Imagine for a moment that you could get a glass of chianti classico at McDonald’s, along with your Big Mac. Well, signore, your motorbike has arrived. The Ducati Diavel is just that kind of culture clash, an enticing mix of red-hot Italian style and classic American cruiser.
I was lucky enough to attend the Ducati/Cycle World Riding Experience in the Bay Area, one of a series of events across the country highlighting the magazine’s choice of the Diavel as a “10 Best” cruiser for two years running. The event was replete with an 18-wheeler emblazoned with the Ducati logo, a hospitality tent with a bank of espresso machines—and, in the time-honored tradition of motorcycling—well-endowed trophy girls. It was enough to make you feel like a pro for a day, even if your real job was running a sheet metal shop in Hayward. Even Editor-in-Chief Mark Hoyer was in attendance.
The Diavel is a pleasant affront to the senses, looking a little like Nicky Hayden’s Desmocedici did the nasty with a Fat Boy. After navigating the city streets in “Urban” mode (a mere 100 horsepower), I dialed up “Tour” mode with the left-hand push button, supplying 162 horsepower—about double that of most cruisers. This, combined with a complete lack of wind protection, made for a pleasing, if arm-lengthening, excursion to the famed Alice’s Restaurant. This bike pulls hard, from seemingly any rpm.
What looks to be a yawning wheelbase is actually 62.6 inches, short by cruiser standards, though long for most bikes capable of these kinds of velocities. This lent itself to reasonable (but not quick) side-to-side transitions while retaining good stability at supra-legal speeds.
If your normal cornering limitation is floorboard sparks rather than knee pucks, you’ll be disappointed here. The Diavel can rail corners with many sportbikes, as we briefly discovered on our trip to Alice’s.
If you’re seeking dates, the Diavel is better than pulling up to the trattoria on a red Vespa. The beautiful, 1198-cc engine is there for all to see, restrained only by an evil-looking thicket of red trellis frame tubes. There are more superfluous bends in that pipe than on Sophia Loren in her prime, as they snake their way to the stern before exiting like god’s own megaphones. And, naturally, they have an operatic crescendo to match their lineage.
The whole package gave me the brief illusion that I was some sort of bad ass, not the normal geek in aromatic Aerostich that I am most other days of the week. In fact, it’s enough to make me wonder: what’s happened to me, anyway? On this bike I could actually be cool again (ignoring, at least for the moment, all the hair loss). Just thinking about the Diavel makes me talk with three fingers upraised and pinched together in front of my face. “Whatsa matta you?”
Drawbacks? Pillion accommodations are better than expected, with an artfully subtle set of fold-down pegs, but compared to our normal BMW R1200RT, Meredith felt like she was finally experiencing the bitch pad. On the other hand, she didn’t fall off or cause any hematomas to rise between my shoulder blades. Nor did I didn’t hear a single expletive through the intercom. And I’m pretty sure I turned it on.
And oh yeah: she also said the bike seemed like a lion, roaring and ready to pounce. I’m not quite sure what that means, but in any case I agreed with her.
Finally, let me say that my wife of 30 years looked hot back there. In fact, we both felt a little more stylish than we had a right to, for a pair of old people. And you know what? That’s the exact department where we’ve been coming up short lately: cool factor.
So the whole thing has me thinking. Uh, to our new friends at Cycle World and Ducati: Quanto lira?