Niall Mackenzie
The autobiography
Niall Mackenzie
with Stuart Barker

With love for my mum, Amelia.1929-2002

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Foreword

CHAPTER ONE Chip Shops and Railway Tracks

CHAPTER TWO Tractor Racing

CHAPTER THREE No Van, Man

CHAPTER FOUR Stealing Tomatoes

CHAPTER FIVE Watching the Washing Machine

CHAPTER SIX I’m Not Really a Welder

CHAPTER SEVEN Thanks for the Watch

CHAPTER EIGHT Stoney’s Return

CHAPTER NINE A Lucky Strike

CHAPTER TEN A Baboon on the Lawn

CHAPTER ELEVEN A Horse at the Traffic Lights

CHAPTER TWELVE Steak Instead of Spam

CHAPTER THIRTEEN It’s a Boat – It’ll Float

CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Dead Rat

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 10 Downing Street

CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Mackenzie Shuffle

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Like a Virgin

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Evil Twins

CHAPTER NINETEEN Pipe and Slippers

CHAPTER TWENTY World Domination

Career Results

Index

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Publisher

Foreword
by MICK DOOHAN

Five Times 500cc World Champion

1994-1998

Niall Mackenzie was one of the first people I got to know when I started Grand Prix racing with Rothmans Honda in 1989 and since then we’ve always had a friendly relationship. He was one of the few guys against whom you could race and then go and have a coffee with at the end of the day without any worries. It was good to have him and his wife Jan around the GP paddock and they were very popular with everyone.

Back then we used to do some training together and would often go out running, which was something I couldn’t do any more after I broke my leg at Assen in 1992.

In my first season, I sometimes used to ask Niall about the weather in the various countries in Europe. I was straight out of Australia and had never been to most of those places, whereas Niall knew his way around. Before my first GP at Spa Francorchamps, I remember I mentioned to Niall that the weather in Belgium wasn’t so flash and he replied that he’d never been in a dry Grand Prix at Spa in all the years he’d raced there! Niall beat me in the 1989 championship when he was seventh and I was ninth.

That season, and the next, we were often racing each other closely and he was always a very fair sportsman in the way he rode.

Over the years that we’ve been friends he has visited me in Australia and we’ve been out on boats together and spent lots of time just relaxing away from the Grands Prix.

Niall started GP racing a year or two before me and around that time there was plenty of strong competition with riders such as Eddie Lawson, Wayne Rainey, Kevin Schwantz, Wayne Gardner, Christian Sarron and others.

It was a really quality field in those days but Niall had a pole position, seven podiums, and a total of twenty-eight top five finishes between 1987 and 1993.

The results don’t always tell the whole story, but on this occasion they show that Niall was a very competitive motorcycle racer and Britain’s best rider in 500cc Grands Prix at that time.

Since then he has raced in a variety of championships at world level and in Britain, mostly on Superbikes, and not surprisingly, he’s always done well relative to the capabilities of his equipment.

Another of Niall’s strengths is his character. We all have our ups and downs in this sport, but Niall was one who enjoyed his success without getting too carried away with it and could also take setbacks in his stride. He’s a guy who always seems to bounce back.

Niall obviously enjoys riding and racing motorcycles, otherwise he wouldn’t have had the motivation to keep going for as long as he did. Motivation is everything if you’re going to have some success in racing; you really have to want to ride the thing, and Niall did that for many seasons.

I can’t think of a better role model for young British riders than Niall. He’s got talent, determination, and most importantly he’s a good guy. I’m sure this publication will give a good insight into how his career unfolded.

I’m fortunate to have Niall as a friend and I look forward to catching up with him again soon.

Mick Doohan

Australia, March 2002

CHAPTER ONE Chip Shops and Railway Tracks

I remember having a conversation with Wayne Gardner and Randy Mamola about how we all got started in bike racing.

At the time, the three of us were at the peak of our careers racing in the 500cc Grand Prix World Championships. Wayne had won the title in 1987, Randy had been runner up four times and I was a full factory rider for Honda, and had set pole position in my first ride for the team at the Japanese GP.

