Niall Mackenzie: The Autobiography

However once I knew what the rules and boundaries were we became best mates. It just meant I had to find another food source. Donnie’s now managing a glass fibre company back in Scotland and he lectured at Napier University in Edinburgh for a while too. He’s a smart bloke. I respected him as a rider just as I respected Alan Carter who was another Brit doing 250 GPs. But I figured that if I was beating Alan in the Pro-Am series the year before then the only reason he and Donnie were going so well in GPs was because they were more experienced than me. I thought that once I’d gained more experience I’d be able to beat them.

I’ve never really been one to suffer from negative thoughts; there were a few times when I thought maybe I should have been doing something else but usually I looked at things in a positive manner and worked hard at improving my weaknesses. Some riders are beaten before they get to the start line because their thinking is just so negative.

I didn’t know too many people when I first started on the GP circuit. But I hung around with Alan and Donnie and I soon got to know people like Ron Haslam, Wayne Gardner and Rob McElnea who had all raced in the UK at the same time as me so the paddock social scene became quite good.

Before the first GP in South Africa, a group of us went on a safari, which was awesome, not least because my hero Randy Mamola came along too. Just being in the same paddock as Randy was an honour and there I was on safari with him! I must admit I was a bit star-struck with it all.

We had a lot of non-finishes in 1985 and when the bike did keep going, it was pretty slow. Having said that, we did manage to score quite a few top fifteen places which these days would net a rider some decent points. Back then though, points only went down to tenth place so we weren’t rewarded for our efforts.

As I said before, the good thing about doing GPs was coming back to race in the UK because I felt so much more confident than before. I was right up there with Donnie and Alan Carter who were the best 250 riders in Britain at the time and I could pretty much beat anyone else on the scene. I put in just as much effort when I raced in the UK because I wanted to be as impressive as possible to get noticed and I tried to break the lap record wherever I went.

It was a two way thing because when you compete in GPs, you’re more confident when you get back home, then when you win at home by a distance, you feel more confident about the next GP. One big difference was the time actually spent on a bike at a GP meeting; it was far more than at a domestic event, which really helped bring my riding along. The other thing is that you’re pushed to the limit. You see riders doing things that you don’t think are possible and you wouldn’t attempt if you hadn’t seen them being done. That sort of thing really stretches you as a rider.

Consistency is another thing that marks out the top foreign riders from some of the more erratic racers at home. I learned to have markers at every point on the circuit so I was accelerating, braking and cornering at exactly the same points, lap after lap after lap. For me, racing was never a seat-of-the-pants affair like it was for some guys – it was all about being precise. It was like doing a connect-the-dot puzzle and just joining up all the points.

A lot of people over the years have commented on the fact that I seem to ride very smoothly and I suppose I did work at that, even if I didn’t quite realise it. I had always admired Eddie Lawson and they don’t come much smoother than ‘Steady Eddie.’ Having said that, he could still hang it out with the best of them when he wanted to. Eddie was the only guy in 500s that I felt I could model myself on since I didn’t think I could ride loose and sideways like Mamola or Spencer because I didn’t come from a dirt bike background as they did. I had never ridden a Superbike either, which helps to develop a loose style. Just look at Jamie Whitham and Chris Walker when they’re riding.

Some riders are happy to stick with 250s and I feel that I could have done well on them if I’d stuck with them. But I always wanted to move to 500s – it was another challenge and another step upwards.

Anyway, at the Austrian GP in June, I finished fourteenth beating both Donnie McLeod and Alan Carter for the first time. It was really nice to finish because we’d had another three non-finishes in the last three GPs in Spain, Germany and Italy. It was also a few more quid in my pocket because there was prize money for all finishers. A win back then was worth about £3000 in the 250 class and about £6000 in the 500s but I was still a long way off that kind of cash. It’s a different system now as the team gets the prize money and they do with it what they will. But if a team now has two 500 riders having a good finish, they’ll get around £25,000.

