He just wanted one chance to prove he belonged in a professional motorcycling racing team. They laughed at him. He crashed. But then he got back up, News.az reports, citing Xinhua.
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Twenty years later, Zhang Xue made a name as the founder of ZXMOTO, after one of his motorcycles secured two victories at the Portuguese round of the Superbike World Championship (WSBK) on March 28 and 29. The Chinese brand broke the decades-long monopoly of Ducati, Yamaha and Kawasaki.
How did the world see Chinese motorcycles before those victories? “Maybe there was no impression,” Zhang told Xinhua days after the win. “Do you understand? Your existence or non-existence feels the same to them.”
THE TEENAGE OUTCAST
The 2006 footage featuring him chasing the van has exploded across Chinese social media. “I’ll do anything. Wash clothes, cook, fix bikes,” Zhang pleaded into the camera, knowing the other riders laughed at him.
In 2023, he contacted the television station and asked for the original footage. When asked why, he replied with a single word: marketing.
The marketing worked. That footage turned an ordinary man’s epic struggle into a legend – without it, no underdog story, no breakout attention.
Zhang’s story begins in a crumbling mud-brick house in rural Hunan Province, central China. Born in 1987 to divorced parents, he was stuffing plastic sheeting into cracks by age 10 with a younger sister. He dropped out of school at 14 to work in a repair shop, sleeping covered in engine grease, saving every single yuan.
“I never thought about changing careers,” Zhang said in the interview. “I never had the opportunity to change careers. And since I could still do this thing, I just kept doing it.”
That apprenticeship gave him something no engineering degree could: he saw every possible way a motorcycle breaks. “I know which structures fail most often. When I started building my own bikes, I knew exactly which designs to avoid.”
Around 2009, Zhang had moved to Zhejiang to work at Apollo. There, he learned to ride like a professional, entered various amateur races, and won a few trophies. A China Central Television program filmed him attempting a water-crossing stunt twice. He failed both times and injured himself.
But he told the camera: “Even if I don’t succeed this time, I’ll keep trying. Maybe not next time either. But eventually, I will.” The same show also captured him dismantling an engine and then reassembling it blindfolded in just over an hour.
THE DREAM THAT GOT AWAY
In early 2013, he arrived in Chongqing, the heart of China’s motorcycle industry, with his wife Chen Xingyi and just 20,000 yuan (about 2,900 U.S. dollars). He went straight to the parts market, blew his entire savings on components, and assembled a bike in his own vision. He posted his progress on online forums, became a minor celebrity in China’s motorcycle circles, sold his first bike, and built a better one. Later that year, he joined Huanghe Motorcycle, helping develop the 250X and 300X. In 2017, he co-founded Kove Moto.
But the money never lasted. “From the moment he started making his first product in Chongqing, we were borrowing,” Chen later told Jiemian News. For five years, the couple borrowed from relatives and friends, totaling several million yuan.
Chen kept a meticulous ledger, marking each debt with a checkmark once repaid. They never defaulted. Spring Festival, when debts are traditionally settled, was the hardest time. If they had money, they paid. If not, they begged for extensions, or borrowed again, or sold spare parts.
In 2018, Kove Moto launched its first production bike, the 500X, selling 800 units that year. “That was when Zhang started to made 10,000 yuan a month,” Chen said. “I finally felt our life was improving.”
Zhang never gave up his own racing dream. In 2023, he led Kove to the Dakar Rally, becoming the first manufacturer ever to have all its bikes finish on the first attempt. That same year, at China’s Taklimakan Rally, he raced himself. Midway through a stage, an off-road vehicle clipped him. He was knocked unconscious, and suffered a fractured finger. He woke up and still finished the day’s stage.
But time catches everyone. In the Xinhua interview, asked if he has any personal racing goals left, Zhang shook his head. “Personally, no. Unless there’s some senior category or recreational class I can join.”
Then why not race anymore? His answer was brutally honest: “No, it’s that I can’t run anymore. You ask a 40-year-old track athlete if he still competes. What can he say?”
So is he a sportsman or a businessman? “Half and half. Deep down, I wish I could be a pure rider. But realistically, I have to feed all these people. If I don’t make money, everyone starves. Then would I still have a bike to ride? Could I still race? No.”
THE ENGINE THAT COST EVERYTHING
At Kove, Zhang wanted to build an in-house engine, while his partners wanted to sell existing models and count profits. When they balked at the risk, Zhang borrowed 10 million yuan (1.45 million dollars) from the company personally, promising to repay every cent if it failed. The engine worked, but the tension didn’t go away.
