Ducati 999R article

[Alphamazing]

I always enjoy reading this, especially considering I have an undying love for those crazy Italians. Article from Dan Neil in the LA Times.


A touch of evil (and Evel),
a hyper-fast race bike for the street, has designs on your soul.


If you enjoy the wide-open freedom of a motorcycle, the wind in your
face, the carefree, horizon-chasing moment, then by all means avoid
the 2005 Ducati 999R.

This thing is misery on two wheels, a wickedly disposed and
temperamental exercise of sheer mechanical narcissism upon which you
assume a posture like it's flashlight inspection day in prison. Its
150-hp V-twin motor runs on damned souls and is lubricated with the
fat of unbaptized children. All this bike wants to do, all it dreams
about at night, is catapulting you over the handlebars or pitching you
backward onto the streaming concrete so you make one of those slo-mo,
Evel-Knievel-at-Ceasars-Palace death rolls in your fancy Italian
riding leathers.

So plan your day accordingly: After riding this bike, you will need
some time to unwind. Go for a Polynesian fire walk, perhaps. Play some
"Deer Hunter" roulette. Or, if so equipped, have a vasectomy.

The 999R is one of a mutant species of vehicles built to meet the
production-based rules of a racing series, a process called
homologation. The American Superbike Championship requires that
competing bikes must be largely based on series-production
motorcycles. In order to make the Ducatis more competitive, the
company has built a limited number (500) of 999Rs, which are, in fact,
pitifully disguised racing superbikes with just enough street-legal
spit on them to pass DMV inspection. The badge on the carbon-fiber
fender is that of the factory racing operation, Ducati Corse.

Made of steel, titanium, carbon fiber and sadism, the 999R is as close
as you are going to get to a grand prix motorcycle, and unless you are
a fantastic rider with years of experience, you don't want to get that
close. This bike will beat you down like you said something bad about
its mother.

Look for my name in the annals of motorcycle glory. You won't find it.
I am a competent but by no means expert rider. I accept this. Call me
a wimp, a weenie, a wuss, if you are inclined to excessive
alliteration. But this bike scares the pudding out of me.

So, there I was on Sunset Boulevard, puttering along in first gear
with about 1,500 rpm showing on the tach, hunched over the handlebars.
My sunglasses slipped down my nose.

When I took my right hand off the accelerator, there was the briefest
moment of adhesion between my palm and the gummy rubber grip — just
enough to goose the throttle slightly. The bike jumped like it had
been poked with a cattle prod. Baaaa-WHAAAYH! The force of the
acceleration whip-lashed my helmeted head, wrenching my neck.

This was the first sunglasses-adjustment injury I have sustained.

One sunny Sunday morning, I got up early, determined to take the bike
for a proper stretch of the legs. Velcro'ed and zippered into my
motorcycle fetish leather, I pointed it down the 210 West and wrung
the throttle, working up through the gears yet shifting well short of
the bike's howling 11,000-rpm redline. In the 20 seconds or so that it
took me to reach fifth gear, the speedometer read ... well, I'm not
going to tell you what the speedo read.

The point is, the bike was just waking up, just beginning to shake its
strange, low-speed awkwardness. The super-stiff springs and shocks,
which burr and tremble on the patched concrete around town, went all
velvety; the aero cowling, useless at 60 mph, threw the jet stream
over my ducked head, creating a small pocket of tranquillity inside
the headlong tornado; the engine — all chatters and clatters at low
rpm — began resonating like a cathedral pipe-organ keyed with a
Hallelujah chord.

My license would last about a week with this bike, maybe less.

So it is fast — top speed is about 190 mph (you didn't hear that from
me). But it's also quick.

The fundamental ratio of performance machines is power to weight,
usually expressed as pounds per horsepower. A Ferrari F430 with driver
weighs about 3,300 pounds, a burden shared by its 490 horsepower,
which the abacus tells us is about 6.7 pounds per horsepower. The
Ducati 999R (dry weight of 398 pounds) weighs about 600 pounds with me
on board, which means each of its 150 horsepower must move only 4
pounds.

It's hard for those who have not saddled a superbike to appreciate the
sick, perverted violence of this equation. If you rev the 999R's
engine to about 6,000 rpm, shift as much of your weight as possible
over the front wheel, and gingerly slip the clutch for a couple
hundred feet — and if you can hang onto it — the bike will accelerate
from 0-60 mph in about 3 seconds. Your wits might take a bit longer to
catch up.

