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| Do I love Paris in the Springtime? 2004 |
| Ottawa Section CVMG |
I had determined to motor down to Paris on the Velocette for the Rally on June 14th through 16th. The weather
forecast was not favourable but then I’m used to ignoring these computer generated prognostications as they
seem to be hit and miss. The intrepid Fred Bouliane seemed interested in taking the more scenic Peterborough
route I suggested and we teamed up.
A shower interupted our progress around Havelock and we raced for the abandoned railway station and got
under the overhanging roof. It was there we spent forty minutes watching a train crew uncouple and shunt
together several freight trains – fascinating to rail enthusiasts.
We avoided putting on our wet weather gear until we got to Peterborough even though we were struck with
intermittent showers along the way. Why did those weather forecasters have to get it right this time?
By early afternoon, hunger dictated that we stop in Peterborough and eat. It started sprinkling again and we put
on waterproof jackets and pants. Fred, having moved into the Japanese Touring category of machine at present,
forsaking his acres of British machinery, wanted to stop and graze through the large Japanese motorcycle
junkyard that is Peterborough Cycle Salvage. I trailed around with him but ended up showing the Velocette to the
interested owners. One of them actually remembered these machines being sold in Toronto.
Fred and I pulled over to the gas station next door and filled up. When I emerged from paying my bill, I saw Fred
and the large pump attendant struggling to lift his leviathan of a machine, the Aspencade. Thank God I had
parked the Velo discreetly behind his machine instead of beside, otherwise it would have been crushed like a
bug! The wind had been picking up steadily for the last hour and when Fred mounted up, a wall of wind sheared
across the pump island, catching Fred and the Honda with it’s pyramid of luggage, with extreme force, pitching
the machine over on the offside. Fred shrugged it off in his laconic way and we pulled away into a storm.
The headwind was fierce and before long, our shoes were soaked, a condition which mine endured for three
days. The wily Fred eventually put on his rubber boots way up in the hill country, stored somewhere in his
mountains of luggage. We were maintaining an average speed of sixty five miles an hour over hill and dale in a
heavy downpour. At Port Perry, Fred expressed a desire to head down to the 401 at Whitby and blast through to
Paris, a decision I regretted as soon as we hit the traffic jams at 4:oo p.m., from there until well past Toronto,
around about Cambridge, I believe, where we had our supper.
We pulled into Paris at 7:30 p.m.. Fred was camping with the Ottawa group and I was over with the Sudbury
contingent, of which Mike Pottier had brought a tent and sleeping bag for me in his van. Despite the gloomy skies
over Paris, everyone was game and cheerful and there was still plenty to see and buy. There were some very
interesting characters there and everyone chatted a lot. One chap drove his side valve big single Norton all the
way from Ohio. Now that is what you call a motorcycle enthusiast! There were, among many other motorcycles, a
Henderson Super X, a First World War Army Triumph, some mid thirties Rudges, Ulster and SS models, a 1947
Nimbus with sidecar and Teddy Bear, a 1927 Levis and featured inside, were a raft of Ariels from the mid
nineteen thirties throught the fifties. In between times, Dave Linkletter and I explored Paris in his truck and
sampled some of the eateries out on the rural roads in the afternoons. Mike Pottier provided some huge northern
miner breakfasts.
As Sunday noon rolled around, Fred took off for Ottawa and I went over to London to visit folks, all in the rain of
course. What more could a man ask for after spending the night in a leaky tent? Of course by Sunday evening,
the weather cleared up for the rest of the week. I spent a couple of days in London driving around and answering
questions about the Velocette every time I stopped somewhere. A Velo is not a sight seen on many streets these
days.
After I left London, I headed around by St. Thomas and then over to Niagara Falls through some of the most
pleasant countryside I had seen yet. At the American Customs, I stopped the motorcycle so I would be able to
converse with the border guard and produce my birth certificate. In my enthusiasm to get into the United States, I
pushed the bike up behind the car ahead of me. The customs officer came storming out as the soldier behind him
leaned against the guardhouse. He started yelling about getting back behind the STOP sign and didn’t I see they
were conducting an inquiry? I politely expressed my regrets and pushed the Velo over to the next booth were the
agent was having a chuckle over this. “Where are you from and where are you going?” were the only two
questions he asked and no documents required! I was obviously no Al Qaeda operative in his eyes.
I rode east all day through New York State past Rochester, Oswego and on up to Sackett’s Harbour where I
spent the night. I experienced the almost identical detours that
had sent me down to that nightmare ride I had last year. I doubled back near the point of no return and this time I
asked a fellow motorcyclist which was the path of righteousness. Another hour and a half in the dark and I was
saved when the lights of the Seaview Motel hove in sight at 10 o’clock. A half hour in the hot shower thawed me
out and I had a good sleep.
The next day saw me on the way to Cape Vincent and the two ferry boats to Kingston. The shipboard drill with a
Velocette is ‘push on, push off’. This is to avoid potential embarrassment in case the machine proves difficult to
start. I stayed at Frank Tetzlaff’s place and left for home late on Thursday afternoon. I arrived back in Ottawa in
the middle of a heat wave. The old girl never missed a beat in the 1,000 miles I put on that week.. Replacing the
tail lamp bulb was the only repair I had to make.
