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| Ormstown, 2003 by DonCutts |
| Ottawa Section CVMG |
It proved impossible to get last year’s gang together for the Ormstown Rally so it was left to Steve Wlodarczyk
and I to go it alone. There would be no Fred Bouliane to provide some laughs and no Frank Tetzlaff to point
out your machine’s weaknesses. It was Fred, on a run to Delta last year who had offered to buy my Triumph
for three hundred dollars as it lay dormant at the roadside for the tenth time on that trip. In a moment of
desperation, I told him that I would take it whereupon he dropped the offer to two hundred and fifty. We did
not come to terms.
Anyhow, Steve was on his Yamaha XS 1100 and I was on the Velocette. The ride down was pleasant
enough on the old roads. At the field on the Pritchard farm, people were having a good time. There was
quite a crowd from Montreal and lots of old British machines were in attendance. John Gurr, a regular
attendee and mine of information, was absent, no doubt, on a trip to a vintage club meet somewhere in the U.
S. Jim Hunter, Greg Kricorissian and Brian Wigmore were some of the few from Ottawa to be there. I finally
was able to find something I needed and that was a copy of the Lucas Equipment and Spare Parts book
covering the period 1936 to 1957, perfect for the man with magnetos and dynamos. The Velocette owner
suffers a disadvantage at these shows in that most of the articles for sale are limited to garden variety BSA,
Triumph and Norton parts. As a matter of fact, Steve himself has a BSA Road Rocket at home under
reconstruction. It is to be hoped that he will have it on the road in five years as it has been under
reconstruction for five years at present.
After baking in the sun for a while, we decided to go over to the Rockburn Pub to freshen up. The
Rockburn is as pretty a pub as you are likely see anywhere, in an oasis of trees. A couple of large pints of
Guiness and a hefty meal soon put as at our ease and we fell into conversation with a Harley rider who had a
relative who owned a Velocette. His girlfriend was suffering the effects of riding behind on a microscopic
pillion pad. She bravely claimed that she could last an hour on it but I had private doubts about that.
All too soon, it was time to go. I had just adjusted an incorrect float level in the monobloc carburettor the
week before and revised my starting ritual for the Velocette. The eagle-eyed Greg Kricorissian, dapper with
red kerchief around the neck, spotted me on the Velo from his perch on the verandah. He stood up and
announced to all that I was getting ready to attempt to start. The Ottawa boys snapped to attention for the
show. At that moment, I thought of the doctor with a similar name, Dr. Kevorkian, the one who could ease
your passage into the other world. I became somewhat uneasy at this stage. I went through the various steps
in the starting procedure and kicked mightily. I was rewarded with a terminal gasp. I went through the motions
again at a very sedate pace and Dr. K. once more intoned to the crowd that yes, Don was going through the
drill again and very deliberately this time. At this point, he had the whole Inn’s company gawking at the fellow
on the Velo. I was thinking that I needed another pint and maybe it was too early to be leaving after all.
Anyway, I stabbed at the kickstart lever and was rewarded with an explosion from the silencer. The Velo was
alive! I had cheated Dr. K.! He gave me a standing ovation, which sounded sincere, and I wasted no time in
getting down the road.
Steve and I left Ormstown and headed down the road. Some miles further, Steve informed me that we should
have turned right at a major intersection. Oh well, we had lots of fuel and we carried on to Valleyfield where
another wrong turn afforded us the opportunity of driving through the town twice on a busy Saturday night.
We finally found a bridge to get us across the river and got back into the countryside. We were on an
unfamiliar road by this time and passing through obscure towns. This was vintage Quebec, with villages
named after the old saints such as Ste- Lucie des Sept Blessures ( St. Lucie of the Seven Wounds) and St.
Robert des Trois Sacrileges ( St. Robert of the Three Defilements). This region must have been a
dangerous place at one time and who knows? It might still be for the lost wayfarer. We pulled out our map to
hurry our journey and there we were- off the beaten track as suspected. We took a backwoods trucking road
as the sun began to set and had a most picturesque ride.
We made it back to the border several times, meaning the road meandered in and out between the
provinces. The rain we had luckily been avoiding by taking wrong turns, finally caught up to us.
It was black by now and visibility was down due to streaming visor and glasses. Steve stopped at a house
where the owner let him use the garage to change into his full rain suit. I put on my rain coat as that’s all I
brought and waited on the Velo while the house owner’s daughter peeked out at Steve framed in the garage
light. Off we went again and it only took two minutes for me to discover how fast a chill rain can find its way
along the saddle and into your pants. After ten minutes, we hit dry road for the last forty miles back to
Ottawa. Steve had a sticking float in one carburettor for this last leg and that’s the only trouble we had on
our 270 mile excursion. How boring!
