Racing motorcycles in New Zealand has always lived somewhere between passion and persistence. It’s not a country where money flows easily into motorsport, and yet the grid keeps filling—race meeting after race meeting—with riders willing to push themselves and their machines to the edge. To me among them, those on Ducati motorcycles stand out, always have, since my first visit to a race meeting. The speed, the vibration, and the sound of a big twin under load, and the commitment it takes to run one competitively in a small, scattered scene.

Racing a Ducati here is rarely the easy option. Parts take time, cost a small fortune, with knowledge  shared over shed gatherings and late-night calls, and every meeting can feel like a small campaign. Tracks like Manfeild and Ruapuna become proving grounds—not just of speed, but of resilience. Riders learn quickly that finishing a race can matter as much as winning one. To race Ducatis in New Zealand is to accept a certain challenge from the outset. The machines are charismatic, demanding, and alive with personality. They reward commitment but rarely tolerate neglect.

Sponsorship, in this environment, takes on a different meaning. It’s rarely corporate gloss or big branding deals. More often, it’s the local workshop offering discounted labour, the Euro parts supplier who pulls strings to get something shipped in time, or a small business willing to back a rider because they believe in the effort. Supporting a Ducati rider in New Zealand isn’t about exposure metrics; it’s about backing a story. It’s about being part of a journey that’s equal parts mechanical obsession and personal sacrifice.

There’s something deeply human in that exchange. The rider isn’t just a competitor—they become a representative of everyone who’s helped get them there. Every logo on the fairing carries weight. Every finish line crossed is shared. 

Aiding Ducati riders goes beyond money, too. It’s in the shared knowledge between riders, the borrowed tools in a paddock ( I still have a 35mm film canister 1/4 full of Jets lent to me by a BMW racer) and the quiet advice from someone who’s already made the mistakes you’re about to make. It’s in the way competitors can still lend a hand when something breaks, because they understand that getting on track matters. I learnt an awful lot about Ducati's, and people when I was in the thick of racing all those years ago. I didn't talk very much in those days, just concentrated on the racing and trying to do our best for the brand and our sponsors. We did pretty well too, it has to be said. I've forgotten national championships won, and probably more races as well. Having some of the countries best riders on board always helped .I still have people come up to me and remind me of some incident or race, and I go " Awe yeah, I do remember that". Shit age is a thing isn't it?

For me, Ducati racing represents more than competition. It represents identity, perseverance, and the enduring attraction of Italian motorcycles racing across New Zealand circuits. In the end, Ducati racing in New Zealand isn’t defined by championships alone. It’s defined by effort, community, and a refusal to let distance or cost dilute the experience. The bikes may come from Italy, but the spirit that keeps them racing here is unmistakably local—gritty, generous, and just stubborn enough to keep showing up.

It's murder on the dance floor