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| High on the Cob – September 2003 by Don Cutts |
| Ottawa Section CVMG |
‘Summer time and the livin’s easy’ was the way President Tim Bryans felt as he planned our excursion to the
Great Fair of Cobden Town. A small band of riders assembled at the western end of Ottawa. There was Bob
Guzzo with his van chock full of exotic lightweight Italian machines, Jean Lemieux on a BMW, Brian Given
riding the faithful Velocette Venom 500 , Shiny Bob Booth astride his police Harley Davidson, sidekick Brent
Clarke on a new touring Harley, President Tim piloting his mammoth Yamaha sidecar outfit and me on my
BSA single 500.. David Bryans, Tim’s brother, was in his Volkswagon Jetta, having driven from Toronto on
other business. This was an eclectic band, to put it mildly.
It was agreed that some riders needed gasoline so within five minutes we made our first stop of the day.
The weather was cool but the sun was bright. Setting off again, we managed to ride all the way to Arnprior
before the call of nature and the Siren Call of Tim Horton’s proved too strong to resist. The day was still
young and no one was feeling rushed. While we went inside for refreshment, Bob Guzzo sat across the street
and watched our motorcycles. After we finished, we went and chatted outside. A badly designed parking lot
and drive-through at Tim Horton’s almost cost some of us our machines as cars backed up and swerved
around each other. Shiny Bob stood resolutely in front of his machine, challenging the motorists to hit him
and I gave some of them dirty looks. After all this excitement, we continued on.
The roads were curvier and hills appeared, making the ride more enjoyable. We were making the ascent up
to The Cob. President Tim was bringing up the rear motorcycles in front of Bob Guzzo and his van, as his
Yamaha outfit was the biggest thing among the motorcycles and no one wanted to be crushed in case of a
pileup. His suspension was not the best either but he struggled manfully around the bends to keep up, the
veins on his forehead bulging. We figured the whole rig with rider was over half a ton, a veritable juggernaut!
Tim does not do anything by halves.
We made it up to the rarified air of Cobden around noon and drove directly over to the fair grounds. All had
been arranged for us and we motored right in, parking in a spot where the crowd was thickest. Actually, I had
to push the BSA in. People stopped by to look at our machines on the way into the arena where there was an
agricultural show going on with cattle and horses. In another area of the arena, local crafts were being
exhibited and sold. Displays of flowers, vegetables and exotic plants were housed in another area. All in all, a
most interesting show.
Back at our motorcycle display, people came by in throngs, looking and asking questions. We were not shy in
explaining the machines’ histories. All but Bob Guzzo’s display bikes had come under their own power. Of
course, there was nothing there that was built prior to 1962, hardly ancient history in the ‘vintage’ world. Men,
women and children kept coming by to inspect and talk. Brian Given’s Velocette, his main transportation and
touring vehicle these lovely summer days, garnered a lot of interest and Shiny Bob Booth’s gleaming Police
Harley drew in the crowds. One chap came by and explained that he had been in the OPP motorcycle squad
for quite a number of years beginning in 1956 and regaled us with tales of chases and encounters with
motorists - an excellent history lesson, indeed. Another man, a chatty fellow in his seventies who had been a
mechanic and was still a motorcycle rider and fixer, kept us entertained for a while. He was planning a trip to
California with the babe on his Harley Davidson. Bob Guzzo seemed to be caught up in a love triangle for a
brief interval as a woman Bob had been giving advice to, suddenly threw herself upon him and gave him a
big kiss. The nearby husband was quite agitated, by all accounts. Bob maintains that he was explaining to
the woman something about selling a motorcycle but we saw through this flimsy pretext fairly quickly.
The fresh air up there in the high country had whetted appetites and a handful of us sauntered down the hill
to the restaurant on the road leading into town. A long wait for the food was alleviated by beer for some, diet
soft drinks for the gentler elements. In a surprise rush of generosity, President Tim grabbed the checks and
magnanimously paid for our lunch out of his own pocket. He was tops with us for the rest of the day, by golly!
