 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
| Northern Excursion – September 2003 by Don Cutts |
| Ottawa Section CVMG |
The VRRA was holding the annual North Bay Runway Romp and Beezer Doug Smith and I had determined to
make a weekend of it. I was to ride the 1962 Gold Star and Doug was going to pull his 1959 Golden Flash on
a trailer behind the Buick, as the clutch plates were badly worn and clutch slip was at a critical stage and not
fit for a quick 500 mile road trip.
Friday morning dawned bright and warm, abnormally so considering the date. I was able to take two jackets
as Doug’s car and trailer was acting as backup vehicle. We also threw in a mammoth armoured locking cable
for theft protection. I had not experienced the luxury of this service before and it was a heady feeling. We
went 100 miles to Chalk River before we decided that it was time to have a meal and rest. The waitress was
looking out the window of the restaurant and made quite a fuss over our two gleaming machines. She was
just a whisker away from asking to go to North Bay with us. The other patrons stared fixedly at the motorbikes
through the window. Upon leaving, we met an old motorcycle enthusiast and chatted a while.
Back on the road again, we motored through some very scenic country, the crush of city traffic now just an
unpleasant memory. By now, the hills were becoming steeper and the BSA was feeling it. Doug mentioned
that even the big bore Buick was being given a workout. A scrambles gearbox with the first three gears quite
low and a very tall top gear make for a very unpleasant ride in mountainous country when you need a
sensible third gear to fall back on to. A change of gearbox is planned for soon. Construction work on the road
was in full swing and on one steep section, our little caravan of the car, the trailer and the two motorbikes
spent a good fifteen minutes waiting in a long lineup. Then, off we went again.
The BSA had now developed a slight misfire. Mattawa was the next stop and we gassed up. The BSA
refused to start. I pushed it quickly into the shade, away from prying eyes. I guessed that it was the magneto
points closing up and sure enough, the locking nut on the adjustable contact had worked itself loose. Doug
stood by with a handful of rags at the ready. A tightening up and we were off again. Fifteen miles later, the
symptoms returned and I laboured up the mile grade and stopped. This was becoming tiresome. That fix got
us to North Bay without further trouble. We drove around until we found Lakeshore Drive where the Super 8
Motel was located. However, we noticed the Glenwood Motel right on the edge of Lake Nipissing and opted
for it. It had a private beach and only one way in or out. The motorcycles would be out of sight of motorcycle
vultures.
Doug backed his car and trailer in and unloaded the Golden Flash. We drove down the road to East Side
Mario’s for lunch and then over to the liquor store for supplies. Back at the motel, we parked both machines
in front of our room. Doug brought out the wine bottle and two coffee mugs and parked himself on the porch.
I sat on the ground with coffee mug at hand and investigated the magneto. No sooner had I gotten my tools
out than other guests started to drift by. Most had tea or coffee cups in hand. Apparently, it’s the tradition in
North Bay that at 4:00 o’clock in the afternoon, folks pause for a pre-prandial sip of their favourite beverage. I
made a leisurely one-mug assessment of the magneto and went back to the room and poured myself a
working cup of rum and coke. By this time, Doug had made friends with Roger, the holidaying Toronto
construction magnate from next door. He had ridden Triumphs some time back and was still keen to acquire
another old machine to work on and ride. By the time another ten minutes had gone by, Doug had all but
sold him the absent Brian Given’s 1959 Harley Davidson that’s been languishing in his basement for over a
quarter century.
I soon located the problem. The fixed contact sits at the end of a threaded rod with adjusting nut and
locknut. The threads had undergone ‘necking’, making adjustment difficult and both nuts had been well
rounded so you could not get a good grip with a wrench. At this point, the motel owner came by and asked if
he could be of service. I asked for a tiny, thin lock washer and he took the fixed point to his workshop and
came back with a selection. This would have to do until I could replace the parts. In the meantime, I took my
time and filed all the flats on the nuts with my points file. Nobody was in a hurry by this time. Doug, by now in
a mechanical mood, brought over the chain lube and applied it to the rear drive chain. He happened to notice
that there was an alarming amount of side play in the rear wheel. Bearings would be first in order when I
returned home, assuming I would get there in one piece. Doug’s under-equipped support vehicle did not
carry points or bearings.