In the next four GPs I scored a sixteenth in Yugoslavia, fourteenth in Holland, had another DNF in Belgium and another fourteenth in France, then it was time for the big one – the British Grand Prix at Silverstone. Obviously it was a big race for us, especially since my team was sponsored by the circuit we would be racing on! Talk about pressure. It was really wet for the race and I guess the pressure must have got to me because I only lasted four laps until I crashed out. Alan Carter, was leading the race by miles but then he fell off too at exactly the same spot as I did. It was cruel for both of us because I had been running in the top ten when I fell and Alan looked on for a home win.

At the next round in Sweden however, I managed to score my first ever point in Grand Prix racing with tenth place. It turned out to be my only point of the year, and was scant reward for all the hard work and travelling we had put in. But it was a point at last and meant I featured in the final championship results, even though I was in twenty-eighth and last equal place with none other than Joey Dunlop. Joey had scored his solitary point by finishing tenth in a one-off ride at that wet British GP, showing he wasn’t just a pure road specialist.

The 250 GP class had an incredible depth of field so there were some very good riders finishing between tenth place and twentieth places unlike the 500 class which had just a few brilliant riders up front and many lesser ones down the field. I knew I was riding quite well and it was a learning year for me so I couldn’t be too disappointed with myself. Of course, I would have liked more points but the bike was outclassed and I was still relatively inexperienced at GP level.

While the bike may have been slow, the Silver-stone Armstrong squad had a pretty civilised set-up in the paddock. We had a new truck for the bikes, spares and tools and the little caravan to stay in when we were at the circuit. No one had big flashy motor homes back then so we didn’t look too out of place.

The mechanics would often pick up female hitch-hikers in the truck on the way to circuits and they’d help cook and clean all weekend. At least that’s what they said they were all doing when they disappeared into the van for hours on end. The rest of us called those girls skunks because they always had blonde streaks and always smelled. Of course, Donnie and I had no interest in such shameful extra curricular activities. We were too busy with the racing.

I remember there was always a big fight for the power points in the paddock because there were so few. Paddocks were pretty basic up until about 1987 and even water wasn’t readily available. We desperately needed a power point because we had no generator so we had lots of fights, pulling other peoples’ plugs out and plugging ours in! But the paddock was more friendly back then and everyone socialised and had barbecues unlike now when riders just lock themselves away.

Donnie and I would go to all the European races in the car with Chas Mortimer, the team manager, while the mechanics drove the van to the races. We only flew to the far off, non-European races but I quite liked driving anyway; it was a real adventure for a little lad from Fankerton who hadn’t seen much of the world.

I didn’t do so well on the food front in the paddock though. After being apprehended nicking Donnie’s carefully halved tomatoes, I got a notion in my head that if I didn’t eat at all, I’d be much lighter and so the bike would go faster. It was a new version of the Mackenzie fitness regime that had started with the duffel coat sauna technique. This time, I completely stopped eating and just lived on slimming drinks until I lost so much weight that I became really ill and developed pneumonia. It sounds really stupid now but we didn’t have any dieticians to advise us back then and all I thought about was the power to weight ratio of myself and the bike. What was the point of fighting to make the bike lighter when I could just lose weight myself? I had developed a dark shadow over my lungs by the time I got to Mugello in Italy so Dr Costa, the GP doctor, X-rayed me, told me I had pneumonia, put me on a course of antibiotics and told me that I would have to start eating again. Pretty sound advice, I suppose.

Still, whenever I returned from the GPs to race in the UK in 1985, I won just about everything I entered. In the Circuit Promoters 350cc Championship, for example, I won every round that I raced in except one when I finished second. That was enough to give me the title for the second year running with one round still to go, even though I had missed some rounds because I was racing abroad.