Our happy band went back up to the fairgrounds and after doing another round of duty at the display, we
decided to call it a day. I amused the spectators as the BSA refused to start, even with Shiny Bob and Tim
pushing. A spark plug cleaning session with the brass brush did the trick. Some riders left singly, others in
small groups. We were a group of four now, comprising Shiny Bob, me, Brian Given and Tim Bryans and we
rode in that order. We stopped at the foot of the hill for gasoline where the BSA proved cranky once again. A
complete carburettor stripping, cleaning and replacing all jets and slide needle later in the week finally did the
trick.
I was quite warm by now and was glad for the cool air. Bob decided that the Quebec route was more scenic
and the winding roads would be a good test of Tim Bryan’s stamina. We started across a high dam and the
winds were so strong that even Bob’s Harley was blown about. It was Tim’s turn to sweat as his big outfit was
buffeted severely about during the crossing. There were more hills to come with sharper curves and Tim, with
his huge vehicle, heavily hampered by worn-out shocks, was having a heck of a struggle. That Shiny Bob
Booth is a cunning fellow, to be sure. As Tim volunteered later, his rig had lots of speed on the straights but
the curves were a nightmare. We nodded sagely. Brian Given stuck dutifully with him as Tim’s Odyssey was
taking its toll on him.
Through various hand signals, Bob communicated to me that refreshments might be beneficial so we pulled
into the old time Quyon Hotel. The two of us quickly ordered a life sustaining beer. We felt much better now.
Someone produced cigarettes and Brian settled for a coffee and a social cigarette. Our patient, Tim, by now
feverish, waved away all manner of refreshment and went out again to loll in the fresh air! We checked on
him from time to time. It was a good thing that Tim took up a post on the patio near the motorcycles and just
out of sight from the road. Some wolfish characters in a dirty pickup truck pulled in near the machines and
were just about ready to get out and perhaps heave a smaller motorcycle into the bed. Tim stuck his head
out from around the pillar and stood up. Tim can be a fearsome sight and with his size, walrus moustache
and swarthy looks, appears exactly like the Hungarian knife sharpeners that my mother warned me to run
from when I was a toddler strung on a leash near our old garbage alley on Spadina Avenue. The ne’er-do
wells quickly got back in their truck and sped off.
We left Quyon and as we hit Ottawa, we all went our separate ways. That was a day of real living and we
were ‘high on the Cob’, as they say in old Cobden Town.
Donald Cutts.
Great Fair of Cobden Town. A small band of riders assembled at the western end of Ottawa. There was Bob
Guzzo with his van chock full of exotic lightweight Italian machines, Jean Lemieux on a BMW, Brian Given
riding the faithful Velocette Venom 500 , Shiny Bob Booth astride his police Harley Davidson, sidekick Brent
Clarke on a new touring Harley, President Tim piloting his mammoth Yamaha sidecar outfit and me on my
BSA single 500.. David Bryans, Tim’s brother, was in his Volkswagon Jetta, having driven from Toronto on
other business. This was an eclectic band, to put it mildly.
It was agreed that some riders needed gasoline so within five minutes we made our first stop of the day.
The weather was cool but the sun was bright. Setting off again, we managed to ride all the way to Arnprior
before the call of nature and the Siren Call of Tim Horton’s proved too strong to resist. The day was still
young and no one was feeling rushed. While we went inside for refreshment, Bob Guzzo sat across the street
and watched our motorcycles. After we finished, we went and chatted outside. A badly designed parking lot
and drive-through at Tim Horton’s almost cost some of us our machines as cars backed up and swerved
around each other. Shiny Bob stood resolutely in front of his machine, challenging the motorists to hit him
and I gave some of them dirty looks. After all this excitement, we continued on.
The roads were curvier and hills appeared, making the ride more enjoyable. We were making the ascent up
to The Cob. President Tim was bringing up the rear motorcycles in front of Bob Guzzo and his van, as his
Yamaha outfit was the biggest thing among the motorcycles and no one wanted to be crushed in case of a
pileup. His suspension was not the best either but he struggled manfully around the bends to keep up, the
veins on his forehead bulging. We figured the whole rig with rider was over half a ton, a veritable juggernaut!
Tim does not do anything by halves.
We made it up to the rarified air of Cobden around noon and drove directly over to the fair grounds. All had
been arranged for us and we motored right in, parking in a spot where the crowd was thickest. Actually, I had
to push the BSA in. People stopped by to look at our machines on the way into the arena where there was an
agricultural show going on with cattle and horses. In another area of the arena, local crafts were being
exhibited and sold. Displays of flowers, vegetables and exotic plants were housed in another area. All in all, a
most interesting show.
