Perspective is everything. Ideally, as we move through life and absorb new experiences, we take on new information that makes us turn over the other things that already exist in our mind. "I never thought about it that way," we might say to ourselves (or at least think it). And then, we might reconsider it, adding the new information we've gathered to the well-worn tidbits we've already tucked away in our picnic baskets.
Mix-mix-mix, bake at 350F, et voila, you have a whole new cake with a whole new flavor. Delicious!
So went the experience I just had after watching a truly delightful Japanese movie from 1986 called His Motorbike, Her Island. If you want to watch it, don't worry; it's subtitled in English and available to watch for free (in the US, anyway), as it's currently streaming on Tubi at the time of writing. I won't spoil it for you, but I am going to talk about the bikes in it, because of course I am.
If you're a '70s Kawasaki fan, this is a must-see. But if you're any other kind of motorcycle fan, you'll still likely appreciate it on a deep, visceral level, far beyond what your eyes or brain or even your ears will tell you.
Why? Because this movie gets you.
Although there are occasional non-Kawasakis in this movie, it primarily centers on a couple of riders who fall in love, both with each other, and also with their bikes. Those bikes are a Kawasaki W3 650 and a W2 650, though it's mostly about the W3. There's also a 250 that shows up briefly, as well as a Honda or two from the era; but they're pretty incidental to the overall plot.
One cool thing about having an interest in motorcycle history that I've found is this: There's always more. You'll never, ever learn it all, because there's just too much. Now, how you feel about that may differ from how I do, and it may also change over time. As for me, I think it's wonderful, because I'll never run out of new things to learn and get excited about. Or new connections to make that I hadn't made before, and it's that kind of stuff that's like catnip to me.
Anyway, on to the Kawasaki W3! As a motorcycle enthusiast existing where and when on the timeline I do, I am of course familiar with the recently revived Kawasaki W230 retro modern standard that you can go buy right now, as a brand-new model. And I vaguely knew the broad strokes about the brand's acquisition of Meguro (which was a mega Japanese motorcycle manufacturer back in the pre-Honda days), to the point where Kawi has more recently released a few non-US-market bikes with 'Meguro' in the model name.
But my overall understanding of Kawasaki history is incomplete. I know a bit about the Z1, as well as the original two-stroke H2, but there are clearly gaps in my knowledge that the W3 in this movie is here to fill!
Copy, Right?
There's a quote that's often misattributed to Mark Twain that goes something like, "history doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes." It's something of an eternally applicable observation, and one which can be applied to many things with a reasonable amount of accuracy.
Thanks to reading an excellent overview of the history of the W3 650 written by Alan Cathcart in 2021, I've now forcefully been reminded once again of just how true that concept is in motorcycle world. I wasn't alive back when Western motorcycle fans were freaking out about cheap Japanese motorcycles flooding the market and undercutting them, nor when there was major hand-wringing over how certain Japanese designs in the mid-20th century substantially copied Britain's homework.
Sure, I had an oblique sense of it, but nothing specific and direct. And then I started reading about the W3, as well as the W2 and W1. You might be aware that post-war restrictions that disallowed the manufacturing of aircraft led Piaggio down the eventual path that brought the company to where it is today.
From Piaggio's rather momentous fork in the mechanical road, we now have Vespa, we have Moto Guzzi, and we have Aprilia, which currently has riders occupying four of the top five 2026 MotoGP World Championship standings (though of course, that will probably change as the season's only just started).
Over on the other side of the world, Kawasaki was also required to get out of the aircraft business. Like Piaggio, it turned to making small, inexpensive personal transport to help regular people get around in the aftermath of the war. To aid those efforts, it acquired Meguro, which had already busied itself copying BSA designs. Notably, it was doing so with BSA's permission, as it had purchased the rights directly from BSA to do so, according to Old Bike Barn.
Thus, it probably shouldn't come as a surprise that the later Kawasaki W3 650, which we see and hear extensively in His Motorbike, Her Island, also developed as a copy. This time, according to Cathcart, it was a clone of the BSA A10 Super Rocket. Since the W1 and W2 hadn't done particularly well in the US, it wasn't brought to these shores to officially be sold here. However, as with many bikes not meant for our market, some could and did eventually find their way here one by one, which is how Cathcart was able to ride a restored example for a tour in Pennsylvania in the early 2020s (you should probably read his piece if you want to learn about it in detail; it's linked above).
It's All Just A Little Bit Of History, Repeating
Fast-forward to the present moment, and you'll see lots of hand-wringing from folks about unapologetic, unabashed motorcycle design copying coming from elsewhere, usually China. But Cathcart's piece takes the long view, since he's lived and breathed motorcycles for decades, and so has the depth and breadth necessary to inform his observation that copies are a necessary part of a nation's technological development.
They're not the end, though; they're a stepping stone on the way to developing a company's own voice. Even in the case of the W3, contemporary observers at that time realized that even though it had closely copied a specific BSA engine design, the quality of the castings and seals was actually a big improvement over the original. As a result, they didn't leak oil as badly, and Kawasaki clearly went on to even greater heights over the ensuing decades since that time.
But deep in your heart, you know this as well. When you were a kid, did you not draw (or maybe even trace) existing characters you liked? Whether it was Mickey Mouse or Buzz Lightyear or Steven Universe or even your family, chances are excellent that you drew inspiration from things and people (and pets) who already existed in the world. And you drew what you saw, not what you imagined.
What you imagined, things that only existed in your mind; those came later. After you felt like you had a firm (or at least, firmer) grasp on how to draw in the first place, that's when you felt free enough to explore things that you couldn't see with your eyes. Things, maybe, that you could only see with your heart.
Motorcycle design might be more technical; after all, it's mechanical, and certain rules need to be adhered to. But the best designs also involve heart and soul, which is why we love them. To that end, copies have historically proven to be a valuable stepping stone in the service of future refinements of both design and vision.
Developing new things from whole cloth, especially if it's something you haven't done before (and thus, don't have the experiential knowledge of), is hard. That's true of any new skill, whether it's wrenching or cooking or sewing. So you follow a tutorial that someone else has put together, and you learn with your hands (as well as your brain) along the way.
And next time, you'll have the mental processes already embedded in your brain, so you have a better idea of how things work. And maybe (just maybe), you can improve upon it. Put your own spin on it. Like music, most people have to gain a good grasp of the fundamentals before you gain the confidence and skill to improvise well.
Begin At The Beginning
Or, taking it back to His Motorcycle, Her Island (which I'm still not going to spoil for you, because you really should just watch it). One plot point I will tell you about is that one of our main characters, Miyo (the woman you see in the center of the frame in the image at the top of this piece), is advancing through Japan's tiered motorcycle licensing system throughout this movie.
She starts out on a 125, and she clearly loves it. From there, she hopes to get her license for a 250, then the mid-size license, and finally the 750cc big bikes and above. But she doesn't start on a 750, because that would be complete insanity.
You have to get used to the basics before you can go on to develop your skills and your style and really get good at what you're doing. That is equally true, whether you're a rider or a motorcycle manufacturer.
Anyway, go watch this movie! It's an hour and a half, and it's subtitled, and while parts of it are in black-and-white, parts are also in color. Crucially, the motorcycles in this movie sound like they should, and they sound wonderful. And I won't tell you more than that because I don't want to spoil it for you, so go watch.
