It's about 1963, and a 13 year old lad from Christchurch, New Zealand, is on a visit to a farm in southernmost South Island, near Gore. Between chores he has time to explore, the sort of thing all boys his age delight in. During one of these sorties, he stumbles on an old bit of junk machinery partially buried in an irrigation ditch. The lad's already fertile imagination works overtime. (Back home he has already spent time mucking around with old engines, taking them apart, figuring out what makes them tick.)

It's an old motorcycle. He desperately wants to send the wreck home and work on it.

Undoubtedly, the conversation around the dinner table that night focused squarely on the motorcycle. How can we get it out and send it home to Christchurch? Using a tractor, the Indian was pulled out of the channel and, after an initial survey (which only heightened the lad's desire to fix her up), the bike was packed up and freighted back to Christchurch by train. That young boy was John Britten, the race-bike building genius who, had he lived a few years more, may very well have bought the Indian marquee back to life.Back in Christchurch, John and his school buddy Bruce Garrick quickly set about the task of stripping the Indian with the sole aim of getting the engine running. Bruce and John had always mucked around with things mechanical; in the Christchurch suburb of Fendalton, it was not unusual to see the pair testing a new cart design up and down the sidewalk, propulsion by internal combustion engine being almost obligatory.

Everything on the Indian was done at pace. They set about their task with urgency; even attendance at class had to be sacrificed sometimes. However, when the final bolt had been tightened, there seemed to be a problem. The bike was wheeled around to Bruce’s father's house. Ted pulled out a 5-hp Anderson oil engine and used that to spin the Indian's back wheel. This coaxed the V-twin to life. One can only imagine the sense of pride these two boys must have had to see the first smoke from the exhaust. As Ted told me, it was not running well, but it was running. The boys made the most of it, riding it on public roads well before they were eligible to gain a driver's license.In 1975, John gave the Indian to Bruce, happy in the knowledge that the bike would be appreciated and looked after. John's brain was beginning to focus squarely on other things.

Some years later, Bruce moved to Methven, where he worked at Mount Hutt, one of the larger Ski Mountains in South Island. The Indian was sent to Ashburton for an engine overhaul. While this was happening, Bruce shifted to the U.S. to become ski director at Copper Mountain in Colorado. In 1983, he asked his father to pack up the Indian and freight it over.

Bruce rode the Indian in Colorado to find that it still had a persistent timing problem. As a result, the bike did only a few miles. Then, in 1989, Bruce returned to his paramedic work at Mount Hutt. The Indian remained in the U.S. until 1994, when it was shipped home.

During this time, of course, John Britten and his radical V-twin motorcycle had taken the motorcycle racing world by storm. A small boy from a small town in a small country had a big idea. He set out to achieve what everyone else said was impossible. As a result, he built the fastest work of art in the world. A large part of his success started with BEARS racing, which was born in Christchurch, New Zealand. Over 10 years ago, a group of young, enthusiastic motorcyclists decided that things on their favorite Banks Peninsula roads had become too competitive, so they formed an official motorcycle club dedicated to the racing of British, European and American machines (thus the acronym). With that achieved, it then became possible to organize sanctioned meetings at the circuits throughout New Zealand. Among that group was John Britten.

From the outset, John tinkered. If it wasn’t his bike, he was building an oil tank or a seat cowling for someone else. John designed and constructed everything from aircraft mods and vehicle restoration to fittings for his home. All this from a lad who at school had learning difficulties. Progressively he built more and more extreme BEARS motorcycles, including a droop-snooted, Ducati-powered machine that was a prelude of things to come. John had the ability to solve mechanical problems methodically and simply. That, combined with an infectious enthusiasm and natural sense of design, found expression in the world's fastest work of art, the motorcycle we know simply as "The Britten.”

Even in the early days, John and his team experimented with computers as a way of diagnosing problems and assessing the machine's performance. I remember being taken to the factory and being shown a continuous six-point record of engine-chassis performance as the bike was put through its paces at a meeting at Teretonga Raceway the weekend before.John's love and understanding of carbon-fiber led to the award of a world patent for his method of construction. The chassis and suspension on the V-1000 are radical, but that’s what we all came to expect from John. His thinking was never constrained by what had gone before. Even if the big manufacturers claimed they had tried and tested an idea, John always had to prove things for himself. Every February at the BEARS ‘Sound of Thunder meeting, I, like thousands of other supporters, couldn’t wait to see what John would come up with next. The V-1000 evolved and, with the associated improvements, achieved success at the local and, more recently, international levels.