We were sitting around a campsite having a barbecue somewhere on the continent and their stories of biking childhoods seemed so exotic to me. Randy had been riding children’s dirt track bikes round purpose-built tracks all over California since he was about four years old and Wayne had been doing the same thing in Australia. I, on the other hand, made my two-wheeled debut on a knackered old scooter dragged off a scrap heap at the ripe old age of thirteen and didn’t even think about racing until I was nineteen. So I was wondering what to say when I had to reveal my racing pedigree because it sure as hell wasn’t going to stand up next to Wayne and Randy’s.

When Randy turned to me and said ‘What about you Niall? How did you get started in racing?’ I decided to lie. Instead of telling them how it really was, I concocted a story that I thought would make them laugh. I said that I’d been working for the electricity board in Scotland (which was true) when I got caught in a woman’s house doing a job dressed from head to toe in her underwear that I’d taken from her bedroom drawers. I added that I was sacked from my job and thought I might as well try my hand at racing bikes professionally since I had been thinking about it anyway.

Wayne Gardner erupted. He was actually crying with laughter. I still don’t know if he was laughing so hard because he thought it was a funny story or because he thought it was true. But either way, there’s still nasty rumours kicking around the paddocks of the world that I have transvestite tendencies and I still blame Wayne for spreading them so I think he probably did believe me. I suppose he had even more reason to believe my story after I dressed as Grand Prix racer Rob McElnea’s girlfriend just so we could get into an all night couples bar in Italy.

Just for the record, it’s absolutely not true – I’m not a transvestite. In fact, my wife’s clothes don’t even fit me.

But making up that story to raise a laugh was an indication of just how completely out of place I felt in the company of Grand Prix superstars like Wayne and Randy, even though I was giving them a good run for their money in the GPs at the time.

I simply couldn’t get my head around the fact that Wayne Gardner and Freddie Spencer were my team-mates or that I had become friends with people I’d only previously known from seeing on television. But most of all, I couldn’t believe that someone like me, who came from a small, unremarkable village in Central Scotland, could be mixing with the best riders in the world in the 500cc Grand Prix World Championship.

Everyone accepts that GP racers come from Italy, America, Australia or somewhere equally exotic, so being born in Fankerton seemed to rule me out of a career in GPs straight away. Somehow, it just doesn’t have the same ring to it as Modesto, California or the Gold Coast, Australia. In fact, my home town is so small that it’s not even listed on most road maps.

So let me just put the record straight. Fankerton is situated about a mile from Denny in Central Scotland and it’s just a tiny village of around sixty houses, most of which were built to provide homes for the local papermill workers.

I was brought home there to a council house at 3 Myot View after being delivered at Stirling Royal Infirmary at 3.15pm on 19 July 1961 and my parents called me Niall Macfarlane Mackenzie – a name as suited to Grand Prix racing as my background was.

My father Neil, chose the Gaelic spelling of his own name for me since he came from Inverness, the capital of the Scottish Highlands and a city steeped in Gaelic tradition. The pronunciation, incidentally, is the same as with the standard spelling of the name, although that fact has been lost on many TV commentators who have who persisted in pronouncing it ‘Nyall.’

Dad was a qualified engineer but spent twentythree years working in India as a tea plantation manager before returning to Scotland in the late 1950s and marrying my mum, Amelia Macfarlane. I was an only child but I’ve got three half-brothers, John, Brian and Colin, from my dad’s first marriage.

Dad lost most of his savings from India in a succession of ill-advised business investments and he returned to engineering work to support my mum, who worked as a secretary, and myself. We weren’t exactly on the breadline but there wasn’t a lot of extra cash for luxuries and from a very early age, I knew that if I wanted something extra, I was going to have to work for it.