In March 2024, Zhang resigned from the company he built, walking away from substantial equity. “After careful consideration, I have decided to pursue my own path among the stars and the sea,” he wrote on social media.
He started ZXMOTO within a month. Within a year, the company unveiled its first production model, the 500RR, and began deliveries. By the end of the year, its output value reached 750 million yuan (104 million dollars).
“We’re professional, we’re efficient,” Zhang said. “Our company only holds one regular meeting every two years. Any problem that comes up, I can be at the site immediately.”
Just before the 500RR launch, however, the company nearly died. It was February 2025, one month before the scheduled release. Zhang could not pay March salaries.
“I borrowed from my landlord, from my friends, from my suppliers,” he said. “If I knew you, I’d ask you too.”
He scraped together the money, paid his people, and sold the first batch of bikes. The company survived. When asked if that counted as a huge difficulty, Zhang shrugged. “Not really. You just figure it out.”
Gao Yang, who joined the company after being recruited personally by Zhang, described the work environment with a mix of admiration and exhaustion.
“He’s very intense. He’s in a battle every day. One time he called me at 2 a.m. When I got to the office at 8 a.m., he was already sitting there,” Gao recalled.
But Gao also noted Zhang’s unusual willingness to change: after seeing a news story about a CEO who paid fines for yelling at employees, Zhang announced he would do the same for each outburst. “So far, no one has had to pay yet,” Gao said.
THE BIKE THAT WON
The motorcycle that conquered the Portugal circuit, the 820RR-RS, is nearly identical to the bike customers can buy for 43,800 yuan (6,361 U.S. dollars), a fraction of the price of its European and Japanese competitors.
Zhang pointed to two core strengths that came directly from his design philosophy: lightweight and performance setup. That focus gave the 820RR-RS its edge on the track, allowing Debise to outbrake two Yamaha rivals and power out of corners with superior low-end torque.
The production bike that customers buy shares these same fundamental traits, built not as a race special but as a machine designed to win from the ground up.
French rider Debise, who piloted the bike to victory, recalled his first impression in an online interview with Xinhua.
“From the first time I rode it, the feeling was great. Even with European or Japanese manufacturers, the first test you always have some problems. This time we didn’t have anything.”
Debise admitted he faced criticism for breaking his contract with another brand to join an unproven Chinese team.
“I didn’t reply anything. I just waited until now to win the races. Now I make people shut up and prove that Chinese motorcycles are very strong.”
And what convinced him? “Zhang Xue himself. I wanted to race with this team and nobody else. He does this more for passion than for business.”
THE GLOBAL AMBITIONS
The victories lit up China’s motorcycle market. Pre-orders for the 820RR surged 200 percent in three days. Dealerships reported being flooded with inquiries, a livestream drew 6,000 viewers and limited edition merchandise also sold out.
“The sales impact has been very noticeable. That’s why we race,” Zhang acknowledged. “But honestly? I didn’t know we would win. I didn’t know it would bring this much traffic. I didn’t even know if I would earn back the money I spent.”
Next year, Zhang plans to add Dakar and MotoGP efforts, where a single race can cost as much as an entire WSBK season.
“You have to sell so many motorcycles just to earn back what you spend on racing,” he said. “It’s too hard to calculate, so I just don’t calculate it.”
For Zhang, the victory is about more than one company’s success. Currently, he estimates Chinese brands hold about 20 to 30 percent globally, though domestically they have already dominated with at least 80 percent of the market.
“Within the next five years, Chinese brands will capture 50 percent of the global large-displacement motorcycle market currently held by international brands. Maybe even 70 percent,” Zhang made no small predictions. “We have stronger performance, better quality and higher cost-performance ratio.”
He is also realistic about the gaps that remain. When asked why he didn’t use a Chinese rider, he was blunt: “Because our Chinese riders aren’t fast enough yet. There’s no training system. There’s no racing culture.”
His company has launched a support program offering a one million yuan annual prize pool for young Chinese riders competing internationally. He hopes to establish a full youth academy when annual production reaches 100,000 units, which he expects in two to three years.
Has he ever wanted to give up in the past 20 years? “No. Never.”
His advice to young people from nowhere? “Figure out what you want. Be really clear. Then go after it like crazy. That saying online, that some things are impossible no matter how hard you try? That’s not true. If you want it badly enough and you work hard enough, you can achieve it.”
When asked what the 19-year-old version of himself, the one chasing that television crew through the rain, would ask the 39-year-old champion, Zhang paused, his eyes glistened with tears.
“That hypothetical doesn’t really work,” he said. “But if he met me, I’d tell him to just keep doing what he wants to do. Just keep going.”
