They say you should never meet your heroes…
…But when your hero is this Ducati 888 you can’t go wrong
In this most glamorous of queues, we’re nuzzled up behind World Superbikes past and present, BSB weapons, MotoGP missiles and 500cc GP monsters, waiting to start our run up the famous hill. Sitting beneath cloudless blue skies and baked in a July heat wave, everyone is smiling, but we decide not to fire John Hackett’s 1991 Ducati 888 Corse into life until at the last minute. Hackett tells us it’s not particularly fickle, but this Italian stallion is incredibly rare and in these temperatures, sitting with it ticking over for too long, could be a one-way ticket to a cooked engine. Weighing around 150kg, it’s two sacks of potatoes lighter than a new Panigale V4, so it’s as easy to push as a bicycle as we get closer to the Goodwood Festival of Speed’s rubber-smeared start line. Our time has come. Up on its paddock stand, the Ducati fires-up surprisingly easily with the starter roller. Select third gear, drop the clutch and it grumbles into life – dry clutch jingle-jangling away.
With the signal to go, I’m about to take a ride that’ll only last for just over a minute, but the memory will stay with me for a lifetime.
WSB always held a fascination back in the day. The bikes were full-on homologation specials and the riders, from far away lands, were even more exotic. I’ve always dreamed of riding a proper 888 race bike, but this one is extra special. This 888 Corse ‘Roche Replica’ is a ready-to-race customer Ducati superbike, sold to anyone with a big enough wallet, by the factory. The modern day equivalent would be Shakey’s Panigale RS.
Only a full factory Ducati 888 of the time would be better than this, but not by much. And let’s not forget it’s on a bike exactly like this that an acid-wormed, Lazer-helmeted Foggy won his maiden WSB at Donington in 1992.
Just an hour before my dream ride I’d been in Goodwood’s cramped, sauna-like changing room, stepping into sweaty leathers next to King Carl himself, as well as Nori Haga, Johnny Rea, Alex Lowes, Gary Johnson, Sylvain Barrier, Dan Linfoot, Josh Brookes, Michael Van Der Mark, Conor Cummins, Steve Parrish, Gino Rea, Jason O’Halloran, Randy Mamola, the Mackenzie boys, Troy Corser James Hillier, Hutchy, McGuinness, Spencer and Ago. If greatness could literally rub off on you, I’d be world champion. Sadly it doesn’t, and I’m not.
My 888 obsession
My love affair with the 888 started back in 1991, in Teynham, a small village near Sittingbourne in Kent. Back then I was a dyed-in-the wool GSX-R750 and RGV250-owning Japanese sportsbike fan and this was the first time I’d really noticed a Ducati. The Italian machines were so much rarer and more leftfield than they are today.
It was the 888 Corse’s roadregistered brother: a homologation special 888 SP3 and it belonged to my mate Dave Rook’s brother, Matthew. It was awe at first sight.
‘None of my Japanese tackle came close to being as special’
Every time I saw it I’d sit gazing, almost overcome with emotion and mesmerised by its sheer exoticness: the swathes of carbon fibre, Öhlins logos, Brembos, Temignonis and its strange white tubular steel frame none of which I’d seen in the flesh before. None of my beloved Japanese tackle came close to being as special, but I could never work out why it had ‘851’ on the side, despite being called an 888. Some things never change. When the SP3 fired up it was like a bomb going off and it rattled the lead light windows of Mr Rook’s posh abode. He was good enough to let me ride, despite me being a 250cc proddie racer and an idiot on the road. Now those 1991 feelings come flooding back, here on the start line. With a riding position more in
common with a Manx Norton than a modern arse-up superbike, the 888 Corse sits you low on its thinly padded seat and like the waistband of Simon Cowell’s trousers, the top of the tank is in line with your chest. The clip-ons are low, like they’re attached to the front wheel spindle and the rearsets are uncomfortably high. I’m struggling to get my size tens on the pegs and anyone watching me pull away might think Charlie Chaplin’s aboard.
