| Don Cutts: Give Us Paris or Death The saga of Don and Patrick's pilgrimage to Paris 2005 |
| Ottawa Section CVMG |
Give us Paris or Give Us Death. – June 2005
Patrick Hampson and I set out in the rain for the vintage rally in Paris, Ontario on the Tuesday, allowing us a
cushion of three days. I had people to visit in London. In view of the inclement weather, I took my 1976 Triumph
Bonneville and Patrick was on his rebuilt 1966 Triumph TR6. The downpour ended about 80 miles out of Ottawa.
I was confident that by the time we got to London that evening, our socks and shoes would have dried out.
Somewhere past Silver Lake, Patrick slowed down and man and machine came to a halt. His machine would not
run again this day.
We were in luck as there was a restaurant and pay phone a few hundred yards away. A series of tests and
weighty discussion followed. Our plan for the day was quickly changed and we decided to go back to Silver Lake
and rent a truck. In the meantime, we called Frank Tetzlaff in Kingston from the payphone as he would be a key
part of our strategy. The initial plan involved hauling the sickly Triumph to London and then Paris where we could
strip it. The final plan had us carting the machine over to Kingston, abusing Frank’s hospitality for an
undetermined period while we used his shop.
Patrick hopped on the pillion of my motorcycle and off we went to Silver Lake, twenty miles back. The U-Haul Man
back in Silver Lake was friendly and slow. It took well over an hour to do the formalities. It may have had
something to do with Patrick’s Nortel ID card – you never know. The U-Haul Man looked apprehensively at it.
Patrick brought the U-Haul truck back to the scene and we opened the doors of the box. This would do fine. Yes,
there was loads of room for two or even three motorbikes but hold on a minute! “Where the heck is the bloody
ramp?” I blurted out. Patrick had been assured that the truck came with a ramp.
A friendly passerby told Patrick to back the truck up against an outcropping of rock jutting out from the slope
nearby, to meet the rock, from which we could push the Triumph into the truck. This met with failure. Next, Patrick
found some plywood planks and two by fours behind the restaurant and we made a makeshift ramp. Halfway up
the ramp, there was a great cracking sound and we went down along with the machine. Our structure proved not
to be up to engineering standards. We were lucky to emerge with bones intact. It was past noon now. Common
sense took over and Patrick went off in the truck to Silver Lake to get the equipment while I had lunch. It was well
over an hour before he returned. We loaded the motorbike and secured it.
We set off cross country for Kingston with me in the lead. It was now sunny and extremely hot. My ride turned into
a trial as I was wearing my leather jacket. A pokey school bus tied us up for some miles before I passed it.
Patrick gave the V-8 in the old U-Haul a good workout as he weaved out to pass the bus and catch up to me. We
made extremely good time after that.
Arriving in an unfamiliar part of Kingston, we parked in a shopping centre and waited for Frank to come and get
us. Back at his shop, we unloaded the Triumph and Patrick returned the truck to the Kingston office. It was late
afternoon and we went home to Frank’s place. What a time it had been. All day on the road and we were all of
120 miles from home. Does life get any better than this?
At six o’clock Lynn and Frank and Patrick and I went out the family truck to an Italian restaurant. The food was
excellent and the wine was cool. We quickly shook that sense of urgency that had gripped us for most of the day.
Frank put us up for the night in the basement.
The next day, we were up at six. Frank gave us the car to get down to the shop while he took his truck. I backed
the vehicle into the roadway and promptly ran out of gas. This type of situation is vintage Tetzlaff. Frank was able
to find a quart of gasoline for the lawnmower and off we went to the gas station. After a quick stop at the
restaurant for breakfast, Patrick and I arrived at the shop and proceeded to strip the top end of the motor. A
seized drive side piston and rings and a scuffed barrel revealed themselves. There was no end of onlookers and
distracting conversation at this point, mostly customers and Mechanics from the shop next door. The most
annoying of them proved to be a godsend, however. He informed us of a modern Triumph shop in town which I
promptly telephoned. No, they wouldn’t have any parts for a 1966 machine but they offered the name of a
Triumph restorer and enthusiast, Tony Kershaw. I phoned Tony and the formerly annoying man drove us over to
Tony’s residence with all the necessary parts for his inspection. We regarded the formerly annoying gentleman
now in an altogether different light. He had become our benefactor! Beware of first impressions.
