KIWI RIDER 09 2019 VOL1 | Page 36

I n every lifetime there are legends and tidemarks. Names, actions or music that define an era, or time. When I grew up in Christchurch in the 70s I watched the arrival of Japanese motorcycles. Until then Triumph, Norton, BSA and old Brit iron, like Matchless, AJS and Ariel, were the Canterbury biker’s standard fare. But the ‘rice-burners’, as they were disparagingly (and somewhat racistly) referred to, quickly made inroads, as things like reliability, affordability, a lack of oil leaks, superb finish, bright colours and smaller, ‘zappier’ engines became very desirable. 36 KIWI RIDER There were major standouts in the Japanese fleet. Suzuki’s AC50, the ‘Goucho’, was stylish, pretty, candy-coloured and schoolboy-level- affordable – if one had a particularly profitable paper round. And they were everywhere. The Linwood High School gates saw the arrival and rapid rise of Suzuki, Yamaha and Kawasaki 250s and 350s, so exciting and fast that you’d have given up your first actual girlfriend for one. Some did, but one mate had a parent who ran a motorcycle importer, and that’s when I first knew real jealousy. My old, war-coloured Jawa 175 was an ugly,