The scenes described here might be mistaken for a page from American Life – and not one of the best pages at that. But the facts are that groups of young "road hogs" such as you will find described below, are becoming one of the menaces of New Zealand's so-called "Queen City."   Perhaps you have already encountered them. If not, read about the gang which has come to be known as the "Milk Bar Cowboys".

    Twenty motorcycles, most of them new models, stood outside a Queen Street milk bar. Their owners were in a huddle in the doorway, soaking in milkshakes through straws, and Bing through the juke box. Some lounged on their machines outside. Along with the cowboys (members of the motorcycle trade call these youths "Milk Bar Cowboys") were their girlfriends. These girls mostly wore slacks and silk scarves, and accompanied the cowboys on their hectic speed tours around the city.

Biker culture: Marlon Brando and Mary Murphy in The Wild One.

Dressed like a brotherhood
    The riders themselves appeared to be between the ages of 18 and 24. They dress like a brotherhood. Leather jackets, lined with lambs wool, were the order of the day. So were high boots, which laced up to just below the knee. Some were hatless, while others wore leather ski caps and a few leather helmets. Silk scarves appeared popular. Most of these were white and knotted loosely around the riders' necks. Nearly all wore leather gloves, while a very few rode with bare hands.

Marlon Brando on Triumph.

Motors thrashed
    The bikes appeared beautifully kept. The paintwork and chrome gleamed, as did the many gadgets with which they were adorned. Most of the machines were in the £250 to £300 class, with one of a value of just under £400! Other motorcycles worth about £230 were also there. But the emphasis was on the dearer models, showing that the cowboys have plenty of money to throw around.

    Although the machines appeared well looked after, many motors sounded as though they had been severely "thrashed". Knocks and rattles were apparent in engines, which were new enough to still be running sweetly.

    Once the boys got weaving, (riding to you) it was easy to see why the engines of their bikes were sick. Any motor when reasonably handled will respond to the good treatment. But these were not well handled.

Racing starts
    Four youths strolled arrogantly to their mounts. Two were joined by their girls. Suddenly two vertical twins and two single cylinder machines roared into life – emphasis on the word "roared". The noise produced by these standard machines smacked of the racing track and straight pipes. One was tempted to ask, "Any baffles in those exhaust pipes?"

    Two more girls joined their friends, and the four bikes shot out from the kerb in quick succession. A car proceeding up the street was forced to break hard to avoid hitting the first machine. The starts were definitely racing – throttles wide open, engines roaring and then clutches let in with a bang. The girls had to hang on hard to stick on. The bikes turned across Queen Street. Snap gear changes followed (more racing tactics?) and the bikes shot down the road. Following speedsters such as these is a job only for traffic officers.

1940s, Club 25. Click for a larger image.

They bring discredit
    Charging around the city and suburbs seems to be the life of these cowboys. The same faces and machines appear at different city haunts night after night. Two of the riders were once seen outside a city milk bar at 12.30 a.m. – long after the place had closed.

    On a recent Saturday night, over 40 machines were found parked outside and near a city hamburger bar. Machines arrived and left all the time, making an accurate tally of the number of bikes there difficult. At one stage, between 11.30 p.m. and midnight, the number was estimated between 50 and 60.

    These youths have brought discredit to the entire motorcycle fraternity. By their attempts to turn our main streets into dirt tracks, they have turned public opinion against motorcyclists as a whole.

1930 BSA

    Persistent fines for offences do not seem to deter them. Short of cancelling their licences and forcing them to sell their machines, there seems to be little chance of stopping this main street broadsiding.

Riding under a cloud
    Most motorcyclists are law abiding, ride adequately silenced machines, and keep their speed down. Yet they are riding under the "cloud" brought down by the activities of the Milk Bar Cowboys.

    Troubles similar to that being experienced in Auckland broke out in California shortly after the end of the war. There, however, the youths were equipped with cars instead of motorcycles. But they had a similar thirst for speed. They killed each other and innocent people and generally made the highways unsafe for the law abiding to use.

    The problem was finally solved by throwing open a speed track to these youths, and letting them race there.

    The track had the desired results. The death rate fell, and the highways became safe.

New outlet needed here
    If something similar were done in Auckland, the gangs who straggle across the footpaths outside city milk bars and roar up and down the streets on their bikes might find a new outlet for their speed lust.

    But they do not compete in local events. Hill climbs, trials and road races, do not seem to interest them. In these events, the same old names appear on the starting lists year after year.

    Competitive riding does not seem to appeal to the cowboy. He would rather show off on the public highway.

No consideration
    These youths do not stop to consider their "nuisance value". They do not think of the menace that they form to the public as a whole and the dangers to which they also expose themselves when they race about the city. They are concerned solely with having a good time and pleasant evenings riding dangerously about town.

    The cowboys seem happy in their city haunts. You can find them almost any night gathered around a juke box, drinking their shakes, and you can most certainly hear them as they career up and down on their "hot rod" machines.

Gil Grant