So, straight from primary school I helped on a farm carrying milk from the milking parlour to the tank. I was paid ten bob (50p) a week and I loved it. I knew there was no money in paper rounds so as soon as my parents allowed me to, I got up before school and did a milk round for £8 a week and also worked on the farm. It was good fun as well as being an earner, and me and my mate Beefy thought we were the sharpest milkmen in Scotland.

My mum opened a bank account for me with my christening money when I was very young and I was fascinated by how money could just grow if you left it there. To me, interest was money for nothing and I thought that was great. I’m not tight, you understand, but I’ve just always been a good saver. I don’t know if it’s a security thing but it definitely came from my mum. She was always good with money and that grounding has stood me in good stead throughout my career.

I suppose my childhood was much the same as any other kids growing up in rural Scotland at the time. Cash may have been tight but as long as there were rivers, forests and glens to play in, boys could be boys, knees could be muddied and everyone was happy. Having a friend who lived on a farm helped too. All the kids congregated at the farm and if you wanted to work there you could. I suppose it was slave labour in a way but we loved it all the same.

The farm seemed more like an adventure playground than a workplace with all the tractors and machinery to play on and the tunnels that we explored in the haysheds.

Some of the funniest times I experienced as a kid was when I played ‘The Grand National’ and ‘Chap Door Run’ with my pals. There was a big square of council houses that had all their gardens backing onto each other and the aim of ‘The Grand National’ was to make a run for it and throw yourself over all the hedges while being chased by the people who lived in the houses. It was a particular favourite with me and my mate Hammy. ‘Chap Door Run’ is just one of a thousand names for every kid’s other favourite game – knocking on doors and running away! Well, at least we were getting exercise.

But while my childhood was relatively carefree, and even financially productive to a certain extent, my teenage years were more trying. In 1975 when I was just thirteen, my father died after a long history of health problems. He had a heart condition mainly due to working too hard and playing too hard; he had just hammered himself when he lived in India. He’d been teetotal ever since I was born but the damage had already been done after years of playing too much polo and drinking too much whisky – not a good combination.

My father’s death not only affected my teenage years, it also affected my career prospects as having a motorbike when dad was alive just wasn’t an option. He actually had a 350 AJS at one point and used to ride it fifty miles to and from work every day as my uncle Alick still reminds me. But when it came to me having a bike, he gave me the usual speech about money and safety like most parents do. So if my dad hadn’t died, I might never have become a bike racer because he really wasn’t keen on the whole motorbike thing. Maybe because he’d owned one he was more aware of the dangers than most.

I know that lots of kids who lose a parent can be psychologically scarred for life, but somehow I quickly accepted the reality of the situation. To be honest, it was almost a relief when he died because he’d been ill for three years and it was so sad to watch him deteriorating. I loved him to bits and was probably closer to him than to my mum but in a way I was prepared for his death. I shed a few tears with my mum that night but went back to school a week later and tried to carry on. There were a few tears at school too because kids can be so cruel about things like that, but after a few weeks I was fine and just got on with my life. In fact I received a lot of attention for having lost my father and quite enjoyed it.

As a rule, I wasn’t a bad kid but I was definitely given more of a free rein by my mum and my teachers because my dad was dead. It sounds terrible but I actually loved the freedom of not having a father figure around. I didn’t completely abuse that freedom but there was a lot less discipline in my life than some of my mates had to put up with. I was never one to hang around the graveyard smoking fags, doing drugs and getting drunk all the time – it just wasn’t my thing – but I had a few Strongbow Cider experiences and generally goofed around a bit more than before.

Like I said, I didn’t abuse my new-found freedom but like most young boys, I overstepped the mark on a few occasions and faced the wrath of the law as well as that of my mum, particularly when I stole my friend’s dad’s car.