Tony Kershaw had no parts in stock, except for gaskets but he would clean up the piston, rings and lands and
hone the cylinder. He did a first rate job and had the parts back over to the shop by mid afternoon. He even
eased the cylinders down over the rings. Tony’s father had opened up a new Triumph dealership in 1948 back in
England. Patrick thanked and paid him for his efforts and we began to re-assemble the rest. The day was
waning once again. Frank was able to leave his desk and offer gratuitous and somewhat derogatory comments
about old machines. Well, it was a hot, sticky day and Frank seemed a trifle irritable. He’s certainly a different fish
now since he got the big Harley this spring. We were at the rocker box stage now and I slyly asked for Frank’s
opinion on certain points. After a few minutes of this, he grabbed the box end wrench and started tightening down
the headbolts, handing it back and forth to me to do my side. This was the Frank of olden times, Mr. Triumph
once again. The mechanical shop next door had loaned us a pair of expensive Snap-On Torque wrenches pre-
set to 16 and 18 pounds respectively. We got everything together and set the tappets and got her running. A
short test drive looked and sounded good.
It was suppertime again and we went back to the Tetzlaff residence. Another outing at a cool restaurant with good
food and cool beverages perked up everyone’s dispositions. We made an earlier night of it and woke up early. A
quick breakfast, down to the shop to get the motorcycles and we were away, bound for London. Two days out of
Ottawa and 120 miles from home. It won’t be the last record we set, I’m quite certain.
Our plans had been altered considerably. Our jaunt over the rural northern and scenic route was no longer in the
cards. Faced with a trip through Toronto the Terrible or Markham, we chose Markham and experienced every
possible road delay. We were men without hope. I would have to postpone my London visit until after Paris.
We arrived in Paris late Thursday afternoon and checked into our bed and breakfast place, the Country Manor.
What a treat! Our host, John Chapman was from Birmingham and he knew all about the machines, having ridden
himself. We were treated to garage facilities and a raft of yesteryear stories about motorcycling back home. John’
s wife Elizabeth was an excellent chef and we were treated to a gigantic breakfast every morning. For diversion at
the table, there was the company of a few other motorcyclists who were passing through. Our rooms overlooked
a large, well tended section of the one and a half acre property.
Friday morning saw us up at the fairgrounds where the Ottawa crowd was camped. There were two distinct
groups – a merry band of bawdy revellers led by Stan Johnson, a Yorkshire Tenor of some note and a less
frivolous group led by Arial enthusiast Jim Hunter and backed up by Brian and Nigel Baker, Brian Wigmore,
Leighton Brown and Vernon Fairhead. We had a foot in each camp at various times. Variety is the spice of life, to
a certain extent. The ubiquitous Frank Tetzlaff appeared in the evening on his shiny new Harley Davidson. We
quizzed him closely to see if he had any problems with the new Harley, remembering the anguish he had
experienced that first weekend of his ownership. He would admit to no trouble, in public. The time flew by. Patrick
and I went to a little restaurant not far from our place, for supper. Tim Conway had brought his monstrous pickup
truck laden with motorcycles, camping gear and refreshments. However, we must point out that he spent the
unusually cool night most uncomfortably in the cab of his truck since he had overlooked that one basic necessity
of the seasoned camper, the sleeping bag!
On Saturday, Patrick and I got serious about buying parts, he for his 1966 TR6 and me for my recent acquisition,
the 1961 Triumph Tiger 110, ex-bathtub and headlamp nacelle etc., ten years out of Liverpool now. We readily
acquired old workshop manuals and parts. In the middle of all this, there was a disturbance. Someone was
actually asking vendors whether they would accept NSF cheques, or whether some parts were complimentary or
if they would include both items for the price of one. Wouldn’t you guess… it was Frank Tetzlaff trying to throw
the parts sellers off balance so he could get the price lowered by the time they regained their composure. We
followed him around since he was creating some excitement. He’s got a nose like a ferret when it comes to
locating Triumph parts so Patrick and I were able to take advantage of this fact to get what we needed. By mid
afternoon, I was carrying loads of stuff for Frank and he had run out of money. Soon after, I was lucky enough to
be offered a ride on John Cooper’s Velocette Venom Thruxton when he learned that I was a Venom owner.