Throughout the day, we had been trying to contact Frank Tetzlaff by telephone and vice-versa. He was
supposed to ride up and join us but we had been taken in too many times before to believe him.
We sat around that evening chatting with the other guests, everyone by now well lubricated and met several
men who had ridden these motorbikes and older ones back in Ireland. At dark, we chained the machines
together in several places with Doug’s heavy steel chain, my light duty steel cable and my new armour plated
steel cable boa constrictor. Even then we did not feel safe and Doug kept me awake late as he listened to
every noise from outside. We even replaced the porch light with a new bulb from a vacant apartment, when
we discovered that ours had burned out.
The next day, we went over to Ron Leblanc’s house to pay him for parts that Frank Tetzlaff had ordered
and then up to CFB North Bay and the race track. We arrived in time to go on the cross town tour which was
well planned but slow. We got stuck behind a Suzuki 500 two stroke twin but after two miles of being
completely fumigated, we moved up ahead and were able to breathe again. Doug and I ended up behind
Mike Pottier’s Matchless G80 CS. The smell of Castrol R was a welcome change. The police were leading
the parade and we breezed through every red light in North Bay, albeit at a pace so sedate that some
sidecar outfits had to pull out owing to overheated clutches. We waved to small children and TV cameras
along the route.
Back at the base, the races were about to start and we hurried over to the infield where we grabbed a bite
to eat. A man with a large cube van backed up to the fence let us sit on the back where we had a good view
of the track. There were lots of thrills and some spills by some of the hard riding Hurst clan from Ottawa. After
a good dose of the racing, Doug and I decided that we should go down and visit Ron Leblanc again. It was
then that the wily Frank Tetzlaff pounced on us and got a death grip on my arm. He had arrived, late of
course and spotted our motorcycles. He had lurked close by the bikes, knowing we would have to come back
to them sooner or later. He demanded to know why I hadn’t been answering my phone. I confessed that with
the previous night’s festivities at
the motel cocktail party and experiencing some difficulties in plugging in the cell phone correctly
afterward, that the battery had not charged at all. This amused him to no end and everything was good
again. The three of us roared over to Ron’s place where Frank picked up his parts and we all had a beer. We
talked nothing but motorcycles for a while and Ron most generously gave Doug and me two boxes of
magneto and dynamo parts for BSA’s. Ron explained to Frank about knurling piston skirts to get a little more
life out of a worn piston. Frank will do almost anything to avoid buying new parts. Ron is a mine of
information as he has worked as a motorcycle mechanic for long years.
It was late in the afternoon and we went back to the motel where we related our experiences to our
neighbour Roger. It seemed to be the cocktail hour in the courtyard there where the holiday guests were
sporting their tea and coffee cups. Roger had taken the liberty of starting early and was in fine form. Doug
and I charged our glasses and even Frank took a little nip. Some of the neighbours came by to talk and look
at the machines. One interesting chap had been a policeman in Northern Ireland starting in the nineteen
fifties and regaled us with his motorcycling experiences. Man does not live by alcohol alone and we decided
to drive down to Greco’s Pizza Parlour in Roger’s big Durango after chaining the BSA’s together. We had a
great meal and chat. Frank seemed awfully uncomfortable and when pressed, admitted to wearing two sets of
long johns as he had prepared for a chilly ride up to North Bay. The chill had never materialised , heat being
the order of the weekend.