I had learned to drive tractors when I was very young so I could drive a car with no problem, long before I was old enough to drive legally. My mates and I didn’t go to school much in our final year and we thought it would be a good idea to ‘borrow’ a car to cruise around in to pass the time and show off. So the four of us, me, Shanksy, Stoney and Bunny (Stoney would come back to haunt me on the other side of the world years later when I was racing in GPs), started to drive around in the car quite regularly. I suppose it was only a matter of time before we got caught. We eventually got too cocky and once when we were parked behind the ice cream van at the school gates, a flashing blue light came up behind us. I floored the accelerator and took off, getting chased round the streets until I finally got some distance between us and the police, ditched the car and made a run for it. I got out and ran off as did Shanksy who was in the passenger seat, but the child locks were on in the back and Stoney and Bunny couldn’t get out. They were sitting ducks for the cops to nab and were taken straight down to the police station and photographed and fingerprinted like real criminals. They eventually ‘squealed’ and told the cops everything and I got fingered as the driver.

Up to that point, my mum had never hit me, and my dad had never laid a finger on me when he was alive, but that night my mum attacked me, pulling my hair and kicking and screaming like a banshee. I didn’t like seeing her in such a state and I realised I’d made a mistake that I didn’t want to repeat so I tried to behave myself a bit more after that.

Apart from gaining a bit of disciplinary leeway, the most significant effect of losing my dad was that I was free to pursue my interest in motorcycles, which had been sparked off by a friend’s dad who raced bikes. He was called Jimmy Rae and he used to race at the Isle of Man TT and in the Scottish championships. Bob Maclntyre’s old mechanic, Pirn Fleming, used to spanner for him and Jimmy had known Bob too so that always impressed us as kids, as Bob Mac was Scotland’s most famous bike racer and the first man to do a 100mph lap at the TT.

Hanging around that garage was my first real exposure to bikes but I wasn’t mad on them at that point; I was just interested like most young lads would be.

It was only when I actually got to ride a bike that I became hooked, even though my introduction to powered two-wheel transport was less than glamorous, as I’ve already explained. While my future Grand Prix rivals were learning their trades on expensive children’s racing motorcycles as soon as they could sit on them, I had to wait until I was thirteen before I sat on a bike and even then it was more of a push-bike than a motorbike. And rather than riding on a purpose built schoolboy motocross track my debut was on an old railway line.

The first bike I ever rode was a Raleigh scooter and it relied on good old pedal power more than the power of its minuscule combustion engine. It was basically a push-bike with a little engine and some of my mates had dragged it off a dump and managed to get it going so we ended up on the old railway line that used to serve Carron Grove Papermill with it. I was the youngest one there and was given a go and I just couldn’t believe that this push-bike thing was moving without me having to peddle – well, sometimes at least. It must have made about 3bhp but I was just blown away with the whole concept and that was the start of it for me: I had to have a motorbike.

It’s debatable whether my first two-wheeled purchase could actually be described as a motorbike however as Honda’s C90 is probably the most basic form of two-wheeled transport there is. But its reputation for reliability and its ease of use have made it the biggest selling bike of all time with some thirty million of them having been sold to date, mostly to grannies and pizza delivery boys.

I paid about £40 for my second hand C90, which was quite a lot of cash back then but I had saved up enough money from my milk round and I just had to have it. I mostly rode it round the fields with my old orange helmet on but sometimes I would have to ride it on the road to get to the fields even though it had no tax or insurance and I hadn’t passed my test. My mates were mostly older and had Yamaha FSlEs and Suzuki AP50s so I was always playing catch up.

After the C90, I bought a Honda TL125 trials bike from Lloyds Brothers in Hamilton. I don’t really know why I wanted one because I certainly didn’t do any trials on it. It cost £330 brand new, which was a fortune to me, and I had to save everything I earned for six months to get it since my mum still didn’t want me to have a bike and wouldn’t let me use any of the money she’d put away for me.

As soon as I turned seventeen, I naturally wanted a proper bike for the road and the coolest thing a seventeen year old could have in the late 1970s was a Yamaha FS1E or ‘Fizzy’ as they became affectionately known. So I sold the Honda TL125 to raise cash to buy a ‘Fizzy’ and I was ready to rock. But first there was the minor inconvenience of passing a bike test. I could have ridden the little pedal-assisted Fizzy on a provisional licence indefinitely but I had aspirations of moving onto bigger bikes so I took my test at the first opportunity.

