Péninsule acadienne, un bâtiment impressionnant qui allait servir de camp de base pour le Fondo. L'endroit était animé, avec 350 participants et des dizaines de bénévoles. Nous avons récupéré nos maillots, pris une collation et filé chez Pizza Delight pour faire le plein de carbos.

L'OTHG a compté plusieurs membres au fil des ans, mais le noyau du groupe est composé de cinq personnes : Ira Birt, Russ Melanson, Richard Birt, John MacQuarrie et moi-même. Cette année, nous avons accueilli un sixième membre, Marc Périard, maître-chien retraité de la GRC, qui est rapidement devenu un membre précieux de l'équipe, notamment grâce à son magnifique camion ! En fait, Marc, qui vient d'avoir 60 ans et est notre benjamin, cherchait à intégrer un groupe de cyclistes expérimentés. Il s'est parfaitement adapté à notre rythme, nous encourageant souvent à accélérer.

L'entraîneur Ira établit le programme d'entraînement pour notre événement annuel hors province et, cette année, l'objectif était de 120 kilomètres. Marc et moi avions décidé de tenter la version longue du Fondo, soit 145 kilomètres, tandis que les quatre autres ont ajouté une trentaine de kilomètres au parcours Médio de 90 kilomètres. Le site web de l'événement indiquait peu de montées, ce qui me convenait parfaitement.

Marc et moi nous sommes levés tôt pour le départ à 7 h, et avons pédalé du motel jusqu'à la ligne de départ à l'Aquarium Shippagan. J'adore l'excitation qui règne au départ d'une longue randonnée cycliste en groupe. Cyclistes et bénévoles sont impatients. Le photographe de l'événement nous a immortalisés sur la ligne de départ, et nous voilà partis, suivant le vélo meneur à une allure régulière de 15 km/h sur la promenade du bord de mer. J'espérais de tout cœur que mes pneus de 28 mm ne glisseraient pas sur le trottoir glissant. Après deux kilomètres d'appréhension, nous avons rejoint la route et nous sommes rapidement retrouvés sur la Véloroute goudronnée.

Très vite, les coureurs les plus rapides nous ont dépassés, certains frôlant dangereusement mon vélo dans les virages serrés. Nous sommes restés avec un groupe rapide pendant une quinzaine de kilomètres avant de décider de ralentir un peu. Marc et moi avons roulé seuls pendant la majeure partie du trajet à travers Caraquet et jusqu'au point de demi-tour à Maisonette, rattrapant quelques cyclistes distancés par les groupes d'élite. Les 40 premiers kilomètres se déroulaient sur la Véloroute, un impressionnant circuit asphalté de 610 km qui traverse la Péninsule acadienne au Nouveau-Brunswick.

Plutôt que de nous arrêter à Maisonette, nous avons fait demi-tour et pris la direction du nord vers la Baie-des-Chaleurs. Nous avons lutté contre un fort vent de face pendant une douzaine de kilomètres avant d'atteindre Grande-Anse et de nous diriger vers l'intérieur des terres en direction de Saint-Léolin. La route était agréable et bien abritée jusqu'à ce que nous croisions un gars de Stratford, à l'Île-du-Prince-Édouard, qui s'était arrêté à cause de crampes. Après nous être assurés qu'il allait bien, nous avons aperçu un groupe de cinq cyclistes qui arrivaient à toute vitesse et avons décidé de nous joindre à eux pour voir si nous pouvions suivre leur rythme.

Au kilomètre 92, toujours accrochés au groupe de tête, nous nous sommes arrêtés à un ravitaillement à Trudel, avons grignoté un morceau et fait le plein de Gatorade. Marc a lancé : « Il nous en reste seulement une cinquantaine ! » Facile à dire pour lui, il a treize ans de moins que moi. En fait, je me sentais plutôt bien en route vers Bertrand. Après quelques côtes, nous avons pris à droite au rond-point qui nous a ramenés sur la Route 11, une magnifique bande d'accotement de deux mètres de large. Le groupe de sept cyclistes fonctionnait à merveille, même si les cinq autres avaient, je dirais, 35 ans de moins que moi. C'étaient de bons cyclistes, et ils m'ont poussé vers ma limite.

À Village-Blanchard, nous avons tourné vers l'est et avons rapidement retrouvé la Véloroute, filant à toute allure et dépassant les cyclistes qui empruntaient les itinéraires Médio et Piccolo. L'un des nôtres nous a fait rouler à 40 km/h, et j'ai failli craquer à plusieurs reprises en essayant de le suivre. J'ai pris la tête juste avant de croiser la route 113, et les gars ont de nouveau accéléré ! « Let's go, les boys ! » Il nous restait environ 10 km, et c'était chacun pour soi. Un coureur a lâché prise ; on a eu du mal à le suivre et on l'a laissé filer. Le cycliste devant moi ayant cédé, j'ai puisé dans mes réserves et j'ai tiré sur ce qui restait du groupe de toutes mes forces.

À cinq, nous avons parcouru la dernière portion à travers le marais et le long du rivage à environ 38 km/h, puis nous sommes arrivés en ville et avons rejoint la ligne d'arrivée. Mon Garmin affichait 144,69 km et 4 h 25 s de temps de déplacement, soit une vitesse moyenne de 32,7 km/h, bien plus rapide que prévu.

Il n'y a rien de mieux que de terminer une épreuve et d'être satisfait de sa performance, et je ne m'en tannerai jamais. On s'est tous tapé dans la main, et Marc et moi, on affichait un sourire radieux. On a grignoté un peu, et je me suis offert un massage d'une masseuse du coin qui a manqué me faire pleurer en dénouant toutes mes douleurs. On a attendu les quatre autres membres de l'OTHG et un cycliste a pris une photo de groupe avant que nous retournions au Brise Marine pour une douche très nécessaire et bien méritée.

Après un passage au magasin d’Alcool NB et un souper chez Pizza Delight, on est rentrés au motel et on s'est retrouvés dans une chambre pour raconter des anecdotes, se remémorer les Gran Fondos passés et regarder la rediffusion sur CBC du dernier concert du groupe The Tragically Hip avant le décès de Gord Downie des suites d'un cancer du cerveau. Ironie du sort, on avait participé à un Gran Fondo à Drummondville en 2016 et on l'avait regardé à la télé. Je me souviens avoir versé quelques larmes lorsque Downie a chanté leur dernier morceau, « Blow at High Dough », et a fait ses adieux à son public conquis. Voici ce que j'ai écrit à l'époque :

« Je pouvais ressentir sa douleur et sa joie et, comme tous les spectateurs de ce concert, y compris les membres du groupe, j'en suis sûr, je ne voulais pas que cela se termine. Après trois rappels, il a finalement quitté la scène, une fin tragique pour une carrière emblématique. »

Le Gran Fondo Véloroute Péninsule Acadienne est un événement exceptionnel. J'ai participé à 21 Fondos jusqu'à présent, en Ontario, au Québec, au Maine, en Nouvelle-Écosse, en Italie, à l'Île-du-Prince-Édouard, et au Nouveau-Brunswick, j'ai donc des points de comparaison. Et pour quiconque recherche des vacances actives dans des paysages magnifiques, avec d'excellents sentiers et des habitants chaleureux, la Véloroute est un véritable joyau. Merci aux organisateurs du Fondo et à tous les bénévoles qui nous ont accueillis dans leurs communautés. C'est une expérience que je chérirai.