LIFE IN THE FAST LINE
When Ginger Molloy decided to become a grand prix racer he gave his Matchless G50 a polish, packed a suitcase, filled a toolbox and got a lift to the local train station. This was January 1963 and Molloy was a tough youngster from Huntly, New Zealand, where he worked down the coal mines to make money to go racing.
After a 10-hour train ride he arrived at Wellington station, from where he pushed the G50, with toolbox and suitcase perched on top, the mile and a bit to Wellington docks, where he boarded a boat to Southampton, England, a six-week voyage away.
When Molloy finally returned home almost a decade later he was a 500cc world championship runner-up, a grand prix winner and he was married, with three kids.
The adventures he had along the way – living on the road like a gypsy, cheating death and ducking and diving to put enough gas in his bikes and food in his mouth – would sound as likely to a modern-day MotoGP rider as would tales of racing on Mars. It is said that history is another country. In this case it’s another planet.
Molloy was a gritty, talented rider who wrote some racing history along the way. In 1969 he became