That evening, it was decided we’d run out to St. George for supper. We had a lively ride out. Stan Johnson was
on his pristine 1958 Matchless G80 CS followed by Billy Bitz, J. Bradley Babcock on a Suzuki 1200 sport bike,
Patrick and I on our crackling Triumphs, Frank on his Harley Electra Glide Ultra Classic, Tim Conway on his
seventies Honda 360, his son Jeff on the snarling ’92 Harley and Brian Given on his BMW R80. The St. George
Arms served an excellent supper. The time flew by as everyone had something to say. It was Jeff Conway’s
Birthday week and Father Tim had spent an unusual amount of money on Jeff in an attempt at bonding. When
Jeff had the effrontery to order a rather expensive dessert, Tim unleashed an exact and very audible accounting
of the week’s bonding cost to himself.Tim was not amused …but the rest of us were. Tim has a mind like a steel
trap when it comes to money. Being a top forensic insurance fraud investigator, Tim knows where the money
comes from and where it goes. He’s put more than a few felons behind bars.
Afterwards, two groups of us roared off back to Paris by different routes. Back at the field, we were treated to a
discourse on the history of the English AA Service from 1905 to 1968 when it was disbanded. The English
gentleman from New York State holding the lecture had a 1963 BSA M21 AA outfit in fine working order. He also
had a lovely 1932 BSA Blue Star with hand shift and instruments in the petrol tank. At 79 years old, he was an
avid rider and both his machines were licensed. After this display, we were attracted by the booming sound of the
1925 Indian 61 cubic inch V-twin so we sauntered over and watched the owner tuning out the misfire. At various
times the pre-WW1 singles with and without sidecars would lope around the field. Later, we of the Country Manor,
Brian given included at this point, repaired back there.
Sunday morning saw us up early, fed and back to the fairgrounds. Frank was racing the clock now as some
vendors were packing up. We rushed from booth to booth. Frank and I each bought something from Joe
Nestoruk .Patrick was buying books from Mike Partridge and picking up odd pieces here and there. It was nice
and cool in the building that Mike is favoured with and we lingered a while. Patrick and I had both got front
number plates and frame parts the day before from Bob Buchanan, arch pre-unit Triumph aficionado with the ’59
tangerine and pearl grey Bonnie.
At one point, Frank, in an attempt to make the big purchase of the slim line, painted Bonneville gas tank,
discovered that he was now a pauper. The situation was black until Brian Morrison pulled up on his Norton
Commando and offered Frank a hefty wad of cash. This was akin to offering a large whisky to an alcoholic and
Frank was soon quite calm and composed and clutching a very nice Triumph tank.
The show competition was being held on the racetrack infield and we really enjoyed all the machines on display.
After that, we had lunch with Zeke Steward, vintage enthusiast and restorer. Brian Given, Patrick and I headed off
to London that afternoon where we visited friends. The next day, Patrick and I went out into the countryside to
visit Mike Partridge where we continued to buy parts, new ones this time. Patrick and Brian had decided to ride
home that day to Ottawa. Patrick was somewhat apprehensive about taking his Triumph through the U.S. in light
of the recent seizure. I rode back to London and stayed for two more days. I came home by way of Niagara
Falls, Rochester, Oswego and Sacket’s Harbour where I stayed at the Dolly Motel. Anne, the Dutch lady that runs
the place insisted I stay in the bridal suite as things were slow, against my protestations. A quart of beer, a bag of
popcorn and some old time television, The Andy Griffith Show with Andy Griffith and Don Knotts in Mayberry,
made a good finish to that evening.
The next morning saw me up at six, eating at the restaurant and riding over to Cape Vincent to catch the Lake
Ontario Ferry. I went on to Wolf Island and Kingston. I visited a cousin and then Mr.Tetzlaff that day and had a
leisurely ride back to Ottawa. I changed the oil and checked the mileage, just shy of 1200 miles. It had been a
good nine day trip but it was time to rest now.