I won the 250cc British Championship as well for the first time in 1985 but I had to employ some cunning to make sure I did. The title was between Alan Carter and myself and there were only six points between us when we went to the final round at Oulton Park. There were two races but basically we just had to beat each other and ignore everyone else. In the first leg on the Saturday, it was raining and Carter was leading me when I fell off. I realised immediately that he didn’t know I had crashed so I hid my bike and myself behind the hay bales before he came round on the next lap. The theory was that if he didn’t know I had crashed, he might still think I was right behind him and be pressured into making a mistake. If he saw me with my crashed bike, he could easily have slackened the pace and cruised round to victory. So he came back round and I hid there watching him and sure enough, within three or four laps he slid off! It worked perfectly. All’s fair in love, war and bike racing. I

remember after the race, Scottish bike racing journalist Norrie Whyte said to me: ‘Aye, ye tried tae gee the championship tae Carter and he gave ye it right back!’

I told Alan Carter what I had done because we were good mates and he just laughed about it. On the Sunday, I needed to finish third in the final race to win the title and I actually finished second to my team-mate Donnie McLeod with Carter third, so I won the championship fair and square-ish.

Racing aside, 1985 was a year that marked another major event in my life as that was when I met my future wife, Jan Burtenshaw (I think she only married me to get rid of her surname!) even though it was under pretty strange circumstances. She was working as secretary to Robert Fearnall at Donington Park and I was a very good friend of his. I first met him in 1982 and ever since then he has helped me as a genuine friend. Every year he did something major to help me whether it was with financial advice or just really useful information about what was going on with racing at the circuits. We’d meet up now and again and exchange info; I’d tell him all about what was happening in racing with teams and sponsors and he’d fill me in with what was happening with the promoters and organisers.

Because we were good friends, Robert always asked me to phone him to let him know how I’d done in every race and when he wasn’t in, his new secretary called Jan answered the phone. We were both twenty-four at the time and I remember thinking she sounded really nice on the phone but I’d been caught out with that old trap a few times so I didn’t want to pre-judge her. After all, she might have been a bit rough! Anyway, I got chatting to her each time I called and said ‘Tell Robert I won again’ but I don’t know if it impressed her. I suspect not. Then on one occasion Robert said he and Jan were travelling up to the Ingliston circuit near Edinburgh (it’s just a small, armco-lined track more like a Go-Kart track) and asked if we wanted to meet up and have a chat. I was very interested to see what this Jan looked like so me and my best mate Wullie McKay decided we’d go along and have a look from a distance without actually introducing ourselves. I watched her walking around and thought she looked all right so we went up and introduced ourselves. I liked what I saw and I met her again at some of the British meetings towards the end of the year and we went out on a date.

I still can’t believe what a plonker I was on that date. I was wearing horrible clothes (including a really naff Renault jumper as Jan still reminds me) which I got free from sponsors and I remember actually telling Jan that I had washed my hair especially thinking that would impress her. What a nobber! I may have won the 350cc championship that day but I was still obviously still lacking in the ‘What women want to hear’ department. The other thing I thought would impress her was having my Rod Stewart tape on in my white Ford Fiesta XR2 but I don’t think that quite did the trick either. Sorry Rod. And to make things worse, I took her to a hotel called The Rodney! If only I’d seen Only Fools and Horses…

Anyway, it can’t have been that bad because we met up again a few times afterwards but it was a bumpy ride for those first few months. I’d never really had a proper girlfriend before and I didn’t know how to act so I appeared really selfish. It wasn’t intentional, but I’d only make one cup of tea or one sandwich when we were together because I’d been so used to fending for myself and I forgot that I was supposed to make two of everything! I was completely clueless.

Another big mistake was chatting up other girls at parties when Jan was there, which didn’t go down too well but again, it was just what I had always done and I didn’t know any differently. As a consequence of this, Jan dumped me several times but we always made up and saw each other again which is surprising really because her mum Bet had always told her never to get involved with anyone in the army or with a Scotsman! But Bet and her husband Derek seemed to like me straight away when we met so I think her mum changed her mind.

