Kaff' Racers

Sitting at the breakfast table this morning I interviewed flatmate Francois Guttenheim about his new cafe racer, a style of motorbike born of the Rocker period in post-WWII Britain. Constructed over several weeks on our back porch, Francois' Kawasaki evokes a punkish style, all low, exposed and humpbacked. Pronounced Kaff Racer, these bikes were used to ride fast on London's arterial roads between transport cafes, being timed by whether or not the song on the jukebox had finished. Riders wore Levi's or Wranglers and motorcycle jackets and listened to Elvis and Chuck Berry. Now these vintage bikes are becoming popular again in New Zealand. I took this occasion to wear my Pierre Cardin dressing gown over my clothes while Francois animatedly bid on TradeMe for a new bike. "I'm going to try and get this [story] in The Aucklander," I said, as he tapped away. After a second failed CV attempt at the publication I thought, "Bombard the suckers."

"I've always been interested in bikes," says Francois. He briefly lists how many he's owned, including his present Kawasaki-turned-cafe racer. Why a cafe racer? "They are not so expensive and easy to customise. And slower, which is good because there are always cops."
He is planning on driving it to Invercargill in November with a group of an enthusiasts, some of whom he's met at Deus Ex Machina, a cafe/cafe racer shop in town. "The guy there is really nice," he says. "Although he wanted to sell me one of their new expensive racers, when he could see I wasn't going to buy it he gave me some really good tips about how to do things cheaper." "What's his name?" I ask, "I'll give him a call." "If there is one thing you should never ask me it is people's names," Francois laments. "I just cannot keep them in my head." I walked down the road to the phonebox and called Deus to get an interview but the girl on the phone was not as forthcoming as I had hoped. Then I called the Methodist church hall to see if I could play the piano there for a couple of hours a week. The lady also could not seem to fathom this idea, it surpassed all points of reference. "I will have to make enquiries," she said. If anyone asks me how my day is going on the way home, I thought, I shall have to say, "Fair to midling."

At home Francois bounds up to my bedroom door. The bid has been successful, and we will have another bike to contend with on the back porch for the next few months. In the meantime, the cafe racer is brilliant for getting to and from his girlfriend's house at grande vitesse, just like old times.