After supper we piled into the Durango and went back to the Glenwood. It was still cocktail hour as dusk
came. We tried to dissuade Frank from setting out for Ottawa but he had things to do back home. We raised
a glass to him as he pulled out on the big BMW twin. He stopped for gas once along the way and got back to
Ottawa around midnight where his tank ran dry and he had to take a little midnight stroll in his winter clothes
to find a service station. Frank is very modest when it comes to spending money on gasoline. His favourite
saying to me is “Chrome won’t get you home” when I show up on a shiny machine but I maintain that an
empty gas tank won’t get you home either.
We settled in for the night after double checking the machines. We were up early for breakfast and left town.
I didn’t have trouble until Mattawa where the point gap closed up and I removed a South American Pigmy
Wasp from my ear that it had been exploring. Another re-setting and we were off into fierce headwinds. I
spent half my time flat on the tank battling up the hills with my tall high gear. Backfiring my way through a
rainsquall, I pulled off the road for another adjustment just as the clutch lever assembly fractured. I also
discovered that the whole end plate was attempting to escape from the magneto. I worked on the mag while
Doug taped up the offending clutch unit to the handlebar in a figure eight bandage with black electrical tape,
good enough to restore most of the clutch action for the rest of the trip. There was no more trouble until
close to home when the points closed again.
We got to my house around three p.m. Doug unloaded my stuff from the car and went home. That week, I
replaced the three rear wheel bearings and the damaged contact point assembly. I also put proper screws
into the magneto end plate. While doing the rear wheel work, I noticed that the lower shock bushes were
rotted out from oil. Upon taking the shocks apart, I found one damper to be completely dry and useless and
the other shock to be only fifty percent working. A set of rusty Triumph shocks borrowed from Frank Tetzlaff,
are installed pending a new set of NJB shocks. As John Gurr says, “You’ve got to ride and tweak, ride and
tweak for quite a while before you get all the bugs ironed out of an old machine that’s had a lot of owners”. I
also have a used standard gearbox on order from Len Haggis Gold Stars in England. Restoration work can
be a grueling pursuit.
Doug and I considered the North Bay Excursion one of our best weekends of the whole summer.
Donald Cutts
make a weekend of it. I was to ride the 1962 Gold Star and Doug was going to pull his 1959 Golden Flash on
a trailer behind the Buick, as the clutch plates were badly worn and clutch slip was at a critical stage and not
fit for a quick 500 mile road trip.
Friday morning dawned bright and warm, abnormally so considering the date. I was able to take two jackets
as Doug’s car and trailer was acting as backup vehicle. We also threw in a mammoth armoured locking cable
for theft protection. I had not experienced the luxury of this service before and it was a heady feeling. We
went 100 miles to Chalk River before we decided that it was time to have a meal and rest. The waitress was
looking out the window of the restaurant and made quite a fuss over our two gleaming machines. She was
just a whisker away from asking to go to North Bay with us. The other patrons stared fixedly at the motorbikes
through the window. Upon leaving, we met an old motorcycle enthusiast and chatted a while.
Back on the road again, we motored through some very scenic country, the crush of city traffic now just an
unpleasant memory. By now, the hills were becoming steeper and the BSA was feeling it. Doug mentioned
that even the big bore Buick was being given a workout. A scrambles gearbox with the first three gears quite
low and a very tall top gear make for a very unpleasant ride in mountainous country when you need a
sensible third gear to fall back on to. A change of gearbox is planned for soon. Construction work on the road
was in full swing and on one steep section, our little caravan of the car, the trailer and the two motorbikes
spent a good fifteen minutes waiting in a long lineup. Then, off we went again.
The BSA had now developed a slight misfire. Mattawa was the next stop and we gassed up. The BSA
refused to start. I pushed it quickly into the shade, away from prying eyes. I guessed that it was the magneto
points closing up and sure enough, the locking nut on the adjustable contact had worked itself loose. Doug
stood by with a handful of rags at the ready. A tightening up and we were off again. Fifteen miles later, the
symptoms returned and I laboured up the mile grade and stopped. This was becoming tiresome. That fix got
us to North Bay without further trouble. We drove around until we found Lakeshore Drive where the Super 8
Motel was located. However, we noticed the Glenwood Motel right on the edge of Lake Nipissing and opted
for it. It had a private beach and only one way in or out. The motorcycles would be out of sight of motorcycle
vultures.