Fortunately, for me at least, riding standards were not quite as strict in the 1970s as they are now and I passed my test at the first attempt even though my examiner disappeared before the test was over! Nowadays, you take your test on a bike with a radio link to the examiner, who’s on another bike. But in those days, the examiner just used to watch you riding round the streets as he stood on the pavement. At one point, I was asked to ride round the block and the examiner said he would hide behind a car and jump out holding his hand up for me to do an emergency stop. I went round the block but got lost and by the time I found the right street again he was gone – nowhere to be seen. I somehow managed to find my way back to the test centre and he was already there, waiting to give me my licence. I think he just wanted to go home as it was half past four on a dark and drizzly winter afternoon in Falkirk and he was just going through the motions, but that was fine by me as I still got my licence.

If there is one downside to motorcycles it’s that they can be dangerous. Whichever way you dress up the facts and figures, the truth remains that a lot of people both on the road and on racetracks, get hurt or killed riding bikes. But anyone who rides a bike has weighed up the risks and decided they’re worth taking. After all, you can’t live your life wrapped in cotton wool trying to avoid every possible danger. Taking risks and getting the adrenaline pumping is what makes people feel alive and, when all’s said and done, bikes are great fun and that’s why we ride them.

Even so, I had a grim early lesson in the dangers of motorcycling. I had bought the Fizzy from a friend called Craig Feeney who had just bought a bigger 250cc Ham Yam (a customised Yamaha with bolt-on racing parts) which was considered the bees’ knees at the time. A few months later, Craig was paralysed from the chest down after a road accident. I was gutted for my friend but never thought about selling up and quitting bikes. It was a big shock because he was in a wheelchair but it didn’t put me off and I actually bought a Ham Yam similar to Craig’s not long after his accident. Craig eventually received a big compensation pay out and he helped me out financially when I started racing.

In those early days, I still didn’t harbour any ambitions to be a racer. In fact, I had no ambitions at all except to enjoy myself. It’s not that I was totally stupid. I was actually quite good at school. I managed to get seven ‘O’ Levels (the equivalent of GCSEs), and I even stayed on at school to study for four Highers (the Scottish version of English ‘A’ Levels). However a crash on my Fizzy resulted in a damaged knee which in turn resulted in several weeks off school. I missed a lot of the groundwork for the new term and I was fed up with trying to catch up so I just left school and went to work full time on the farm. I still had my milk run in the morning and I helped at a haulage firm at night so I was making enough cash to get by.

My mum would have supported me financially through college if I had wanted to go but the idea of studying for four years at that age just didn’t appeal to me. I wanted to be having a good time and anyway I liked driving tractors at the farm, doing all the harrowing and rolling and the like, so why would I want to be stuck in a classroom?

However, the glamorous world of motor sports seemed something that only other, more privileged children could aspire to. In fact, the closest I ever got to considering racing as a career was dreaming of being a rally car driver as a kid but I never considered that as a realistic option – it was just day-dreaming stuff. As for bike racing, it never even entered my head. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to start for one thing. Where I came from, you were considered lucky just to get a trade apprenticeship and the highest you could aim for was getting in with the big companies like BP or ICI in Grangemouth. I certainly wasn’t encouraged to dream about alternative glamorous lifestyles so, like everyone else, I stuck with the jobs I had and just got on with things.

When I wasn’t working, I started to discover the pleasures of girls and alcohol and I liked what I found. I knew from playing Postman’s Knock at Sunday school at a very early age that I was definitely heterosexual! We used to organise snogging sessions in primary seven when I was ten. I’d cover myself in Old Spice aftershave and get stuck in and it was really exciting even though we didn’t know what the hell we were doing.

I suppose my first proper girlfriend was Lorraine Binnie who came from a very good family of Baptists. I wasn’t exactly religious, reliable or mature so I’m sure the Binnies were pleased to see the back of me when Lorraine and I drifted apart.

