Long ago, far away, in a mountain country near Antarctica, winds whipped by the foaming surf whirled around tops of volcanoes. Deep mud puddles bubbled and popped with sulfurous gases. In the bowels of the earth, a warrior people tinkered, fixing machines. Machines that were valuable to them, junk to anyone else. Kiwi Mike was one of these: still a young 'un, shouted and ordered about, he lived in terror of black-clad ogres of the forge. Out, they'd shout, and he'd go to work outside, ramming pink, scarred fingers into freezing cold iron jugs, grinding and filing for all he was worth. Which wasn't much, in Kiwi land. Machines they valued more than people, especially sprogs who'd yet to prove themselves. Outside the shelter, in the freezing darkness, Kiwi Mike eavesdropped on tales of the awesome, the all-conquering Indian. He knew, to gain the respect of his elders, he had to find and tame this beast. One day, lying in a heap in a farmer's barn, he found just such an Indian, an old and decrepit model 741.
Mike took all the skills he'd learned in his time around the forge and beat, hammered and wrenched the sad old wreck back into shape. Soon, his Indian would run so fast and so far that it would beat even the Hardleedee Milwaukee machines the elders lusted after. Swearing Mike to secrecy, an elder passed on the talisman of the Kiwi tribe, saying "Armed with this device, you will detect the false and untrue, and identify the right parts for Indian motorcycles". From beneath his tattered coveralls he brought a shining object, a Rockwell Hardness Tester, and gave it to Kiwi Mike. Mike knew his time was done there, and he would have to cross the Pacific Ocean to find more Indian challenges.
Armed with his knowledge and his Rockwell Hardness Tester, Mike arrived in America, and discovered many of his idols of Indian restoration were false. The cheap parts - even many expensive ones - were weak as putty, and would quickly fail. With the help of his fair wife Carolyn, Mike started to make parts that were strong and long-lasting. Together, they built Kiwi Indian Parts from tiny beginnings into the modern business it is today, dedicated to keeping Indians alive.
Kiwi Mike and Carolyn settled in their warm riverside home, determined to raise a family who would never know the terrors of volcanoes and freezing mountains. Indian owners became satisfied customers. Maybe there is such a thing as a happy ending?