Doug backed his car and trailer in and unloaded the Golden Flash. We drove down the road to East Side
Mario’s for lunch and then over to the liquor store for supplies. Back at the motel, we parked both machines
in front of our room. Doug brought out the wine bottle and two coffee mugs and parked himself on the porch.
I sat on the ground with coffee mug at hand and investigated the magneto. No sooner had I gotten my tools
out than other guests started to drift by. Most had tea or coffee cups in hand. Apparently, it’s the tradition in
North Bay that at 4:00 o’clock in the afternoon, folks pause for a pre-prandial sip of their favourite beverage. I
made a leisurely one-mug assessment of the magneto and went back to the room and poured myself a
working cup of rum and coke. By this time, Doug had made friends with Roger, the holidaying Toronto
construction magnate from next door. He had ridden Triumphs some time back and was still keen to acquire
another old machine to work on and ride. By the time another ten minutes had gone by, Doug had all but
sold him the absent Brian Given’s 1959 Harley Davidson that’s been languishing in his basement for over a
quarter century.
I soon located the problem. The fixed contact sits at the end of a threaded rod with adjusting nut and
locknut. The threads had undergone ‘necking’, making adjustment difficult and both nuts had been well
rounded so you could not get a good grip with a wrench. At this point, the motel owner came by and asked if
he could be of service. I asked for a tiny, thin lock washer and he took the fixed point to his workshop and
came back with a selection. This would have to do until I could replace the parts. In the meantime, I took my
time and filed all the flats on the nuts with my points file. Nobody was in a hurry by this time. Doug, by now in
a mechanical mood, brought over the chain lube and applied it to the rear drive chain. He happened to notice
that there was an alarming amount of side play in the rear wheel. Bearings would be first in order when I
returned home, assuming I would get there in one piece. Doug’s under-equipped support vehicle did not
carry points or bearings.
Throughout the day, we had been trying to contact Frank Tetzlaff by telephone and vice-versa. He was
supposed to ride up and join us but we had been taken in too many times before to believe him.
We sat around that evening chatting with the other guests, everyone by now well lubricated and met several
men who had ridden these motorbikes and older ones back in Ireland. At dark, we chained the machines
together in several places with Doug’s heavy steel chain, my light duty steel cable and my new armour plated
steel cable boa constrictor. Even then we did not feel safe and Doug kept me awake late as he listened to
every noise from outside. We even replaced the porch light with a new bulb from a vacant apartment, when
we discovered that ours had burned out.
The next day, we went over to Ron Leblanc’s house to pay him for parts that Frank Tetzlaff had ordered
and then up to CFB North Bay and the race track. We arrived in time to go on the cross town tour which was
well planned but slow. We got stuck behind a Suzuki 500 two stroke twin but after two miles of being
completely fumigated, we moved up ahead and were able to breathe again. Doug and I ended up behind
Mike Pottier’s Matchless G80 CS. The smell of Castrol R was a welcome change. The police were leading
the parade and we breezed through every red light in North Bay, albeit at a pace so sedate that some
sidecar outfits had to pull out owing to overheated clutches. We waved to small children and TV cameras
along the route.