All in all, 1985 was a pretty good year for me. I’d seen a bit of the world, met my future wife and improved massively as a rider. But my biggest disappointment was not meeting Andrew Ridgeley from Wham!

He was flirting with car racing at the time and Jan knew him through her job at Donington Park. So at the end of 1985, I was invited to a Christmas bash in Ashby de la Zouch (where I now live) and Ridgeley was going to be there too.

Problem was, by the time Andrew showed up, I was completely drunk and everything was just a blur so all I can remember of Andrew Ridgeley was a big sheepskin jacket. I was gutted the next day when I realised I had messed up my chance to meet a real, live pop star.

Incidentally, I messed up again in 2001 when I did a charity Go-Kart race with Neil Primrose, the drummer from Travis. They’re my favourite band at the moment and I would love to have spoken with him but no one told me who he was and I didn’t recognise him! Still, Simon Le Bon came to the Cadbury’s Boost Yamaha team launch in 1996 along with his supermodel wife Yasmin so at least I’ve met one decent pop star!

The other major mess-up I made at the end of ‘85 was losing my driving licence for drink driving in Edinburgh. Drink driving wasn’t the big social issue back then as it is now so I stupidly decided to drive back home from Edinburgh after attending an awards ceremony. I was stopped by the police and lost my licence for a year – again.

But apart from the Andrew Ridgeley disaster and my run-in with the law, things had gone well in 1985 though what I didn’t know back then was that my big break was just around the corner. Well, two big breaks actually. One was to my left leg and the other was the chance to ride a 500 in the British Grand Prix.

CHAPTER FIVE Watching the Washing Machine (#ulink_df3785a6-d325-5e7a-be22-cb380b61768e)

As a racer, it’s always a nice feeling to know what you’re going to be doing the following season as there’s always a chance in this business that you’ll be left without a ride.

Silverstone Armstrong offered me a job for 1986 as far back as August in 1985. They wanted me to ride in the 250 Grands Prix and the 250 British Championship again and they promised me a new bike that would be much faster than the ‘85 model. I had no other options on the table at that point but it was still very early to be signing contracts and part of me, just out of interest, wanted to look at other possibilities. At the same time I really liked all the guys in the Armstrong team and I knew I could do a lot worse than re-sign so that’s what I eventually decided to do.

I think they realised I might receive other options so they tried to sign me up early and sure enough, soon after I had signed, Garry Taylor from the Suzuki 500 Grand Prix team called me and asked if I would be interested in riding for him. His rider from 1985, Rob McElnea, had joined Marlboro Yamaha and Garry wanted a British rider to replace him. I think Alan Carter was in the frame at one point but apparently he made Suzuki a bit nervous because of his slightly off-the-wall reputation.

I had no idea that anyone would be interested in signing me for a 500 ride but Suzuki offered me exactly the same set-up as Rob had the year before which was a pretty good one, certainly for me at that point in my career. Factory engines, two bikes, the whole deal. I couldn’t believe it. Here was my ticket into 500 Grand Prix racing where I’d dreamed of being for so many years and I had to pass it up because I’d signed a contract with Armstrong. I was gutted. Usually, chances like that only come along once in a lifetime and it looked like I was going to miss the boat.

I asked Armstrong if they would be prepared to let me out of my contract and they said ‘Not really’ but looking back, I probably didn’t push them hard enough. I suppose if I had said ‘I hate you all, I’m going to ride like an old granny all year and not speak to anyone in the team’, then it might have been different but riding for Armstrong wasn’t the end of the world. It was a good team and they had done a lot for me, so I just accepted the situation.

Garry Taylor was understanding and told me to keep in touch anyway so there was still a chance I could get a ride with Suzuki at some point which was encouraging. Armstrong also said they might let me ride the 500 Suzuki as a one-off at the British Grand Prix if the chance came up.