Donald Cutts
Patrick Hampson and I set out in the rain for the vintage rally in Paris, Ontario on the Tuesday, allowing us a
cushion of three days. I had people to visit in London. In view of the inclement weather, I took my 1976 Triumph
Bonneville and Patrick was on his rebuilt 1966 Triumph TR6. The downpour ended about 80 miles out of Ottawa.
I was confident that by the time we got to London that evening, our socks and shoes would have dried out.
Somewhere past Silver Lake, Patrick slowed down and man and machine came to a halt. His machine would not
run again this day.
We were in luck as there was a restaurant and pay phone a few hundred yards away. A series of tests and
weighty discussion followed. Our plan for the day was quickly changed and we decided to go back to Silver Lake
and rent a truck. In the meantime, we called Frank Tetzlaff in Kingston from the payphone as he would be a key
part of our strategy. The initial plan involved hauling the sickly Triumph to London and then Paris where we could
strip it. The final plan had us carting the machine over to Kingston, abusing Frank’s hospitality for an
undetermined period while we used his shop.
Patrick hopped on the pillion of my motorcycle and off we went to Silver Lake, twenty miles back. The U-Haul Man
back in Silver Lake was friendly and slow. It took well over an hour to do the formalities. It may have had
something to do with Patrick’s Nortel ID card – you never know. The U-Haul Man looked apprehensively at it.
Patrick brought the U-Haul truck back to the scene and we opened the doors of the box. This would do fine. Yes,
there was loads of room for two or even three motorbikes but hold on a minute! “Where the heck is the bloody
ramp?” I blurted out. Patrick had been assured that the truck came with a ramp.
A friendly passerby told Patrick to back the truck up against an outcropping of rock jutting out from the slope
nearby, to meet the rock, from which we could push the Triumph into the truck. This met with failure. Next, Patrick
found some plywood planks and two by fours behind the restaurant and we made a makeshift ramp. Halfway up
the ramp, there was a great cracking sound and we went down along with the machine. Our structure proved not
to be up to engineering standards. We were lucky to emerge with bones intact. It was past noon now. Common
sense took over and Patrick went off in the truck to Silver Lake to get the equipment while I had lunch. It was well
over an hour before he returned. We loaded the motorbike and secured it.
We set off cross country for Kingston with me in the lead. It was now sunny and extremely hot. My ride turned into
a trial as I was wearing my leather jacket. A pokey school bus tied us up for some miles before I passed it.
Patrick gave the V-8 in the old U-Haul a good workout as he weaved out to pass the bus and catch up to me. We
made extremely good time after that.
Arriving in an unfamiliar part of Kingston, we parked in a shopping centre and waited for Frank to come and get
us. Back at his shop, we unloaded the Triumph and Patrick returned the truck to the Kingston office. It was late
afternoon and we went home to Frank’s place. What a time it had been. All day on the road and we were all of
120 miles from home. Does life get any better than this?
At six o’clock Lynn and Frank and Patrick and I went out the family truck to an Italian restaurant. The food was
excellent and the wine was cool. We quickly shook that sense of urgency that had gripped us for most of the day.
Frank put us up for the night in the basement.
The next day, we were up at six. Frank gave us the car to get down to the shop while he took his truck. I backed
the vehicle into the roadway and promptly ran out of gas. This type of situation is vintage Tetzlaff. Frank was able
to find a quart of gasoline for the lawnmower and off we went to the gas station. After a quick stop at the
restaurant for breakfast, Patrick and I arrived at the shop and proceeded to strip the top end of the motor. A
seized drive side piston and rings and a scuffed barrel revealed themselves. There was no end of onlookers and
distracting conversation at this point, mostly customers and Mechanics from the shop next door. The most
annoying of them proved to be a godsend, however. He informed us of a modern Triumph shop in town which I
promptly telephoned. No, they wouldn’t have any parts for a 1966 machine but they offered the name of a
Triumph restorer and enthusiast, Tony Kershaw. I phoned Tony and the formerly annoying man drove us over to
Tony’s residence with all the necessary parts for his inspection. We regarded the formerly annoying gentleman
now in an altogether different light. He had become our benefactor! Beware of first impressions.