Back at our motorcycle display, people came by in throngs, looking and asking questions. We were not shy in
explaining the machines’ histories. All but Bob Guzzo’s display bikes had come under their own power. Of
course, there was nothing there that was built prior to 1962, hardly ancient history in the ‘vintage’ world. Men,
women and children kept coming by to inspect and talk. Brian Given’s Velocette, his main transportation and
touring vehicle these lovely summer days, garnered a lot of interest and Shiny Bob Booth’s gleaming Police
Harley drew in the crowds. One chap came by and explained that he had been in the OPP motorcycle squad
for quite a number of years beginning in 1956 and regaled us with tales of chases and encounters with
motorists - an excellent history lesson, indeed. Another man, a chatty fellow in his seventies who had been a
mechanic and was still a motorcycle rider and fixer, kept us entertained for a while. He was planning a trip to
California with the babe on his Harley Davidson. Bob Guzzo seemed to be caught up in a love triangle for a
brief interval as a woman Bob had been giving advice to, suddenly threw herself upon him and gave him a
big kiss. The nearby husband was quite agitated, by all accounts. Bob maintains that he was explaining to
the woman something about selling a motorcycle but we saw through this flimsy pretext fairly quickly.
The fresh air up there in the high country had whetted appetites and a handful of us sauntered down the hill
to the restaurant on the road leading into town. A long wait for the food was alleviated by beer for some, diet
soft drinks for the gentler elements. In a surprise rush of generosity, President Tim grabbed the checks and
magnanimously paid for our lunch out of his own pocket. He was tops with us for the rest of the day, by golly!
Our happy band went back up to the fairgrounds and after doing another round of duty at the display, we
decided to call it a day. I amused the spectators as the BSA refused to start, even with Shiny Bob and Tim
pushing. A spark plug cleaning session with the brass brush did the trick. Some riders left singly, others in
small groups. We were a group of four now, comprising Shiny Bob, me, Brian Given and Tim Bryans and we
rode in that order. We stopped at the foot of the hill for gasoline where the BSA proved cranky once again. A
complete carburettor stripping, cleaning and replacing all jets and slide needle later in the week finally did the
trick.
I was quite warm by now and was glad for the cool air. Bob decided that the Quebec route was more scenic
and the winding roads would be a good test of Tim Bryan’s stamina. We started across a high dam and the
winds were so strong that even Bob’s Harley was blown about. It was Tim’s turn to sweat as his big outfit was
buffeted severely about during the crossing. There were more hills to come with sharper curves and Tim, with
his huge vehicle, heavily hampered by worn-out shocks, was having a heck of a struggle. That Shiny Bob
Booth is a cunning fellow, to be sure. As Tim volunteered later, his rig had lots of speed on the straights but
the curves were a nightmare. We nodded sagely. Brian Given stuck dutifully with him as Tim’s Odyssey was
taking its toll on him.
Through various hand signals, Bob communicated to me that refreshments might be beneficial so we pulled
into the old time Quyon Hotel. The two of us quickly ordered a life sustaining beer. We felt much better now.
Someone produced cigarettes and Brian settled for a coffee and a social cigarette. Our patient, Tim, by now
feverish, waved away all manner of refreshment and went out again to loll in the fresh air! We checked on
him from time to time. It was a good thing that Tim took up a post on the patio near the motorcycles and just
out of sight from the road. Some wolfish characters in a dirty pickup truck pulled in near the machines and
were just about ready to get out and perhaps heave a smaller motorcycle into the bed. Tim stuck his head
out from around the pillar and stood up. Tim can be a fearsome sight and with his size, walrus moustache
and swarthy looks, appears exactly like the Hungarian knife sharpeners that my mother warned me to run
from when I was a toddler strung on a leash near our old garbage alley on Spadina Avenue. The ne’er-do
wells quickly got back in their truck and sped off.
We left Quyon and as we hit Ottawa, we all went our separate ways. That was a day of real living and we
were ‘high on the Cob’, as they say in old Cobden Town.
Donald Cutts.