The Britten Motorcycle factory continues to produce and race motorcycles. In fact, in February, 1995, it was widely reported that Australian businessman Maurits Hayim-Langridge had a deal with John Britten to design a prototype motorcycle which would herald the reappearance of the Indian name. Equivalent links with the Britten factory after John's death have, however, not been maintained. There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is the fact that the small team dedicated to ensuring the V-1000 continues to evolve and succeed. That's how John would have wanted it.

Throughout his successes, Britten's countrymen were proud to be able to claim this genius as our own. Then came the news that shocked us all: John was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I am watching a video of John's 45th birthday. He has only a short time to live. The struggle is evident in his face. But then guests escort him to the garage, where there stands the Indian. Bruce kicks the bike to life and it is almost as if John has become that young lad in Gore. He is ecstatic. As Bruce rides around the garage, John runs behind him, laughing. For the second time, the Indian becomes a focus in John's life; once as a boy, now as a man.

It's a momentary version from what must be an overwhelming sense of the inevitable. John revels in the bike's presence and all the guests respond, relax… a small oasis.John Britten died on September 5, 1995, one month later.

In February of 1996, Bruce Garrick received a call from his colleague Alan Bond, one of the most respected mountain rescue helicopter pilots in New Zealand. A group of people had become stranded in a rapidly rising mountain river, and they called to attempt to retrieve the tourists by helicopter. Flying conditions in the mountain were not good. They went for the rescue.

Then came the tragic news: Bond and Bruce had crashed. Both were dead.

In the distance, the sound of a V-twin, a song for John and Bruce.

It's about 1963, and a 13 year old lad from Christchurch, New Zealand, is on a visit to a farm in southernmost South Island, near Gore. Between chores he has time to explore, the sort of thing all boys his age delight in. During one of these sorties, he stumbles on an old bit of junk machinery partially buried in an irrigation ditch. The lad's already fertile imagination works overtime. (Back home he has already spent time mucking around with old engines, taking them apart, figuring out what makes them tick.)

It's an old motorcycle. He desperately wants to send the wreck home and work on it.

Undoubtedly, the conversation around the dinner table that night focused squarely on the motorcycle. How can we get it out and send it home to Christchurch? Using a tractor, the Indian was pulled out of the channel and, after an initial survey (which only heightened the lad's desire to fix her up), the bike was packed up and freighted back to Christchurch by train. That young boy was John Britten, the race-bike building genius who, had he lived a few years more, may very well have bought the Indian marquee back to life.Back in Christchurch, John and his school buddy Bruce Garrick quickly set about the task of stripping the Indian with the sole aim of getting the engine running. Bruce and John had always mucked around with things mechanical; in the Christchurch suburb of Fendalton, it was not unusual to see the pair testing a new cart design up and down the sidewalk, propulsion by internal combustion engine being almost obligatory.

Everything on the Indian was done at pace. They set about their task with urgency; even attendance at class had to be sacrificed sometimes. However, when the final bolt had been tightened, there seemed to be a problem. The bike was wheeled around to Bruce’s father's house. Ted pulled out a 5-hp Anderson oil engine and used that to spin the Indian's back wheel. This coaxed the V-twin to life. One can only imagine the sense of pride these two boys must have had to see the first smoke from the exhaust. As Ted told me, it was not running well, but it was running. The boys made the most of it, riding it on public roads well before they were eligible to gain a driver's license.In 1975, John gave the Indian to Bruce, happy in the knowledge that the bike would be appreciated and looked after. John's brain was beginning to focus squarely on other things.

Some years later, Bruce moved to Methven, where he worked at Mount Hutt, one of the larger Ski Mountains in South Island. The Indian was sent to Ashburton for an engine overhaul. While this was happening, Bruce shifted to the U.S. to become ski director at Copper Mountain in Colorado. In 1983, he asked his father to pack up the Indian and freight it over.

Bruce rode the Indian in Colorado to find that it still had a persistent timing problem. As a result, the bike did only a few miles. Then, in 1989, Bruce returned to his paramedic work at Mount Hutt. The Indian remained in the U.S. until 1994, when it was shipped home.

During this time, of course, John Britten and his radical V-twin motorcycle had taken the motorcycle racing world by storm. A small boy from a small town in a small country had a big idea. He set out to achieve what everyone else said was impossible. As a result, he built the fastest work of art in the world. A large part of his success started with BEARS racing, which was born in Christchurch, New Zealand. Over 10 years ago, a group of young, enthusiastic motorcyclists decided that things on their favorite Banks Peninsula roads had become too competitive, so they formed an official motorcycle club dedicated to the racing of British, European and American machines (thus the acronym). With that achieved, it then became possible to organize sanctioned meetings at the circuits throughout New Zealand. Among that group was John Britten.

