David's Kept This Ducati Since the '70. Here's Why

We sat down with David and his wife Joanne to find out what keeps a rider going for more than fifty years and why some bikes just never leave.

It Started With a Shed, a Sidecar, and a Bit of Kerosene

David's relationship with motorcycles didn't begin at a dealership. It began behind his family's shed, where an old ex-New South Wales Police sidecar outfit sat rusting away. As a kid, he'd sneak out and slather it in kerosene and oil, keeping it alive in his mind if not on the road, dreaming of the day he'd be old enough to ride it.

That day never came. He came home from school one afternoon to find it gone, his dad had given it away. But David didn't sulk for long. He found an old Panther motorcycle dumped on the block next door, swapped his pushbike for it, and spent the next year restoring it with his dad's help. He rode it to school. Because of course he did,  there were no capacity restrictions back then.

From there, the progression was swift. With $840 in his pocket he walked into a local bike shop and out with a brand new Norton Commando. He rode that for several years before a certain Italian motorcycle caught his eye and never really let go.

"I fell in love with the Ducati 750 Sport," David says. "I sold the Commando to my brother and went and bought one. I've still got it. It's my favourite bike of all the bikes I have."

 

Ask David why he's held onto the Ducati for all these years and he doesn't hesitate.

"I'd always lusted after an Egli Vincent, and to me the Ducati 750 Sport was about as close to an Egli Vincent as you could get coming out of a factory. Very first ride, I just couldn't believe how smooth it was, the torque. It was just my ideal motorcycle."

He searched high and low for one, eventually tracking down what he reckons was the last Sport left in New South Wales. It turned out to be a dual-seat version, which suited him just fine — room for a passenger. He bought it. He's never looked back.

Joanne: The Passenger Who Became a Racer

Joanne has been riding since 1982, but her story with David started earlier than that — on the back of his Ducati, sneaking around without telling her parents.

"The first time we went out, it was on his Ducati," she laughs. "We didn't tell my parents because we didn't know how they'd react. So he came all the way to Maroubra from Sefton Park in the car, went back home, got the bike, and then did the same on the way back."

What started as a secret ride turned into a lifetime of two-wheeled adventures together. David began competing in historic racing, drawn to it by the old bikes, the camaraderie, and the fact that nobody was going to wave a fine at him for going too fast.

Joanne came along to pit crew. That lasted about two meetings.

"After a couple of meetings, she said she'd like to go racing also," David recalls. They were watching a sidecar race one day when Joanne delivered an elbow to his ribs and a very clear message.

"We can do that," she told him.

"Next thing you know, he's building a sidecar," Joanne says. "And we just went for it."

Sidecar Racing and the Lesson of the Standard Engine

What followed was years of sidecar racing, modification, and the kind of hard-won wisdom that only comes from blowing up an engine at Amaroo Park on a Saturday morning.

David had commissioned a beautifully built Triumph engine, high compression pistons, big cams, the works. It was fast. It was also fragile. When it grenaded mid-meeting, they raced home, pulled the stock motor out of Joanne's Thunderbird sidecar outfit, bolted it in, and got back on track.

They were a second a lap quicker.

"We found we were a second a lap quicker with the standard engine," David says, still sounding slightly amused by it. "It was just so much easier to ride, especially around a track like Amaroo where you need flexibility."

It's the kind of lesson that sticks with you.

Joanne loved every minute of it. "You've got to have a good rider, and I had Dave," she says simply. "It was just something we could do together."

A Garage Full of Stories

The Ducati might be the centrepiece, but David's collection reads like a love letter to motorcycling history.

There's a Bimota DB1 — modified to S-spec with larger carburettors — that he spent years quietly lobbying for. Every time Joanne headed to the shops, he'd slip it onto the bottom of the list. "Eventually she said, 'Look, if you can find one, you can buy one' — because she didn't think I'd be able to find one. Within about a month I found two."

There's a 1913/1914 veteran Triumph with a 500cc single that you start by running alongside it until it fires, then jumping on. The gears were locked out for racing decades ago and nobody's ever put them back.

There's a Triumph Trident he spotted while handing out race meeting brochures in the city — a front wheel poking out from a row of secondhand bikes on Wentworth Avenue. "I thought, if I go into that bike shop I'm going to buy that bike and I'm going to be in trouble," he says. "But I did."

And there's a BMW from a 1984 European tour — a bike he bought reluctantly ("I thought BMWs were for old blokes with beards and jet-style helmets") and ended up keeping because after days of big mileage across Europe, he was getting off it as fresh as when he'd climbed on.

Oh, and he still has the Panther.

Why They Keep Riding

After more than five decades in the saddle, David doesn't overthink what keeps him coming back. But when it comes to track racing specifically, he knows exactly what the appeal is.

"There's just something about the fact that you can go as quick as you want to without worrying about someone holding up a sign telling you you're in trouble," he says. "The camaraderie — especially with the sidecars, it's especially strong. You might have a problem with your bike and the bloke who's your main rival will be the first one to come and give you a hand. The racing is really a kind of cover for us getting together and having a bit of a chat about the bikes."

But it's not just the track that keeps them going. After more than fifty years, riding isn't something David and Joanne do — it's simply who they are. The bikes change — well, mostly — but the feeling never does.

And the Ducati? It's not going anywhere.