It was 1972 in the Deep South, I was working at my after-school job at the local mower come motorcycle shop, and then I heard it—the rumble of a V-twin… a brand new Ducati GT 750 pulling up outside. Compared to the odd Honda farm bike that we sold, this was just out of this world.
Seeing a Ducati for the first time made quite an impression on a 12-year-old boy, I can tell you.
Fast forward to 1985, Wanganui, Boxing Day races (my first visit), and watching Paul Pavletich on the Bike Clinic Pantah-based F2 bike and the Bob Brown Ducati TT1 cleaning up the major racing classes of the day—I was once again in awe of the beauty, sound, and speed of these Ducati machines.
A few days later, I was back in Wellington trying to kill an hour or so before catching the ferry back down south to Nelson (where I was living at the time). With the sound of those Ducatis still ringing in my ears, a trip to Bike Clinic was in order. There, in the window, was the most exotic Ducati you could buy at the time, a 750 F1. Compared to what else you could buy at the time, it was very expensive—$15,000—but it was just dripping with exotic parts: fully floating Brembo brakes, Ceriani forks, Marzocchi shock, Dell'Orto carbs, etc., etc. I just wanted it!!! But it was Sunday, and the shop was closed…
I got back to Nelson, and first thing Monday morning, I rang them up to see if it was still for sale. They said yes... I nearly fell over with excitement. I raced back over to Picton, jumped on the next ferry to Wellington, and bought it!
So began my journey with “My Bike,” a journey that is nearly 40 years long.
Like all journeys, there are smooth, easy bits, extremely difficult bits, but ultimately all very rewarding. Let me share a few of the tales “My Bike” and I have shared.
Day 1 - The ferry docked back in Picton late Monday afternoon. As the first few k's went by (Queen Charlotte Drive, of course), I soon realised this was a very special bike – the way it just dropped into corners and punched back out of them, it changed direction like no other bike I had ever ridden. And then there was the sound… wow. I got back to Nelson faster than I ever had before, with the biggest smile on my face – I was in love.
1 day old!
My flatmate thought I was mad to spend $15,000 on a bike, but after that first ride, I knew it was money well spent. I went for a 100k ride every day after work; I just couldn’t get enough of it.
The problem was, the more I rode it, the more I pushed it, and the more I pushed it, the more it seemed to say, “Is that all you can do?” So, I rode it harder and harder.
Well, the first 5 days of ownership were definitely the “honeymoon” period. Saturday morning arrived, and the usual suspects gathered for a “quiet ride” (read Rai Valley GP) over to the Canvastown pub for lunch. I was going to show the boys just how well this Ducati went… As I approached the 65 km/h left-hander at the bottom of the Whangamoas, I glanced down at the speedo… 140, no worries, this bike is good… but the front tyre said “NO!!” … down we went… ended up sliding backwards into a ditch – 711 k’s on the clock and my lovely F1 was a virtual write-off (as was I, to be fair). Broken fairing, handlebar, headlight, instruments – bent rear wheel, frame, forks, the list just went on and on… and yep, you guessed it, no insurance!!
There I was, all bandaged up with a very bent bike sitting in the shed. Oh well, there’s no point worrying about the “what ifs.” With the two months I had off work due to my injuries, I had plenty of time to get on with repairs. Got the frame straightened and lots of new parts, did away with the fairing, and repaired the massive dent in the tank. Soon enough, the bike started to look almost rideable again.
A week or two later, it was Queen's Birthday Weekend, and the bike was usable just in time for a trip to the Brass Monkey Rally.
Getting there went well, but coming home was another disaster… A poorly tied-on sleeping bag ended up getting tangled in the rear sprocket, locking the rear wheel at around 140–150 k’s just as I was approaching a sweeper. I managed to stay on for quite some time, long enough to wear the rear tyre right down to the canvas, but I was foiled by the fast-approaching corner.
Down we went (again!!) into yet another ditch (1322 k’s on the clock). Lots of damage – broken clip-on, footpeg, bent fork, etc., etc. The bike made it back to Nelson a week later on the back of an apple truck. I was pretty beaten up again myself, to be fair, but managed to ride pillion on the back of an 1100 Katana back home.
I was beginning to feel that this bike and I weren’t meant to be…
The rebuild
A couple of months later, I had it back on the road… just. It was the rattiest F1 you were ever likely to see, wired up this and welded up that, everything was mismatched or robbed off something else… but it was alive again.
It stayed that way for the best part of a year until I had saved up enough money to start buying all the correct parts. I also scored a set of second-hand race fairings and got them painted in a completely different colour scheme, which was to remain for the next 10+ years.
A few performance parts soon arrived – 41 mm carbs, some Montjuich cams, and a reverse cone megaphone race exhaust – this bike was really starting to fly. A couple of trips to Ruapuna Raceway, and this F1 and I were beginning to get along just fine. It was around this time I decided to start racing it in earnest. We started to make an appearance at just about every local event going (winning many) and made regular appearances at the Sound of Thunder in Christchurch (more wins). One of my highlights was racing against the late Robert Holden at the Nelson street races (I actually performed very well on the day).
New paint job - ready to race.
A very wet Sound of thunder
Off to the races
Trying to keep up with Robert Holden
The bike proved to be very reliable despite the absolute thrashing I gave it – it never let me down or failed to complete every race meeting.
Around the year 2000, the poor thing was starting to look a little bit worse for wear – I had slipped off it a couple of times at the races. It still went like a scalded cat, but it was starting to look like a ratty race bike. This coincided with my move to Paraparaumu. I was feeling a bit guilty for all the abuse I had dished out to it over the years and decided it was time to finally return it to its former glory, with a full restoration back to its original splendour.
Nelson Street Races
In a hurry
More trashing
The process took a year and, after it was completed, it took pride of place in the lounge…I just wanted to look at it, after all, it had only ever looked this good for less than a week!! For the next year, there it sat – But I knew I was always going to ride it again.
Finished and in the lounge
So, one sunny day in January, almost 16 years to the day from when I first rode it out of the showroom, it was rolling again. I got a WOF and then off to get the rego sorted. I pulled up to the local AA shop and parked it on the footpath right in front of the shop window (didn’t want to risk the carpark). I went inside and spied a very attractive young lady behind the counter, so I joined that queue instead ;) The young lady duly served me and commented about how beautiful my bike looked. Great taste, I thought… Well, a year later I married that very same young lady!!! True story!!
As the years have passed by, a few other Ducatis have joined my F1 in the shed.
These days, it only gets out on the odd special occasion. It has been ridden to a few National Ducati Rally's (NDRs), and I still do all the maintenance on it – I have gotten to know it like the back of my hand, every nut and bolt. Each time I carry out any work, I know in advance exactly which allen key or socket I need for any given task. I know exactly in what sequence to dismantle it, what spacer or shim goes where, and what torque setting to tighten any given nut to; it is just so familiar.
MY BIKE today
I absolutely love this bike; I love riding, I love looking at it, and there is no amount of money that would ever tempt me to sell it. To put it simply, it’s “My Bike”; always has been, always will be….
✍️ & 📸 Chris Marer