A slight whiff of throttle and release of the lightweight clutch gets the 888 Corse moving with the unflustered ease of a commuter. It takes all of 50 metres to realise this is no highly-strung, peaky, clutchslipping race bike.
I want to savour every single moment of my short time with the 888 Corse, so I take it easy and resist the urge to just belt up the hill in a blaze of glory, pretending I’m a racer. Getting the tyres warm isn’t an issue because we’re on wets, which work straight off the bat (Goodwood don’t allow tyre warmers), but I brake ultra early for the first turn, just to get a feel for the Brembos, which hiss like angry snakes – pads constricting steel discs, full of power. A carbon rear disc is a throwback to the time when it wasn’t just 500cc Grand Prix that had special brakes.
A few short squirts later brings us to the beginning of a gently left-curved ‘straight’. It goes past Goodwood House, thousands of spectators and a big screen. Figuring at least one person watching wants to hear this old Ducati yell as much as me, I keep the V-twin’s motor spinning through second all the way the 11,000rpm red line as the 888 Corse lifts its forged magnesium front Marvic past the Duke of Richmond’s posh pad.
With the V-twin spinning harder, the exhaust and airbox growl takes on a darker, more savage tone. Like entering a super-club, the distant, ground shaking, filtered bass outside, turns to pure, ear punishing rage, vibrating through your body when you go through the door.
Magnificent power
This is a motor with a flawless palette of magnificently delivered power from top to bottom. That shouldn’t come as a surprise when you consider this engine isn’t actually an 888, or the 926cc of the later 888 factory bikes. Just like the 916 racers of the day Hackett’s bike is actually a 955cc (thanks to 2mm bigger pistons and a billet crank). Of course, it doesn’t have the absolute, brain-frying power of a modern day superbike, but the 888 Corse weighs just 150kg, so its power-to-weight ratio is just as fiery, but it handles with the lightness and precision of a 250 GP bike. It’s hard to believe just how velvety the ride is, or how lightly it steers. No wonder the 750cc fours of the day struggled to keep up. Think of this old Ducati as the twin-cylinder, four-stroke answer to the Cagiva 500cc GP bike of the day, with the spec to suit: magnesium yokes and wheels, factory Öhlins forks and shock, Brembos, remote preload adjuster, carbon fairings, rear disc, airbox, clock/fairing support and ‘Ducati Corse’ embossed on the swingarm’s carbon end cap. Every nut and bolt is titanium to keep the weight down. Quickshifters have only just become mainstream on road bikes, but the 888 Corse had one 27 years ago, but nattily named a ‘Continuous Traction System’, which kind of makes sense.
Tall race gearing makes fourth gear and above unnecessary at Goodwood, so it’s all about guiding the Ducati up the hill in third. The track is so heavily cambered it’s safest to just ride in the middle and forget about apexes. Even at a sedate pace the 888 Corse gives a tantalising glimpse into its superpowers.
Nourishing the cravings
Unlike the cars here, they don’t time the bikes, to stop the riders getting carried away, which is a good thing as there’s no run off. Spares are nonexistent, too and it’s running on the last set of crankcases.
Such a short ride leaves me wanting more, like rolling down a pitlane and not being allowed on track, but a squirt of the big V-twin across the finish nourishes my 888 cravings one last time.
I draw up behind McGuinness on his Norton TT superbike, before marshals signal for us to prop our two-wheeled pieces of history up against wooden posts in the collecting area. Mamola (Panigale V4 Speciale) and Corser (Michael Dunlop’s TT-winning S1000RR) turn the air thick with Pirelli tyre smoke with a synchronised burnout. The fog of burning rubber clears to once again reveal the surreal sight of our racing heroes all together in one place, smiling, relaxed and chatting. Bikes look almost abandoned and right there, left clip-on leant up against a post, next to Triumph’s Moto2 development mule and an exKork Ballington Kawasaki KR500 GP bike, is the bike of my dreams. They say you should never meet your heroes, but in this case the Ducati 888 Corse is everything I hoped it would be and more.
‘The V-twin takes on a darker, savage growl’