As it happened, I got to ride the Suzuki in November of 1985 at Oran Park in Australia. I was there riding the Armstrong and was chatting to Suzuki’s Mike Sinclair about 500s and he asked me if I’d like a ride on Rob McElnea’s bike which I jumped at. I only did a few laps in practice and never really got up to speed because I was under strict instructions not to crash it, but that was the first time I ever rode a 500cc Grand Prix bike – the ultimate racing motorcycle. Well at least it was before the 990cc, four-stroke GP bikes came along in 2002.

With the start of the 1986 season in the UK, I went to Cadwell Park and ended up suffering the worst injury of my career which, I suppose, compared to some other riders’ injuries, wasn’t all that bad. I’ve been very lucky that way in that I survived twenty years of riding bikes at high speeds without any lasting damage to myself. At Cadwell, I was slammed across the track unconscious and broke the tibia and fibula in my left leg (the two bones in the lower leg) and was out of action for the best part of two months. It was a major setback because I effectively missed the whole of the first half of the season.

I also heard some terrible news while I was laid up in bed in Louth hospital. My friend Alan Carter’s brother Kenny, who was a brilliant speedway rider, had shot his wife in a rage and then turned the gun on himself leaving two small kids with no mum or dad. It was tragic and I felt so bad for Alan who was abroad at the German GP at the time. I was sure he’d fly straight home but he showed incredible focus by continuing with practice and racing as well. I suppose it was just his way of dealing with the tragedy – it gave him something else to concentrate on.

My first Grand Prix of the year wasn’t until June when I went to Assen in Holland and only finished twelfth because I was still a bit rusty from the accident. But by the time the Belgian race came round in July I was feeling almost fully fit again and was as high as sixth place in qualifying at one point and then finished eighth in the race. I liked Spa and I know I could have been in the top five if the bike hadn’t been misfiring so badly in the wet conditions.

I had a terrible French Grand Prix at Paul Ricard only managing to finish twenty-first but I still had a laugh in practice. Alan Carter had managed to get some small crabs from a local restaurant and we put them in the crotch of Donnie McLeod’s leathers between the leather and the mesh lining. Donnie had a terrible practice session and only qualified twenty-second, saying that he just couldn’t get comfortable on the bike for some reason! Alan and I thought the crabs would have fallen out but they didn’t and poor Donnie struggled through the whole session with crabs in his crotch. Still, at least they weren’t the kind that required medical attention – or liberal dosings of Old Spice.

My poor French GP was quickly forgotten about at the next round which was my home GP at Silverstone. Garry Taylor had been as good as his word and offered me a ride on Suzuki’s 500 despite my poor result in France. My only problem was that my employers had had a rethink and weren’t keen on me riding for another team as they thought it might detract from my performance on their 250 so they refused me permission. But I was pretty determined and felt I was in a position to force things a bit more than I had done beforehand. I had about a month’s notice to try and persuade them and eventually they gave me their blessing to ride for Suzuki. After all, the firms weren’t exactly rivals.

The bike I rode was built out of spare parts kept as replacements for Paul Lewis’s two bikes –

he was the little Australian who had replaced Rob McElnea as Suzuki’s full time GP rider. I only qualified in fourteenth place but couldn’t believe the power of the 500 especially round such a fast circuit as Silverstone. Going down the straights at a proper speed was brilliant instead of counting the minutes as I seemed to be doing on the 250. The XR70 500 handled really well too; just like a fast 250. It was spinning up a lot in the rain but it still felt like a big, comfy armchair to me after years spent tucked up on a cramped little 250.

I think I took to the 500 fairly quickly because I didn’t have any preconceptions about it being a ferocious monster that wanted to spit me off. Some riders are completely overawed at the prospect of riding a 500 and it affects the way they ride them. I just looked at it as a big 250 and didn’t get hung up about it and didn’t try to change my riding style or anything.