Motorbikes.pdf

Ducati Monster
The Monster comes into
its own on open roads
Lack of bells and whistles mean
the Monster is all about pure fun
Right first time
IT’S BEEN SAID before but a sure sign of a
classic is when it still seems fresh, modern
and pure many, many years after its launch.
The Monster 900 in front of me is 22 years
old, but ‘old school’ Ducati logo aside (which
I must admit I’ve always preferred) it could
easily be less than a quarter of that.
We’re spoilt, admittedly. Not only is this
a very early, first-year example of Ducati’s
game-changer (the giveaways being the
yellow suspension strut, non-chamfered
exhaust cans – the one on the right here is
from a later model – and choke knob
mounted between the frame tubes on the
left-hand side), it’s also original – right down
to the handlebar grips. Despite 17,000-odd
miles, it’s near-as-dammit immaculate.
It’s enough to evoke rich memories of my
inaugural ride aboard the first Monster into
the UK in 1993. Back then Ducati was a very
different concern. The Monster wasn’t
launched, as it would be today, in a blaze
of fancy press junkets and glossy media
campaigns. Instead, my example was
borrowed from then-British importer Moto
Cinelli and their quaint premises on a
backstreet in Northampton, and taken to
nearby Bruntingthorpe Aerodrome so I could
do some wheelie pictures. We even borrowed
a matching red jacket from Cinelli’s Malcolm
Wheeler. How times have changed.
The bike, however, hasn’t changed one bit.
The Monster is a classic lesson is minimalism.
Adhering to designer Miguel Galluzzi’s thesis
of having a ‘saddle, engine, two wheels’ and
not a lot else, the Monster has what it needs
– and nothing more. The air-cooled V-twin
is about as simple as it gets, while Ducati’s
signature trellis frame is all on show. Even the
clocks – just a speedo and a grid of idiots –
are the bare minimum. There’s no excess.
But if all that sounds extreme, the ride is far
less than you might expect. On board it’s
upright, natural and comfortable, with a slight
flavour of sporting aggression. The view
forward to those minimal instruments and
over that single headlamp, while grasping
those simple tubular ’bars with the barest
smattering of switchgear on either side, is
as pure as can be.
Despite the Monster name, the red Ducati
is effortlessly light and slim (although the
bulbous tank disguises it somewhat) and, yes,
the 888-derived chassis means it’s stubby and
short, too. But my ageing, oversize 6ft 3in
bulk was comfy enough, even though I
probably looked like a gorilla on a BMX.
Nor are the Monster’s manners as crude
and uncompromising as legend (or that
name) suggests. The clutch is lighter and the
throttle crisper than I remember, gears
snicking home neatly. Sure, low down (and
I’m not quite sure exactly how low down –
there’s no tacho, remember?), the Bologna
V-twin is as rough and clattery as a box of
spanners. It’s a crescendo heightened by the
chiming of the dry clutch, and out of the car
park the drivetrain lurches and graunches as
if straining at the leash. But they all do that.
Once you’re out onto the open road,
winding the wires of the twin Mikunis, sped
up with a dab of clutch and fed gears as
quickly as you like, you’re rewarded with a
rhum-baaaaa that only a Ducati can deliver,
and the Monster’s irresistible zest for fun and
thrills. That’s when you remember why the
Monster’s just so damn good.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re squirting
through the gridlock, blasting out of town,
or tucking down and gearing up to thrash
through the countryside, the Monster revels
in it all. The sharp steering is light, bordering
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