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| Off To See The Hermit - August 2003 by Don Cutts |
| Ottawa Section CVMG |
It had been determined that we would attend the Sunday club breakfast and then motor up the Gatineau.
The ‘We’ were the Shiny Bob Twins, Joe Pinuccio, and me. Super Shiny Bob Ethier was determined that he
had to have a period ‘KC Cycle’ sticker for his pristine 1975 Triumph Trident, which had been bought at KC
Cycle that year. He was having a heck of a time trying to get one out of the evil Fred Kohlman, past partner
of that enterprise and current proprietor of the successful Wheelsport Honda The only way Bob could have
gotten a dealer sticker out of the cunning Mr. Kohlman would have been to trade his motorcycle in at
Wheelsport , on a new product from Japan . A handsome offer at first blush but Bob realized that he would
then merely have a stamped item, the same as every Tom, Dick and Harry rides. Bob is a true vintagent, to
be sure! Bob had found out that the other partner in the business at the time, Peter Cross, the partner in
question, was found to be living as a hermit, up in the wilds of Quebec, at Val des Monts and subsisting on
berries and communing with the bears and that it was possible that he might possess one of the rare period
transfers.
The four of us set off and threaded our way out of town through the automobile traffic that never seems to
cease. To save time, Shiny Bob Booth took the lead on his Police Harley and headed for King Edward
Avenue and then the super highway. I let Super Shiny Bob Ethier follow and I was next, on the Velocette
followed by Joe, to afford Super Shiny the maximum safety on his pilgrimage to locate the ‘Holy Sticker’. Bob
was all cranked up and his Triumph vest was covered in Triumph badges, patches and small Union Jacks.
Nothing could stop him now! He would have throttled Mr. K. on the spot if he had suddenly appeared. I must
admit to getting caught up somewhat in the mission to foil the Evil Fred K and to keep the Triumph in regular
service, not in a glass cage. I gave the horn a lengthy workout at Rideau and King Edward when a driver
ahead dozed off at the green light.
Hitting the highway, we set off at a good clip. Freeways are boring places but the wind in our faces was
refreshing after the city heat. I moved out of formation once, ahead of Super Shiny for him to assess if the
Velo was still blowing black smoke at full throttle. The new main jet, jet holder and needle had cured the
condition. A new pilot jet and carburettor flange o-ring had perfected the low speed tractablity as well. We
arrived at the exit point and motored along the single lane road up into the hill country . The air was cooler
now. I finally got a few buttons done up on the jean jacket after quite a three-fingered struggle with tight
buttonholes. Someone telephoned Peter Cross from the gas station in Val des Monts . A gangly and gray
bearded fellow with hat and sunglasses pulled in and got out of his car. The English accent was
unmistakable. Here was the recluse of folklore….former rider, racer, mechanic and bike shop owner, Peter
Cross in the flesh. He and Fred Kohlman , when in business together, had never quite seen eye to eye and
had gotten into more than one wrestling match down on the shop floor. Bob Guzzo, former employee with
them and race competitor, is a storehouse of information …and he’s no shrinking violet in revealing pertinent
facts! Peter strode over to us and then brushed past with a curse as he made for the Velocette . I confessed
to being the owner. He made a joke about the forty seven springs in the clutch and we were immediately, as
Frank Tetzlaff likes to phrase it, ‘bonding’. I did not see any hint of breakfast egg in his beard that Agent
Guzzo had alluded to. We all followed Mr.Cross back up the road to his hillside retreat.
He had been apprised of our coming and opened up the door to what appeared to be an aircraft hangar.
There was a large tractor with plow and all kinds of saws and lathes. Stacks of lumber and other supplies
that the country man requires abounded. The KC Cycle filing cabinets of Second War vintage, old when the
KC cycle shop first opened , were bulging with vintage Triumph brochures and customers’ old order forms. A
stock of KC Cycle stickers was unearthed after Peter dug down into the bowels of an old wooden government-
issue desk. The Holy Stickers had been found after all these decades! Fred Kohlman’s name was tossed
about most irreverently in all the ensuing excitement.