But by the time I was seventeen I’d popped my cherry and never looked back! I dated some nice girls over the years but never wanted a steady girlfriend because I was too busy with bikes and fooling around with my mates.

At seventeen, I also started going to pubs with my pals. I looked so young that I couldn’t get served before that, so up until then we’d had to content ourselves by buying bottles of Pomagne or Buckfast from the off-licence and drinking them in the park. Pure class.

When I did go out drinking, it would be at The Pines in Denny or at various Young Farmers discos which were a big thing in rural Scotland at the time (and probably still are). I was already familiar with The Pines pub because of the chip shop of the same name next door. We all used to hang about at The Pines chip shop every night as kids then we graduated to the pub next door when we were old enough. We were there every night with push-bikes, motorbikes, cars or whatever we had. Everyone on bikes would try to show off doing wheelies and stunts and I was no exception. I had one go wrong once and ended up riding right in through the chip shop doors, landing on my backside in a heap, back wheel still spinning, saying ‘Two steak pies and a fish supper please.’

It was a great atmosphere at The Pines. Everyone got on well together and the cops pretty much left us alone because we weren’t doing any damage, chip shop doors notwithstanding. I was always good at socialising with different groups from the rough kids right through to the really academic types. I just seemed to blend in well with anyone.

By this time, my friends Alistair and Stewart Rae (Jimmy’s boys) had started racing and I went with them to several meetings in Scotland and in the north of England. I still had no intention of going racing myself, I was chuffed just to be helping the lads. They had a Fiat van, which was always breaking down, and we went all over the place in it having a great time wherever we’d go.

There would be the Rae brothers, me and my best mate Wullie McKay, with whom I worked, and we always got drunk on Saturday nights and ended up fighting each other in the back of the van. We were all in sleeping bags battling for space to stretch out and once someone started kicking, all hell broke loose. It actually got pretty rough and there were some nasty cuts and bruises dished out but it was such a laugh that we didn’t care.

I figured those boys were going to be world champions when they started finishing in the top six in club races. I believed they would go all the way.

But even attending race meetings and helping out where I could wasn’t enough to inspire me to go racing myself. It was something entirely different which provided that inspiration. It was called an RD350LC and it was Yamaha’s hot new street bike.

When the RD350LC was first launched in 1980, it was the bike for teenage boy racers and it still has a cult following to this day. With a top speed of 110mph, it was derived straight from the racetrack and I just knew I had to have one. Although I didn’t know it at the time, that was the bike which launched my road-racing career and helped keep the wolves from the door for the next twenty years.

But before that happened, I still had to learn my trade on the streets of Denny with the newly acquired RD that, incidentally, cost me the princely sum of £1130. My mates and I had a circuit that ran round Denny and the official start line was at The Pines pub. On a flying lap, we’d ride past there at over 100mph and I did my first through-the-box wheelie on that circuit too, which was one of my best moments in biking. I’ll never forget the feeling of changing right up into third gear on the back wheel. I was ‘the daddy’ that night and I remember stepping off the bike and passing all the girls going into the chippie trying to act all cool about it. But inside I was bursting with pride and I knew (or thought) that I was the man in Denny that night.

I suppose my propensity for speed was beginning to blossom on the little Yam although I didn’t realise it at the time. I used to pass people on the brakes before the junction at the bottom of the road and didn’t really know why I was faster than they were – I thought they were just braking early for some reason. But I was always nervous of traffic on the roads and never really felt that comfortable. I fell off the LC a few times on filthy, greasy roads but it was always at low speeds and I only ever skinned my knees. Falling off back then never did my confidence as a road rider any good – it just reminded me that too many things could go wrong on public roads. And if you don’t want to ride your motorcycle on public roads, there’s only one place left to go – the racetrack.

After all, Knockhill was only a few miles away and it would soon be hosting rounds of the allnew 500cc Scottish Production Championship. By lucky coincidence, most of the entrants would be on Yamaha’s new RD350LC, the bike that I had been racing round the streets. Surely a track would be safer?

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