Tony Kershaw had no parts in stock, except for gaskets but he would clean up the piston, rings and lands and
hone the cylinder. He did a first rate job and had the parts back over to the shop by mid afternoon. He even
eased the cylinders down over the rings. Tony’s father had opened up a new Triumph dealership in 1948 back in
England. Patrick thanked and paid him for his efforts and we began to re-assemble the rest. The day was
waning once again. Frank was able to leave his desk and offer gratuitous and somewhat derogatory comments
about old machines. Well, it was a hot, sticky day and Frank seemed a trifle irritable. He’s certainly a different fish
now since he got the big Harley this spring. We were at the rocker box stage now and I slyly asked for Frank’s
opinion on certain points. After a few minutes of this, he grabbed the box end wrench and started tightening down
the headbolts, handing it back and forth to me to do my side. This was the Frank of olden times, Mr. Triumph
once again. The mechanical shop next door had loaned us a pair of expensive Snap-On Torque wrenches pre-
set to 16 and 18 pounds respectively. We got everything together and set the tappets and got her running. A
short test drive looked and sounded good.
It was suppertime again and we went back to the Tetzlaff residence. Another outing at a cool restaurant with good
food and cool beverages perked up everyone’s dispositions. We made an earlier night of it and woke up early. A
quick breakfast, down to the shop to get the motorcycles and we were away, bound for London. Two days out of
Ottawa and 120 miles from home. It won’t be the last record we set, I’m quite certain.
Our plans had been altered considerably. Our jaunt over the rural northern and scenic route was no longer in the
cards. Faced with a trip through Toronto the Terrible or Markham, we chose Markham and experienced every
possible road delay. We were men without hope. I would have to postpone my London visit until after Paris.
We arrived in Paris late Thursday afternoon and checked into our bed and breakfast place, the Country Manor.
What a treat! Our host, John Chapman was from Birmingham and he knew all about the machines, having ridden
himself. We were treated to garage facilities and a raft of yesteryear stories about motorcycling back home. John’
s wife Elizabeth was an excellent chef and we were treated to a gigantic breakfast every morning. For diversion at
the table, there was the company of a few other motorcyclists who were passing through. Our rooms overlooked
a large, well tended section of the one and a half acre property.
Friday morning saw us up at the fairgrounds where the Ottawa crowd was camped. There were two distinct
groups – a merry band of bawdy revellers led by Stan Johnson, a Yorkshire Tenor of some note and a less
frivolous group led by Arial enthusiast Jim Hunter and backed up by Brian and Nigel Baker, Brian Wigmore,
Leighton Brown and Vernon Fairhead. We had a foot in each camp at various times. Variety is the spice of life, to
a certain extent. The ubiquitous Frank Tetzlaff appeared in the evening on his shiny new Harley Davidson. We
quizzed him closely to see if he had any problems with the new Harley, remembering the anguish he had
experienced that first weekend of his ownership. He would admit to no trouble, in public. The time flew by. Patrick
and I went to a little restaurant not far from our place, for supper. Tim Conway had brought his monstrous pickup
truck laden with motorcycles, camping gear and refreshments. However, we must point out that he spent the
unusually cool night most uncomfortably in the cab of his truck since he had overlooked that one basic necessity
of the seasoned camper, the sleeping bag!
On Saturday, Patrick and I got serious about buying parts, he for his 1966 TR6 and me for my recent acquisition,
the 1961 Triumph Tiger 110, ex-bathtub and headlamp nacelle etc., ten years out of Liverpool now. We readily
acquired old workshop manuals and parts. In the middle of all this, there was a disturbance. Someone was
actually asking vendors whether they would accept NSF cheques, or whether some parts were complimentary or
if they would include both items for the price of one. Wouldn’t you guess… it was Frank Tetzlaff trying to throw
the parts sellers off balance so he could get the price lowered by the time they regained their composure. We
followed him around since he was creating some excitement. He’s got a nose like a ferret when it comes to
locating Triumph parts so Patrick and I were able to take advantage of this fact to get what we needed. By mid
afternoon, I was carrying loads of stuff for Frank and he had run out of money. Soon after, I was lucky enough to
be offered a ride on John Cooper’s Velocette Venom Thruxton when he learned that I was a Venom owner.