I pointed out the dusty telephone, perched on top of a filing cabinet, which might have come straight from a
Mickey Spillane detective story, to Bob Ethier. He was taken by it at once. I got the two disconnection
plungers working finally and spun the metal rotary dial. It made an ever-so-lovely period metallic clicking
sound as it returned itself to the starting point. I repeated this several times and Bob was a goner. He had to
possess it and would have it even after I disapprovingly pointed out that the receiver cord had been changed
from the original straight cord to a later curly plastic one. However, that imperfection could be addressed
later. He was a man in love! Patriarch Peter let him stew while we went through the museum. Finally Bob
blurted out his true feelings for the telephone and proclaimed his desire to love and cherish it. A price would
have to be negotiated for the fair instrument, of course. I found myself thinking that it would be a bargain at a
hundred dollars, five sacks of flour and three goats. Astoundingly, Peter practically gave it away to him for
five dollars!! I almost fell of the plank I was balancing on! He also gave the rest of us some KC Cycle pens,
as consolation prizes. Life is just not fair, sometimes. There wasn’t even an old motorcycle to be found.
We all went out in the yard after the ceremonies and Peter asked us in for tea. The boys wanted lunch and
we asked Peter to come down to the Village and we’d buy him lunch but he had other things to take care of.
He was, just then, involved in a lawsuit with the municipality, to protect the dead, as the Municipality had let
river water levels rise unnaturally high and there was up to 18 inches of water in freshly dug graves in the
local cemetery. As well, the Mayor was attempting to get his land and run him off. He was embroiled on
several fronts. It’s just like the old Wild West up in those hills!
There was a winding and pretty road leading over to Poltimore and we started the descent at a brisk pace.
There were little brooks and lakes that the road snaked around. My mind wandered at one point, lulled by the
sound of my well running single and I narrowly avoided running off the road into a marsh as I went into a
sharp bend in too high a gear. All too soon, we arrived in Poltimore. Bob Booth pulled up in front of the
saloon. By the time I got inside, there were quarts of Budweiser on the table and we weren’t slow in ordering
lunch, either. The place was large and the decor was plank and quite attractive in a homespun fashion. The
bar maid was friendly and we told her of our recent events. We sat leisurely with another round for a little
while longer and then headed out down the road at a more sedate pace, of course. Happily, there were more
backwoods roads to negotiate before we hit the inevitable freeway.
The city came in sight and the magic evaporated. It had been a very satisfying excursion.
Don Cutts
The ‘We’ were the Shiny Bob Twins, Joe Pinuccio, and me. Super Shiny Bob Ethier was determined that he
had to have a period ‘KC Cycle’ sticker for his pristine 1975 Triumph Trident, which had been bought at KC
Cycle that year. He was having a heck of a time trying to get one out of the evil Fred Kohlman, past partner
of that enterprise and current proprietor of the successful Wheelsport Honda The only way Bob could have
gotten a dealer sticker out of the cunning Mr. Kohlman would have been to trade his motorcycle in at
Wheelsport , on a new product from Japan . A handsome offer at first blush but Bob realized that he would
then merely have a stamped item, the same as every Tom, Dick and Harry rides. Bob is a true vintagent, to
be sure! Bob had found out that the other partner in the business at the time, Peter Cross, the partner in
question, was found to be living as a hermit, up in the wilds of Quebec, at Val des Monts and subsisting on
berries and communing with the bears and that it was possible that he might possess one of the rare period
transfers.
The four of us set off and threaded our way out of town through the automobile traffic that never seems to
cease. To save time, Shiny Bob Booth took the lead on his Police Harley and headed for King Edward
Avenue and then the super highway. I let Super Shiny Bob Ethier follow and I was next, on the Velocette
followed by Joe, to afford Super Shiny the maximum safety on his pilgrimage to locate the ‘Holy Sticker’. Bob
was all cranked up and his Triumph vest was covered in Triumph badges, patches and small Union Jacks.
Nothing could stop him now! He would have throttled Mr. K. on the spot if he had suddenly appeared. I must
admit to getting caught up somewhat in the mission to foil the Evil Fred K and to keep the Triumph in regular
service, not in a glass cage. I gave the horn a lengthy workout at Rideau and King Edward when a driver
ahead dozed off at the green light.
