It’s a time-warp test, old versus new!
There’s nearly 23 years between Ducati’s iconic 916 & the closest modern equivalent, the 959. Are they chalk and cheese, or closer than one may think?
So, you’re fortunate enough to have £12,000 in your skyrocket and Ducati is your brand of choice. The ‘modern classics’ revival and a recent surge in popularity have caused prices to escalate, meaning a 1995 Ducati 916SP will cost you the same amount as a two-bed in Margate – or the 91Sex’s modern-day counterpart produced 20 years later, the 959 Panigale.
As a kid, I remember lusting after a 916 like no other. I hated Carl Fogarty at the time after he randomly blanked me at an airport, so its racing connotations mattered little and couldn’t slant opinion. It was the pure beauty – the first bike I’d swap for a girl in bed and, if it weren’t for the children, I’d happily swap the wife for one right now. I’m also sure she’d duly oblige...
The 959 Panigale doesn’t have the same stiffy-inducing effect though. I’ll refrain from subjective exhaust comments but there’s something more everyday, girl next-door associated with the latest baby Poonigale and there wasn’t even a morsel of doubt as to which one I’d ride first. It was like a choice of Rachel Riley or Rachel Robinson, Riley being the 916, of course. Back-to-backing these two and comparing dynamics is pointless. This congregation is all about nostalgia, a Desmo-based celebration and, above all else, a chance to ride a gleaming 916 again.
Originators of homologation specials, Ducati built just a handful of SPs in 1994 – just over 300 to be more precise. Lighter internals, twin injectors, an Öhlins shock and an aluminium subframe set it apart from the Strada, but regardless of model, the 916 is a motorcycle designed to go racing, for racers, and its diminutive stature augments this theory. Anyone over 6ft will have grave difficulty moving around the cockpit and even cornering can become awkward. We can only assume that Ducati’s test riders at the time were rather compact.
Those of you au fait with early Ducatis will appreciate the sound of a 916 dry clutch when the lever is whipped in. How such trivial matters can become the focal point of a motorcycle is indefinable, although it’s an integral part of its legacy. It’s like trying to describe the smell of Castrol R and consequent stimulation to a grubby little oik with zero understanding of anything mechanical – or cultural for that matter.
Right. Where’s that bloody choke? I thought Richard O’Brien was about to randomly appear for a fresh Crystal Maze feature. And then the epiphany – the choke was behind the throttle housing, an orderly and minuscule tab.
Cast iron discs rattle around, often misconstrued as inoperative and, according to this bike’s rodent-esque owner, they
are often the cause for failed MoTs. And I wonder who at Ducati decided that the death stand would be a good idea? It’s certainly another one of its recognised retrospective facets. I’ve lost count of the number of times a 916/748 has received damage from an owner’s own, erm, malfunction.
There’s always an element of guilt coupled with spanking someone’s pristine pride and joy. Something so rare, so delicate, yet this sentiment didn’t last long, as I reminded myself this bike belonged to The Beaver – an industry legend – and the revs were soon being exploited. Forget your archetypal V-twin grunt. The SP, although tractable, still requires a pasting unless you enjoy chasing revs below 8,000rpm. Even 24,000 miles new, the motor still feels fresh, if a little lethargic and heavy in its standard form. It was interesting jumping off an Aprilia RSV Mille (of similar age) that suffered with aging gearbox syndrome and onto the 916 complete with crisp, precise, if a little heavy, working action. You certainly know when the gear has been selected.
Not only does it look racy, the 916 complements its aesthetics with one of the sharpest, raciest chassis ever built. It lacks any sense of neutrality, resisting any control between upright and full lean, falling into a corner rather than steering, and it will punish anything less than committed. There’s an air of uncertainty until your knee is buried in the Tarmac.
I don’t think the SP’s suspension helps. Frankly, it’s awful and didn’t cope well with Bruntingthorpe’s myriad of shitty surfaces. Showa forks and an Öhlins shock have never felt particularly plush and mimic the chassis’ track-focused manners, and 20 years’ worth of unattended mechanics haven’t bettered its potential.
But still, I didn’t want to end our love session. After half an hour on the 916, the 959 felt like a rabid animal, albeit a beautifully refined rabid animal; glossy, silken and flowing. Of course, the hypersensitivity was subdued following several laps in the saddle, but that didn’t halt the Panigale’s charge. It may be quicker, it may corner with immense superiority, it may stop sooner and safer, and it’s a shiny set of sneakers to the 916’s holey Hi-Tec squash shoes, but the 959 doesn’t do funny things to my willy in the same way the SP does. There’s something inherently more special and more rewarding than just pinning the throttle on the 959.
Without getting all wet and philosophical, the DNA and innate Bologna ingredients shared between the two is clearly evident. A 20-year age gap is seismic in today’s climate, as is the technological arsenal, yet there’s an intangible lineage seeping through both sets of ’bars. It’s crazy to think that the SP was 1994’s ultimate superbike and yet we’re here today pigeonholing the 959 and its 140bhp as a middleweight – a middleweight that has entirely no racing pedigree. In isolation, the Superquadro
motor supplies a snappy, light revving delivery: the polar opposite of the 916. But, like the SP, it still thrives on revs and being above 7,000rpm despite a plumper midrange over the 899. The bottom-end is undeniably languid, although perfectly adequate for everyday vibes, and you’ll only notice its fussy shortcomings on the track and racing rivals. The 959’s more usable power and lack of death threats has meant a more viable alternative to its bigger brother, the 1299.
Naughty little choke aside, there’s absolutely bugger-all to faff with on the 916. In contrast, the 959’s onslaught of buttons, switchgear and supplementary gizmos is enough to please any techno queens, although it’s still very much a Panigale in any electronic guise. And why isn’t there a blipper? There’s no doubting the 959’s added fluidity over the 899. The slipper clutch’s action, the extra ponies cajoled, even the ever-so-slightly wider fairing adds to the slick dynamics – another aspect that’s only perceptible on track.
While the 916 forged an unconditional racing heritage that’s still talked about today, the middleweight Panigale has been surprisingly slow against the stopwatch. All the materials are there (sharp handling, racy
engine and electronic adjustment) yet lap times don’t come intuitively.
It’s still a difficult bike to ride on the road in some respects. The clutch is heavy, the engine doesn’t work below 3,000rpm and slow speed drudgery isn’t its forte.
Despite a more usable upgrade over the 899, there’s nothing orthodox about the 959 when back-to-backed against Japanese machinery and conventionally framed bikes, and I can guarantee you’ll find it full of idiosyncrasies if you’ve never ridden a monocoque chassis.
It made light work of Bruntingthorpe’s new chicane, chopping from side to side like a factory racer, and the 959 has lost none of the 899’s agility in spite of a lower rear-end. The added bonus of that slipper clutch has added some gracefulness in corner entry. We’d still like to see some beefier brakes next year though, Ducati.
Ultimately, the 959 is simply not as special, and I somehow doubt that we’ll be sycophantically writing about its iconic status in 2037. Massimo Tamburini’s masterpiece will be forever remembered as motorcycle porn, particularly in SP trim, and right now I can only dream of owning one.
They’re not as rare as you might think, although finding a minter is obviously a meticulous task. There are currently several clean, fairly low mileage stock examples for around £5,000 but expect to pay well over double that for a tasty SP model. If you can find one.
Shunting idealism to the back of the mind for a second, we also doubt that these two would be on the same shortlist of purchase options. This was purely a nod to nostalgia, a peek at 20 years’ worth of ancestry and an excuse to ogle the sexiest bike ever made. Timeless…