That evening, it was decided we’d run out to St. George for supper. We had a lively ride out. Stan Johnson was
on his pristine 1958 Matchless G80 CS followed by Billy Bitz, J. Bradley Babcock on a Suzuki 1200 sport bike,
Patrick and I on our crackling Triumphs, Frank on his Harley Electra Glide Ultra Classic, Tim Conway on his
seventies Honda 360, his son Jeff on the snarling ’92 Harley and Brian Given on his BMW R80. The St. George
Arms served an excellent supper. The time flew by as everyone had something to say. It was Jeff Conway’s
Birthday week and Father Tim had spent an unusual amount of money on Jeff in an attempt at bonding. When
Jeff had the effrontery to order a rather expensive dessert, Tim unleashed an exact and very audible accounting
of the week’s bonding cost to himself.Tim was not amused …but the rest of us were. Tim has a mind like a steel
trap when it comes to money. Being a top forensic insurance fraud investigator, Tim knows where the money
comes from and where it goes. He’s put more than a few felons behind bars.
Afterwards, two groups of us roared off back to Paris by different routes. Back at the field, we were treated to a
discourse on the history of the English AA Service from 1905 to 1968 when it was disbanded. The English
gentleman from New York State holding the lecture had a 1963 BSA M21 AA outfit in fine working order. He also
had a lovely 1932 BSA Blue Star with hand shift and instruments in the petrol tank. At 79 years old, he was an
avid rider and both his machines were licensed. After this display, we were attracted by the booming sound of the
1925 Indian 61 cubic inch V-twin so we sauntered over and watched the owner tuning out the misfire. At various
times the pre-WW1 singles with and without sidecars would lope around the field. Later, we of the Country Manor,
Brian given included at this point, repaired back there.
Sunday morning saw us up early, fed and back to the fairgrounds. Frank was racing the clock now as some
vendors were packing up. We rushed from booth to booth. Frank and I each bought something from Joe
Nestoruk .Patrick was buying books from Mike Partridge and picking up odd pieces here and there. It was nice
and cool in the building that Mike is favoured with and we lingered a while. Patrick and I had both got front
number plates and frame parts the day before from Bob Buchanan, arch pre-unit Triumph aficionado with the ’59
tangerine and pearl grey Bonnie.
At one point, Frank, in an attempt to make the big purchase of the slim line, painted Bonneville gas tank,
discovered that he was now a pauper. The situation was black until Brian Morrison pulled up on his Norton
Commando and offered Frank a hefty wad of cash. This was akin to offering a large whisky to an alcoholic and
Frank was soon quite calm and composed and clutching a very nice Triumph tank.
The show competition was being held on the racetrack infield and we really enjoyed all the machines on display.
After that, we had lunch with Zeke Steward, vintage enthusiast and restorer. Brian Given, Patrick and I headed off
to London that afternoon where we visited friends. The next day, Patrick and I went out into the countryside to
visit Mike Partridge where we continued to buy parts, new ones this time. Patrick and Brian had decided to ride
home that day to Ottawa. Patrick was somewhat apprehensive about taking his Triumph through the U.S. in light
of the recent seizure. I rode back to London and stayed for two more days. I came home by way of Niagara
Falls, Rochester, Oswego and Sacket’s Harbour where I stayed at the Dolly Motel. Anne, the Dutch lady that runs
the place insisted I stay in the bridal suite as things were slow, against my protestations. A quart of beer, a bag of
popcorn and some old time television, The Andy Griffith Show with Andy Griffith and Don Knotts in Mayberry,
made a good finish to that evening.
The next morning saw me up at six, eating at the restaurant and riding over to Cape Vincent to catch the Lake
Ontario Ferry. I went on to Wolf Island and Kingston. I visited a cousin and then Mr.Tetzlaff that day and had a
leisurely ride back to Ottawa. I changed the oil and checked the mileage, just shy of 1200 miles. It had been a
good nine day trip but it was time to rest now.
Donald Cutts