Hitting the highway, we set off at a good clip. Freeways are boring places but the wind in our faces was
refreshing after the city heat. I moved out of formation once, ahead of Super Shiny for him to assess if the
Velo was still blowing black smoke at full throttle. The new main jet, jet holder and needle had cured the
condition. A new pilot jet and carburettor flange o-ring had perfected the low speed tractablity as well. We
arrived at the exit point and motored along the single lane road up into the hill country . The air was cooler
now. I finally got a few buttons done up on the jean jacket after quite a three-fingered struggle with tight
buttonholes. Someone telephoned Peter Cross from the gas station in Val des Monts . A gangly and gray
bearded fellow with hat and sunglasses pulled in and got out of his car. The English accent was
unmistakable. Here was the recluse of folklore….former rider, racer, mechanic and bike shop owner, Peter
Cross in the flesh. He and Fred Kohlman , when in business together, had never quite seen eye to eye and
had gotten into more than one wrestling match down on the shop floor. Bob Guzzo, former employee with
them and race competitor, is a storehouse of information …and he’s no shrinking violet in revealing pertinent
facts! Peter strode over to us and then brushed past with a curse as he made for the Velocette . I confessed
to being the owner. He made a joke about the forty seven springs in the clutch and we were immediately, as
Frank Tetzlaff likes to phrase it, ‘bonding’. I did not see any hint of breakfast egg in his beard that Agent
Guzzo had alluded to. We all followed Mr.Cross back up the road to his hillside retreat.
He had been apprised of our coming and opened up the door to what appeared to be an aircraft hangar.
There was a large tractor with plow and all kinds of saws and lathes. Stacks of lumber and other supplies
that the country man requires abounded. The KC Cycle filing cabinets of Second War vintage, old when the
KC cycle shop first opened , were bulging with vintage Triumph brochures and customers’ old order forms. A
stock of KC Cycle stickers was unearthed after Peter dug down into the bowels of an old wooden government-
issue desk. The Holy Stickers had been found after all these decades! Fred Kohlman’s name was tossed
about most irreverently in all the ensuing excitement.
I pointed out the dusty telephone, perched on top of a filing cabinet, which might have come straight from a
Mickey Spillane detective story, to Bob Ethier. He was taken by it at once. I got the two disconnection
plungers working finally and spun the metal rotary dial. It made an ever-so-lovely period metallic clicking
sound as it returned itself to the starting point. I repeated this several times and Bob was a goner. He had to
possess it and would have it even after I disapprovingly pointed out that the receiver cord had been changed
from the original straight cord to a later curly plastic one. However, that imperfection could be addressed
later. He was a man in love! Patriarch Peter let him stew while we went through the museum. Finally Bob
blurted out his true feelings for the telephone and proclaimed his desire to love and cherish it. A price would
have to be negotiated for the fair instrument, of course. I found myself thinking that it would be a bargain at a
hundred dollars, five sacks of flour and three goats. Astoundingly, Peter practically gave it away to him for
five dollars!! I almost fell of the plank I was balancing on! He also gave the rest of us some KC Cycle pens,
as consolation prizes. Life is just not fair, sometimes. There wasn’t even an old motorcycle to be found.
We all went out in the yard after the ceremonies and Peter asked us in for tea. The boys wanted lunch and
we asked Peter to come down to the Village and we’d buy him lunch but he had other things to take care of.
He was, just then, involved in a lawsuit with the municipality, to protect the dead, as the Municipality had let
river water levels rise unnaturally high and there was up to 18 inches of water in freshly dug graves in the
local cemetery. As well, the Mayor was attempting to get his land and run him off. He was embroiled on
several fronts. It’s just like the old Wild West up in those hills!
There was a winding and pretty road leading over to Poltimore and we started the descent at a brisk pace.
There were little brooks and lakes that the road snaked around. My mind wandered at one point, lulled by the
sound of my well running single and I narrowly avoided running off the road into a marsh as I went into a
sharp bend in too high a gear. All too soon, we arrived in Poltimore. Bob Booth pulled up in front of the
saloon. By the time I got inside, there were quarts of Budweiser on the table and we weren’t slow in ordering
lunch, either. The place was large and the decor was plank and quite attractive in a homespun fashion. The
bar maid was friendly and we told her of our recent events. We sat leisurely with another round for a little
while longer and then headed out down the road at a more sedate pace, of course. Happily, there were more
backwoods roads to negotiate before we hit the inevitable freeway.
The city came in sight and the magic evaporated. It had been a very satisfying excursion.
Don Cutts