LOST SHORES GRAN FONDO

I’m not sure that I’d have chosen to brand the region “Lost Shores”, but as we drove along Route 16 from Tracadie to Guysborough, I could see how the barren countryside could give you that impression.  “God-forsaken piece of ground, if you ask me”, one of us remarked.  Things lightened up a bit as we drove past the turnoff to Rear Monastery.  Now, just imagine the theories on the origins of that poor community’s name conjured up by a group of seven guys away for a weekend in backwoods Nova Scotia.  I offered that it may be a translation from the French: “Cul-du-Monastère”.  That didn’t help at all!

We arrived in the pretty village of Guysborough (population 900) late afternoon and checked in at the Gran Fondo registration desk.  Our next stop was Big G’s Pizza and Restaurant on Main Street for the obligatory pre-ride dinner.  There wasn’t much to do in the village, except maybe pick up a few bottles of local beer at the NSLCC store.  Comfortably ensconced in our five-star accommodations, the Coastal Inn near Antigonish, we watched Canadian Michael Woods ride with the best cyclists in the world in La Vuelta a Espana.

Coach Ira rousted us at the ungodly hour of 5:45 and herded us into the van for the foggy drive to the Fondo.  Our orders for the day: Food! Coffee! Dump! Ride!

We stopped at the Days Gone By Bakery, the only place open for breakfast in downtown Guysborough.  Katie and her staff welcomed us with open arms and we were pampered by our server, the lively and good-humoured Lucina, who served us platefuls of delicious rib-sticking pancakes.  How could your spirits not be lifted by a person that cheerful at 7:00 in the morning?  We even got our picture on their website!  Things were definitely looking up!

The Chedabucto Education Centre, Lost Shores Gran Fondo HQ, was abuzz as we parked the van and reassembled our trusty two-wheelers.  We linked up with the eighth member of the Over The Hill Gang, Kent, who’d driven over with Miguel Arsenault, co-owner of Atlantic Chip Sport Timing.

By the time the horn sounded for the 120-km group, the fog had lifted, and 100 or so cyclists barrelled down Route 16 toward the turnoff to Larry’s River Road.  The three young bucks in our group, Kent, Ian and Mark, were off the front before we reached the bottom of the first incline, leaving Ira, Russ, Richard, John and me in their dust.

The ride profile showed a three-kilometre climb at the 5-km. mark, just what we needed to wake up the old legs.  John and I lost track of the other three, thinking they may have had a mechanical, but expecting them to catch up at the top of the hill.  As it turned out, both Richard and Ira had had to stop briefly to sort out minor bike problems.

John and I latched onto a group of half a dozen riders and pace-lined with them for about 40 kilometres, as far as Port Felix.  Riding through the coastal community of Larry’s River, I was struck by the number of Acadian flags waved by the locals.  Made me feel right at home!  While the scenery was quite stunning, we had to be very careful of the rough pavement.

We lost the other riders in our group when they pulled off at the rest stop in Port Felix, so John and I rode alone from there to the turnoff where we rejoined Route 16.  We both remarked that it was one of the nicer courses we’d ridden in a long time.  Three other riders hooked on to the back and rode with us into Canso, along what Fondo organizers labelled the “Tickle Loop”.  And how could you not chuckle at a sign like this one!

We got off the bikes for a quick bite and some fluids at the rest stop near Canso wharf, greeted by a couple of smiling and able volunteers, eager to please and anxious to know what we thought of the event so far.  A half-dozen riders lined up with us for the last 50 kilometres and we pedalled around the Canso loop and back onto Route 16.

By the time we reached Half Island Cove, the group was down to four and my legs were starting to feel a little rubbery.  It turned out to be a long, hilly 30 kilometres from there to Guysborough: down to sea level; up over a headland; down to sea level; up over yet another headland.  We rolled through Philips Harbour, Queensport, Peas Brook, Halfway Cove, Dorts Cove and Cooks Cove.  The striking beauty of the coastline along this stretch, reminiscent of the Cabot Trail and the Gaspé Peninsula, was lost on me unfortunately as I began to suffer.

I followed a strong rider from Fredericton up a three-kilometre climb at Halfway Cove, and John fell off the back.  The two of us rode the last 16 km. to the finish line, taking turns on the front, although his pulls were longer than mine.  I stayed on his wheel until partway up the last hill, and then bonked.  My odometer showed about 3 hours and 50 minutes as I crossed the finish line, totally spent.  Not bad for a pensioner!  The young bucks, long since arrived, looked fresh as daisies as I crawled over to greet them.  I couldn’t wait to pour a bottle of cold water over my poor old head, thankful the day hadn’t been any warmer.

The rest of our gang crossed the finish line shortly after.  We piled the bikes into the van and took our places in the food line, desperate to fill 3,500-calorie sinkholes.  I dined on barbecued ribs, courtesy of the Days Gone By Bakery.  They were some good!  We listened to the live music for a while, talked to riders and volunteers, took on needed refreshments at the Authentic Seacoast Brewing Company, drove back across the barrens to the motel, and hit the showers.

We motored into Antigonish and settled in at the Townhouse Restaurant, an eatery popular with the Saint FX college crowd.  One of the guys got a text from his better half: “I’m cooking chicken breasts for supper.  How will I know when they’re done?”  We marvelled at this example of how gender roles have evolved over time.  In a positive way, of course!  Ever the devoted problem-solvers, and following an intense group think, we decided on the following response: “You’ll know they’re done when the nipples are tender”.  The text he received in reply was, not surprisingly, adult-rated!

We learned that Guysborough is a brave little community, its residents eager to please and to make you feel welcome.  Chedabucto might be the Mi’kmaq word for “Place of Great Two-Wheeled Suffering” after what we went through, but we all had a great time.  The ride was well organized, the route was challenging, and the volunteers were terrific.  The Over The Hill Gang found the Lost Shores, and we’re glad we did.  We wouldn’t hesitate to recommend the event to avid cyclists like ourselves.

In the end, it’s all about the ride!

Over The Hill Gang – September 9, 2017

L to R: John MacQuarrie, Jean-Paul Arsenault, Kent Wood, Ira Birt, Mark Grimmett, Russ Melanson, Ian MacIntyre, Richard Birt