But woe betide the rookie who fails to execute the full-power launch
precisely right: The bike will be delighted ... delighted, thank you ...
to wheelie over onto its, and your, back. Even in second and third
gear, the bike's massive torque (at 8,000 rpm) will easily pull itself
over your head in an asphalt full gainer.

Oh, and what's that smell? Why it's my roasting thighs.

The heart of the 999R (that is, if it had a heart) is the 999-cc
displacement, liquid-cooled, V-twin engine. This has to be the most
highly stressed engine in any street vehicle, producing 150 hp out of
less than one liter displacement.

The technology that goes into this bespoke, sand-cast engine is the
stuff of race engineering, but its essential feature — beside the
ludicrous power — is the unbelievably low reciprocating mass. This
courtesy of alloy pistons, featherweight billet crank and exotic and
titanium-intensive "desmodromic" valve train — which is to say, the
return action of the valves relies on an opposing rocker arm system
rather than passive valve springs.

What does all this mean? The internal moving parts of the engine are
extremely light, so they can accelerate and decelerate very quickly.
Gas the motor and the rpm shoot skyward. Heigh ho, Silver! (or its
equivalent in Italian). Let off the gas and the rpm and power plummet
— which can be quite exciting if, for example, you miss a shift under
hard acceleration. It would be very easy to be unhorsed this way.

As hard as the bike speeds up, it slows down even harder. The radially
mounted Brembo front disc brakes are incredible.

But, again, the slightest misapplication of pressure on the right-hand
brake lever — say, two fingers instead of one — and the bike will stop
dead in its tracks, leaving you to sail over the carbon-fiber fairing
like Buzz Lightyear.

The 999R is a very naughty motorcycle. However, I did learn a few
tricks on the serpentines of the Angeles Crest Highway that made my
time with the bike easier.

First, get all the braking done in a straight line; none of that fancy
trail-braking into the corner that you see on televised Superbike
races — you ain't Valentino Rossi and I'm certainly not.

Second, get off the saddle early and set up for the corner. The bike
is far too reactive, far too edgy, to permit sliding off the saddle
once you enter the corner.

Third, hold onto the bike with your legs; avoid putting any weight on
the grips. The slightest tug can cause the bike to surge out of your
control.

Fourth, stay in a higher gear than you might on a less powerful bike.
Crank the bike over on the tire sidewalls and roll on the throttle and
let the ludicrous amounts of torque pull you through the corner. Have
no fear. The bike's racing tires have stupendous grip on dry pavement.

Fifth, use the force, Luke. As difficult as it may be, you have to
trust this bike. The harder you ride it, the more stable and secure it
feels. I practically stood the thing on its nose under braking and the
tail didn't wiggle an inch. I flopped it over from rail to rail as
hard as I knew how and the front end didn't even tremble. Pound for
ornery pound, this has got to be the most dynamically perfect
motorcycle in the world.

Yes, once you master the brakes, the stuttering dry-plate clutch, the
splenetic throttle, the aching-back riding position and its overall
rabid dog demeanor, the 999R can still be a traumatic life event. I
mean, come on, it's a racing bike! It is to normal street bikes what
crystal meth is to your morning coffee.

I have never been so relieved to park any vehicle unscathed in my garage.

And yet, I confess, I was a little sad to see it go.

*

2005 Ducati 999R

Price, as tested: $32,000

Powertrain: 999-cc, sand-cast alloy, V-twin engine, liquid cooled,
desmodromic timing, four valves per cylinder six-speed transmission,
multi-disc dry sump clutch, chain drive, 15/36 final drive ratio.

Horsepower: 150 hp at 9,750 rpm

Torque: 86 pound-feet at 8,000 rpm

Weight: about 420 pounds

0-60 mph: 3 seconds

Top speed: 190 mph (estimated)

Wheelbase: 56 inches

Final thoughts: Light fuse, get away.

Contact automotive critic Dan Neil at dan.neil@latimes.com.

[RVertigo]

That article RULES!!!

I'd love to see someone else ride one...  Then I could drool on it once they parked it.   

[Jake D]

You have to read "Song of the Sausage Creature" by my man Hunter S. Thompson.

It is his take on the Ducati 900. 

You'll love it.

Follow this link and I will take you there.

http://www.latexnet.org/~csmith/sausage.html

[annguyen1981]

Id anyone can give a smaller version of this, that'd be appreciated.  Otherwise I'll have to get back to this another time.

[Maduro Mistress]

That is FRIGGIN hilarious!!! I about snorted coffee out my nose!

FUNNY STUFF!