Back at the base, the races were about to start and we hurried over to the infield where we grabbed a bite
to eat. A man with a large cube van backed up to the fence let us sit on the back where we had a good view
of the track. There were lots of thrills and some spills by some of the hard riding Hurst clan from Ottawa. After
a good dose of the racing, Doug and I decided that we should go down and visit Ron Leblanc again. It was
then that the wily Frank Tetzlaff pounced on us and got a death grip on my arm. He had arrived, late of
course and spotted our motorcycles. He had lurked close by the bikes, knowing we would have to come back
to them sooner or later. He demanded to know why I hadn’t been answering my phone. I confessed that with
the previous night’s festivities at
the motel cocktail party and experiencing some difficulties in plugging in the cell phone correctly
afterward, that the battery had not charged at all. This amused him to no end and everything was good
again. The three of us roared over to Ron’s place where Frank picked up his parts and we all had a beer. We
talked nothing but motorcycles for a while and Ron most generously gave Doug and me two boxes of
magneto and dynamo parts for BSA’s. Ron explained to Frank about knurling piston skirts to get a little more
life out of a worn piston. Frank will do almost anything to avoid buying new parts. Ron is a mine of
information as he has worked as a motorcycle mechanic for long years.
It was late in the afternoon and we went back to the motel where we related our experiences to our
neighbour Roger. It seemed to be the cocktail hour in the courtyard there where the holiday guests were
sporting their tea and coffee cups. Roger had taken the liberty of starting early and was in fine form. Doug
and I charged our glasses and even Frank took a little nip. Some of the neighbours came by to talk and look
at the machines. One interesting chap had been a policeman in Northern Ireland starting in the nineteen
fifties and regaled us with his motorcycling experiences. Man does not live by alcohol alone and we decided
to drive down to Greco’s Pizza Parlour in Roger’s big Durango after chaining the BSA’s together. We had a
great meal and chat. Frank seemed awfully uncomfortable and when pressed, admitted to wearing two sets of
long johns as he had prepared for a chilly ride up to North Bay. The chill had never materialised , heat being
the order of the weekend.
After supper we piled into the Durango and went back to the Glenwood. It was still cocktail hour as dusk
came. We tried to dissuade Frank from setting out for Ottawa but he had things to do back home. We raised
a glass to him as he pulled out on the big BMW twin. He stopped for gas once along the way and got back to
Ottawa around midnight where his tank ran dry and he had to take a little midnight stroll in his winter clothes
to find a service station. Frank is very modest when it comes to spending money on gasoline. His favourite
saying to me is “Chrome won’t get you home” when I show up on a shiny machine but I maintain that an
empty gas tank won’t get you home either.
We settled in for the night after double checking the machines. We were up early for breakfast and left town.
I didn’t have trouble until Mattawa where the point gap closed up and I removed a South American Pigmy
Wasp from my ear that it had been exploring. Another re-setting and we were off into fierce headwinds. I
spent half my time flat on the tank battling up the hills with my tall high gear. Backfiring my way through a
rainsquall, I pulled off the road for another adjustment just as the clutch lever assembly fractured. I also
discovered that the whole end plate was attempting to escape from the magneto. I worked on the mag while
Doug taped up the offending clutch unit to the handlebar in a figure eight bandage with black electrical tape,
good enough to restore most of the clutch action for the rest of the trip. There was no more trouble until
close to home when the points closed again.
We got to my house around three p.m. Doug unloaded my stuff from the car and went home. That week, I
replaced the three rear wheel bearings and the damaged contact point assembly. I also put proper screws
into the magneto end plate. While doing the rear wheel work, I noticed that the lower shock bushes were
rotted out from oil. Upon taking the shocks apart, I found one damper to be completely dry and useless and
the other shock to be only fifty percent working. A set of rusty Triumph shocks borrowed from Frank Tetzlaff,
are installed pending a new set of NJB shocks. As John Gurr says, “You’ve got to ride and tweak, ride and
tweak for quite a while before you get all the bugs ironed out of an old machine that’s had a lot of owners”. I
also have a used standard gearbox on order from Len Haggis Gold Stars in England. Restoration work can
be a grueling pursuit.
Doug and I considered the North Bay Excursion one of our best weekends of the whole summer.
Donald Cutts