From the outset, John tinkered. If it wasn’t his bike, he was building an oil tank or a seat cowling for someone else. John designed and constructed everything from aircraft mods and vehicle restoration to fittings for his home. All this from a lad who at school had learning difficulties. Progressively he built more and more extreme BEARS motorcycles, including a droop-snooted, Ducati-powered machine that was a prelude of things to come. John had the ability to solve mechanical problems methodically and simply. That, combined with an infectious enthusiasm and natural sense of design, found expression in the world's fastest work of art, the motorcycle we know simply as "The Britten.”

Even in the early days, John and his team experimented with computers as a way of diagnosing problems and assessing the machine's performance. I remember being taken to the factory and being shown a continuous six-point record of engine-chassis performance as the bike was put through its paces at a meeting at Teretonga Raceway the weekend before.John's love and understanding of carbon-fiber led to the award of a world patent for his method of construction. The chassis and suspension on the V-1000 are radical, but that’s what we all came to expect from John. His thinking was never constrained by what had gone before. Even if the big manufacturers claimed they had tried and tested an idea, John always had to prove things for himself. Every February at the BEARS ‘Sound of Thunder meeting, I, like thousands of other supporters, couldn’t wait to see what John would come up with next. The V-1000 evolved and, with the associated improvements, achieved success at the local and, more recently, international levels.

The Britten Motorcycle factory continues to produce and race motorcycles. In fact, in February, 1995, it was widely reported that Australian businessman Maurits Hayim-Langridge had a deal with John Britten to design a prototype motorcycle which would herald the reappearance of the Indian name. Equivalent links with the Britten factory after John's death have, however, not been maintained. There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is the fact that the small team dedicated to ensuring the V-1000 continues to evolve and succeed. That's how John would have wanted it.

Throughout his successes, Britten's countrymen were proud to be able to claim this genius as our own. Then came the news that shocked us all: John was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I am watching a video of John's 45th birthday. He has only a short time to live. The struggle is evident in his face. But then guests escort him to the garage, where there stands the Indian. Bruce kicks the bike to life and it is almost as if John has become that young lad in Gore. He is ecstatic. As Bruce rides around the garage, John runs behind him, laughing. For the second time, the Indian becomes a focus in John's life; once as a boy, now as a man.

It's a momentary version from what must be an overwhelming sense of the inevitable. John revels in the bike's presence and all the guests respond, relax… a small oasis.John Britten died on September 5, 1995, one month later.

In February of 1996, Bruce Garrick received a call from his colleague Alan Bond, one of the most respected mountain rescue helicopter pilots in New Zealand. A group of people had become stranded in a rapidly rising mountain river, and they called to attempt to retrieve the tourists by helicopter. Flying conditions in the mountain were not good. They went for the rescue.

Then came the tragic news: Bond and Bruce had crashed. Both were dead.

In the distance, the sound of a V-twin, a song for John and Bruce.

It's about 1963, and a 13 year old lad from Christchurch, New Zealand, is on a visit to a farm in southernmost South Island, near Gore. Between chores he has time to explore, the sort of thing all boys his age delight in. During one of these sorties, he stumbles on an old bit of junk machinery partially buried in an irrigation ditch. The lad's already fertile imagination works overtime. (Back home he has already spent time mucking around with old engines, taking them apart, figuring out what makes them tick.)

It's an old motorcycle. He desperately wants to send the wreck home and work on it.

Undoubtedly, the conversation around the dinner table that night focused squarely on the motorcycle. How can we get it out and send it home to Christchurch? Using a tractor, the Indian was pulled out of the channel and, after an initial survey (which only heightened the lad's desire to fix her up), the bike was packed up and freighted back to Christchurch by train. That young boy was John Britten, the race-bike building genius who, had he lived a few years more, may very well have bought the Indian marquee back to life.Back in Christchurch, John and his school buddy Bruce Garrick quickly set about the task of stripping the Indian with the sole aim of getting the engine running. Bruce and John had always mucked around with things mechanical; in the Christchurch suburb of Fendalton, it was not unusual to see the pair testing a new cart design up and down the sidewalk, propulsion by internal combustion engine being almost obligatory.