I Love Paris in the Spring time
Donald Cutts
forecast was not favourable but then I’m used to ignoring these computer generated prognostications as they
seem to be hit and miss. The intrepid Fred Bouliane seemed interested in taking the more scenic Peterborough
route I suggested and we teamed up.
A shower interupted our progress around Havelock and we raced for the abandoned railway station and got
under the overhanging roof. It was there we spent forty minutes watching a train crew uncouple and shunt
together several freight trains – fascinating to rail enthusiasts.
We avoided putting on our wet weather gear until we got to Peterborough even though we were struck with
intermittent showers along the way. Why did those weather forecasters have to get it right this time?
By early afternoon, hunger dictated that we stop in Peterborough and eat. It started sprinkling again and we put
on waterproof jackets and pants. Fred, having moved into the Japanese Touring category of machine at present,
forsaking his acres of British machinery, wanted to stop and graze through the large Japanese motorcycle
junkyard that is Peterborough Cycle Salvage. I trailed around with him but ended up showing the Velocette to the
interested owners. One of them actually remembered these machines being sold in Toronto.
Fred and I pulled over to the gas station next door and filled up. When I emerged from paying my bill, I saw Fred
and the large pump attendant struggling to lift his leviathan of a machine, the Aspencade. Thank God I had
parked the Velo discreetly behind his machine instead of beside, otherwise it would have been crushed like a
bug! The wind had been picking up steadily for the last hour and when Fred mounted up, a wall of wind sheared
across the pump island, catching Fred and the Honda with it’s pyramid of luggage, with extreme force, pitching
the machine over on the offside. Fred shrugged it off in his laconic way and we pulled away into a storm.
The headwind was fierce and before long, our shoes were soaked, a condition which mine endured for three
days. The wily Fred eventually put on his rubber boots way up in the hill country, stored somewhere in his
mountains of luggage. We were maintaining an average speed of sixty five miles an hour over hill and dale in a
heavy downpour. At Port Perry, Fred expressed a desire to head down to the 401 at Whitby and blast through to
Paris, a decision I regretted as soon as we hit the traffic jams at 4:oo p.m., from there until well past Toronto,
around about Cambridge, I believe, where we had our supper.
We pulled into Paris at 7:30 p.m.. Fred was camping with the Ottawa group and I was over with the Sudbury
contingent, of which Mike Pottier had brought a tent and sleeping bag for me in his van. Despite the gloomy skies
over Paris, everyone was game and cheerful and there was still plenty to see and buy. There were some very
interesting characters there and everyone chatted a lot. One chap drove his side valve big single Norton all the
way from Ohio. Now that is what you call a motorcycle enthusiast! There were, among many other motorcycles, a
Henderson Super X, a First World War Army Triumph, some mid thirties Rudges, Ulster and SS models, a 1947
Nimbus with sidecar and Teddy Bear, a 1927 Levis and featured inside, were a raft of Ariels from the mid
nineteen thirties throught the fifties. In between times, Dave Linkletter and I explored Paris in his truck and
sampled some of the eateries out on the rural roads in the afternoons. Mike Pottier provided some huge northern
miner breakfasts.
As Sunday noon rolled around, Fred took off for Ottawa and I went over to London to visit folks, all in the rain of
course. What more could a man ask for after spending the night in a leaky tent? Of course by Sunday evening,
the weather cleared up for the rest of the week. I spent a couple of days in London driving around and answering
questions about the Velocette every time I stopped somewhere. A Velo is not a sight seen on many streets these
days.
After I left London, I headed around by St. Thomas and then over to Niagara Falls through some of the most
pleasant countryside I had seen yet. At the American Customs, I stopped the motorcycle so I would be able to
converse with the border guard and produce my birth certificate. In my enthusiasm to get into the United States, I
pushed the bike up behind the car ahead of me. The customs officer came storming out as the soldier behind him
leaned against the guardhouse. He started yelling about getting back behind the STOP sign and didn’t I see they
were conducting an inquiry? I politely expressed my regrets and pushed the Velo over to the next booth were the
agent was having a chuckle over this. “Where are you from and where are you going?” were the only two
questions he asked and no documents required! I was obviously no Al Qaeda operative in his eyes.
I rode east all day through New York State past Rochester, Oswego and on up to Sackett’s Harbour where I
spent the night. I experienced the almost identical detours that
had sent me down to that nightmare ride I had last year. I doubled back near the point of no return and this time I
asked a fellow motorcyclist which was the path of righteousness. Another hour and a half in the dark and I was
saved when the lights of the Seaview Motel hove in sight at 10 o’clock. A half hour in the hot shower thawed me
out and I had a good sleep.
The next day saw me on the way to Cape Vincent and the two ferry boats to Kingston. The shipboard drill with a
Velocette is ‘push on, push off’. This is to avoid potential embarrassment in case the machine proves difficult to
start. I stayed at Frank Tetzlaff’s place and left for home late on Thursday afternoon. I arrived back in Ottawa in
the middle of a heat wave. The old girl never missed a beat in the 1,000 miles I put on that week.. Replacing the
tail lamp bulb was the only repair I had to make.
I Love Paris in the Spring time
Donald Cutts