Lost in Truro just after dusk, I pull into a farmer’s market, looking for directions. I’d been to the raceway just once before, and with a trusty guide. When I ask at the counter, a man nearby smiles and interjects.

On this particular night, my motives for heading to the track are pretty transparent.

“You going to see The Beach?” he asks.

Truro’s native son Somebeachsomewhere is racing tonight at the Breeders Crown. I pick up a copy of the Truro Daily News and he leaps off the front page and all but dominates the sports section. The horse’s name is on the lips of everyone who follows the sport — he’s become synonymous with victory, and with it, that much coveted spot in the sun.

On a cold night in Truro, Nova Scotia, two days before December, I never figured I’d be asking directions to the Beach.

I arrive at the track a little before six. The celebratory ‘Beach Party’ for the big race tonight is still awhile off. Kids’ homemade posters are stuck to the inner raceway doors, cheering on the ‘Monster of the Maritimes.’ Staff members in pink shirts have the horse’s name written across their chests. The guy at the farmer’s market was right— anybody who’s got tickets for the gala tonight isn’t here for the turkey dinner.

At an empty press table for four in the Turf Room, I hunker down with a much-needed coffee. The Beach doesn’t race for at least four hours.

As the projection screen shows highlights from the horse’s impressive reel of victories, a country music outfit tunes up in the opposite corner of the box. Their tribute to Truro’s native son comes in the form of the Blake Shelton country tune “Some Beach.”

“Some beach, somewhere
There’s a big umbrella casting shade over an empty chair
Palm trees are growin’ and warm breezes blowing
I picture myself right there
On some beach, somewhere.”

It’s an image of paradise that’s a fitting quill for The Beach’s cap. The horse is already perfect in the eyes of his fans. 20 for 21 and his only loss still a record time and an unworldly performance. Before the simulcast, the lowest tier of the Turf Room is dimly lit. Looking out the high glass windows of the box, the track where The Beach was ­broken and trained is dark. Tonight, all the action is at the Meadowlands in New Jersey.

The Beach is being championed by some as athlete of the year, and the first Canadian horse to follow US racing legend Secretariat’s similar honour in 1973. If you asked me to name two famous racehorses, those are the only ones I could give you. Besides, The Beach is referred to variously throughout the evening as the “Sidney Crosby of harness racing” making him a natural heir to the Lou Marsh trophy.

Then there are the fans. Beach Boys, Beachheads — the potential puns to describe them are as numerous as The Beach’s titles. As the simulcast begins and the first races of the Breeders Crown kick off, it all feels like a prelude to the 9th. People place bets, drink, and cheer on their picks, but only one name is on all of the shirts.
There’s talk in the paper and buzz around the Turf Room about the rivalry between The Beach and fellow ­maritime competitor Shadow Play. The fans are confident in their hometown hero, but there is some slight apprehension about a Beach win being a sure thing.

Just before the 6th race, the now brilliantly lit track scoreboard lights up a preemptive message to the ­hometown champ: “Thank you for all the thrills,” it reads. The enthusiasm continues to build as the moment finally arrives shortly after 11:00.

The post parade is glittered with Breeders Crown fanfare, and cheers erupt as soon as Truro’s favourite colt is shown on the screen. Beach posters are handed out to the tables. From the highest tier of the Turf Room, staff hunker down at the top of the stairs in little clusters of bubblegum pink Beach shirts.

True to form, as he races, The Beach never gives up his lead against Shadow Play.

“Look at him! Look at him!” cries an awe-struck woman at a nearby table.

When it’s all over, and The Beach takes the crown in 1:48.3, a roar rises up from the crowd. Here we are, at the not-so-humble Truro Raceway, home of what is arguably now the finest horse in the history of the sport. In the simulcast post-victory interview, driver Paul MacDonell shares his thoughts: “basically I was thinking, ‘bring me home buddy, one last time.’”

The Beach did just that, and here at home the pumped fists speak volumes.

“Quite a horse,” I hear someone sigh.

“Went quite a trip didn’t he?”

“I haven’t been here since 1965!” laughs an old timer with his friends in the high seats.

As an objective observer, and a newcomer to harness racing, it’s strangely easy for me to be swept up in the enthusiasm for Somebeachsomewhere. I think as Canadians, and Atlantic Canadians especially, we’re always being made to prove our worth. What The Beach represents is accomplishment, albeit in a niche sport. The animal is nonetheless a world champion, raised and trained in what has been infamously described as a ‘culture of defeat.’ He is an undeniable symbol of victory, and, like the fantasy beach in the Blake Shelton song, he represents that ­bucolic vision of paradise beyond ­adversity.

“Some beach, somewhere
There’s a big umbrella casting shade over an empty chair
Palm trees are growin’ and warm breezes blowing
I picture myself right there
On some beach, somewhere.”

Although there was talk of him racing again, it would have just been a victory lap around this moment — the one that racing fans from down home and beyond will remember for a long time to come.

On a cold night in Truro, Nova Scotia, two days before December, I sit back to watch the waves of applause crest and fall -- washing over The Beach.