Don Cutts.
and I to go it alone. There would be no Fred Bouliane to provide some laughs and no Frank Tetzlaff to point
out your machine’s weaknesses. It was Fred, on a run to Delta last year who had offered to buy my Triumph
for three hundred dollars as it lay dormant at the roadside for the tenth time on that trip. In a moment of
desperation, I told him that I would take it whereupon he dropped the offer to two hundred and fifty. We did
not come to terms.
Anyhow, Steve was on his Yamaha XS 1100 and I was on the Velocette. The ride down was pleasant
enough on the old roads. At the field on the Pritchard farm, people were having a good time. There was
quite a crowd from Montreal and lots of old British machines were in attendance. John Gurr, a regular
attendee and mine of information, was absent, no doubt, on a trip to a vintage club meet somewhere in the U.
S. Jim Hunter, Greg Kricorissian and Brian Wigmore were some of the few from Ottawa to be there. I finally
was able to find something I needed and that was a copy of the Lucas Equipment and Spare Parts book
covering the period 1936 to 1957, perfect for the man with magnetos and dynamos. The Velocette owner
suffers a disadvantage at these shows in that most of the articles for sale are limited to garden variety BSA,
Triumph and Norton parts. As a matter of fact, Steve himself has a BSA Road Rocket at home under
reconstruction. It is to be hoped that he will have it on the road in five years as it has been under
reconstruction for five years at present.
After baking in the sun for a while, we decided to go over to the Rockburn Pub to freshen up. The
Rockburn is as pretty a pub as you are likely see anywhere, in an oasis of trees. A couple of large pints of
Guiness and a hefty meal soon put as at our ease and we fell into conversation with a Harley rider who had a
relative who owned a Velocette. His girlfriend was suffering the effects of riding behind on a microscopic
pillion pad. She bravely claimed that she could last an hour on it but I had private doubts about that.
All too soon, it was time to go. I had just adjusted an incorrect float level in the monobloc carburettor the
week before and revised my starting ritual for the Velocette. The eagle-eyed Greg Kricorissian, dapper with
red kerchief around the neck, spotted me on the Velo from his perch on the verandah. He stood up and
announced to all that I was getting ready to attempt to start. The Ottawa boys snapped to attention for the
show. At that moment, I thought of the doctor with a similar name, Dr. Kevorkian, the one who could ease
your passage into the other world. I became somewhat uneasy at this stage. I went through the various steps
in the starting procedure and kicked mightily. I was rewarded with a terminal gasp. I went through the motions
again at a very sedate pace and Dr. K. once more intoned to the crowd that yes, Don was going through the
drill again and very deliberately this time. At this point, he had the whole Inn’s company gawking at the fellow
on the Velo. I was thinking that I needed another pint and maybe it was too early to be leaving after all.
Anyway, I stabbed at the kickstart lever and was rewarded with an explosion from the silencer. The Velo was
alive! I had cheated Dr. K.! He gave me a standing ovation, which sounded sincere, and I wasted no time in
getting down the road.
Steve and I left Ormstown and headed down the road. Some miles further, Steve informed me that we should
have turned right at a major intersection. Oh well, we had lots of fuel and we carried on to Valleyfield where
another wrong turn afforded us the opportunity of driving through the town twice on a busy Saturday night.
We finally found a bridge to get us across the river and got back into the countryside. We were on an
unfamiliar road by this time and passing through obscure towns. This was vintage Quebec, with villages
named after the old saints such as Ste- Lucie des Sept Blessures ( St. Lucie of the Seven Wounds) and St.
Robert des Trois Sacrileges ( St. Robert of the Three Defilements). This region must have been a
dangerous place at one time and who knows? It might still be for the lost wayfarer. We pulled out our map to
hurry our journey and there we were- off the beaten track as suspected. We took a backwoods trucking road
as the sun began to set and had a most picturesque ride.
We made it back to the border several times, meaning the road meandered in and out between the
provinces. The rain we had luckily been avoiding by taking wrong turns, finally caught up to us.
It was black by now and visibility was down due to streaming visor and glasses. Steve stopped at a house
where the owner let him use the garage to change into his full rain suit. I put on my rain coat as that’s all I
brought and waited on the Velo while the house owner’s daughter peeked out at Steve framed in the garage
light. Off we went again and it only took two minutes for me to discover how fast a chill rain can find its way
along the saddle and into your pants. After ten minutes, we hit dry road for the last forty miles back to
Ottawa. Steve had a sticking float in one carburettor for this last leg and that’s the only trouble we had on
our 270 mile excursion. How boring!
Don Cutts.