Everything on the Indian was done at pace. They set about their task with urgency; even attendance at class had to be sacrificed sometimes. However, when the final bolt had been tightened, there seemed to be a problem. The bike was wheeled around to Bruce’s father's house. Ted pulled out a 5-hp Anderson oil engine and used that to spin the Indian's back wheel. This coaxed the V-twin to life. One can only imagine the sense of pride these two boys must have had to see the first smoke from the exhaust. As Ted told me, it was not running well, but it was running. The boys made the most of it, riding it on public roads well before they were eligible to gain a driver's license.In 1975, John gave the Indian to Bruce, happy in the knowledge that the bike would be appreciated and looked after. John's brain was beginning to focus squarely on other things.

Some years later, Bruce moved to Methven, where he worked at Mount Hutt, one of the larger Ski Mountains in South Island. The Indian was sent to Ashburton for an engine overhaul. While this was happening, Bruce shifted to the U.S. to become ski director at Copper Mountain in Colorado. In 1983, he asked his father to pack up the Indian and freight it over.

Bruce rode the Indian in Colorado to find that it still had a persistent timing problem. As a result, the bike did only a few miles. Then, in 1989, Bruce returned to his paramedic work at Mount Hutt. The Indian remained in the U.S. until 1994, when it was shipped home.

During this time, of course, John Britten and his radical V-twin motorcycle had taken the motorcycle racing world by storm. A small boy from a small town in a small country had a big idea. He set out to achieve what everyone else said was impossible. As a result, he built the fastest work of art in the world. A large part of his success started with BEARS racing, which was born in Christchurch, New Zealand. Over 10 years ago, a group of young, enthusiastic motorcyclists decided that things on their favorite Banks Peninsula roads had become too competitive, so they formed an official motorcycle club dedicated to the racing of British, European and American machines (thus the acronym). With that achieved, it then became possible to organize sanctioned meetings at the circuits throughout New Zealand. Among that group was John Britten.

From the outset, John tinkered. If it wasn’t his bike, he was building an oil tank or a seat cowling for someone else. John designed and constructed everything from aircraft mods and vehicle restoration to fittings for his home. All this from a lad who at school had learning difficulties. Progressively he built more and more extreme BEARS motorcycles, including a droop-snooted, Ducati-powered machine that was a prelude of things to come. John had the ability to solve mechanical problems methodically and simply. That, combined with an infectious enthusiasm and natural sense of design, found expression in the world's fastest work of art, the motorcycle we know simply as "The Britten.”

Even in the early days, John and his team experimented with computers as a way of diagnosing problems and assessing the machine's performance. I remember being taken to the factory and being shown a continuous six-point record of engine-chassis performance as the bike was put through its paces at a meeting at Teretonga Raceway the weekend before.John's love and understanding of carbon-fiber led to the award of a world patent for his method of construction. The chassis and suspension on the V-1000 are radical, but that’s what we all came to expect from John. His thinking was never constrained by what had gone before. Even if the big manufacturers claimed they had tried and tested an idea, John always had to prove things for himself. Every February at the BEARS ‘Sound of Thunder meeting, I, like thousands of other supporters, couldn’t wait to see what John would come up with next. The V-1000 evolved and, with the associated improvements, achieved success at the local and, more recently, international levels.

The Britten Motorcycle factory continues to produce and race motorcycles. In fact, in February, 1995, it was widely reported that Australian businessman Maurits Hayim-Langridge had a deal with John Britten to design a prototype motorcycle which would herald the reappearance of the Indian name. Equivalent links with the Britten factory after John's death have, however, not been maintained. There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is the fact that the small team dedicated to ensuring the V-1000 continues to evolve and succeed. That's how John would have wanted it.

Throughout his successes, Britten's countrymen were proud to be able to claim this genius as our own. Then came the news that shocked us all: John was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I am watching a video of John's 45th birthday. He has only a short time to live. The struggle is evident in his face. But then guests escort him to the garage, where there stands the Indian. Bruce kicks the bike to life and it is almost as if John has become that young lad in Gore. He is ecstatic. As Bruce rides around the garage, John runs behind him, laughing. For the second time, the Indian becomes a focus in John's life; once as a boy, now as a man.

It's a momentary version from what must be an overwhelming sense of the inevitable. John revels in the bike's presence and all the guests respond, relax… a small oasis.John Britten died on September 5, 1995, one month later.

In February of 1996, Bruce Garrick received a call from his colleague Alan Bond, one of the most respected mountain rescue helicopter pilots in New Zealand. A group of people had become stranded in a rapidly rising mountain river, and they called to attempt to retrieve the tourists by helicopter. Flying conditions in the mountain were not good. They went for the rescue.

Then came the tragic news: Bond and Bruce had crashed. Both were dead.

In the distance, the sound of a V-twin, a song for John and Bruce.