Mellow Yellow.................................
“Ithink we’re talking north of £40k,” said the owner of this stunning matte yellow, self-proclaimed ‘959 Panigale R,’ just as was about to spin some laps for my first session at Silverstone. It was love at first sight: I didn’t know whether to ride it or make sweet love to any one of its many orifices, and not even those atrocious California Superbike stickers walloped on the front could change that. And judging by the attention it drew at Silverstone – bearing in mind this was a Ducati UK trackday besieged with sexy Italians – the feeling throughout the Ducatisti was mutual. Ducatis shouldn’t be yellow? Yawn…
Among a feast of big-bore techno queens (including its bigger brother), the 959 Panigale is often overlooked by the willy-waving brigade in today’s lustful climate. As well as being devastatingly sexy, the baby Pornigale conjures up the perfect blend of power and handling for the Queen’s highways, bolstering superbike sales with respectable numbers and continuing the popularity trend the 899 started. But what about a bona fide track weapon?
The owner, Tim Watts, wanted a track bike and was deliberating an 899 just before the 959 broke cover. “I rang Rick Hackett at JHP Racing/Ducati Coventry and it went from there. The engine is still standard at the moment but we’ll probably look at that in the winter – Rick will no doubt try and get some more money out of me!” The engine may be standard but the chassis is anything but. Just look at it. I could for days. Every smidgen of this bike, every nut and bolt has been carefully considered, and there’s a sublime mix of function and fashion.
Nobody builds sexier Ducatis than JHP Racing in Coventry. Having taken a step away from top-flight racing in recent years, Rick Hackett (John’s son) has been busy building a veritable feast of super-trick Desmos for customers across the globe, including numerous race-winning 899/959 Panigales for the Ducati Cup. And just as an FYI, Rick’s nickname is ‘Subway’ – and it’s not the 6in Italian herb variety either.
Rolling out of pitlane after an hour on the warmers, the confidence to start getting jiggy came quickly and intuitively. As so often with special builds and bolting on an onslaught of aftermarket parts, the bike can feel a bit staccato and fragmented, undoing years of manufacturer R&D by buggering geometry or upsetting balance. Not with this bike. Confidence stems from being comfortable and familiar with one’s surroundings. Hot, sticky Supercorsa SC1s, a JHP-prepared 959 Panigale and Silverstone GP circuit is a recipe for instant skulduggery: a fine concoction that I’m all too used to. Dynamically, the first standout feature
wasn’t that swingarm, but it was another item that even Stevie Wonder could spot. Panigales are hardly the most ergonomically friendly, although Tim’s bike brags a Full Six 21-litre fuel tank that radically alters the riding position for the better, taking the much-needed weight off your wrists – if you’ve got a belly, it’s the perfect belly rest too. Ahem. You’re almost sat in the bike, rather than plonked on top, and heavy braking is a far more pleasant exercise aboard Tim’s 959. It also offers something more substantial for knees to grasp mid-corner.
Although the engine remains standard (STM slipper aside), the second feature to jump out was the throttle connection and supplementary liveliness oozing from the Superquadro motor. After racing 899s for the past few years, and riding my fair share of 959s since its inception, I can sniff a fettled ECU a mile off. In fact, Stuart Higgs should pay me to ride all the Ducati Cup bikes to check for cheating. I wasn’t aware of the flash beforehand, yet it took me the entire exit of pit lane to figure Rick had been busy with the laptop.
JHP Racing certainly knows how to build a map and flash a Panigale ECU. The execution is absolutely faultless and, amid a fleet of Gucci bolt-ons, could well be the best modification in terms of bang-for-buck. The stock 959’s lethargy has vanished, making way for a more direct and sharper delivery with no detriment to rideability. The throttle is lighter – as if the crank had been trimmed – and there’s a wider spread of revs to play with. Honestly, own a 959? You need one of these maps.
Yes, it has a full system, and yes, Tim’s bike weighs as much as Carl’s ballbag thanks to OZ Piega rims among other things, but its outright pace and straight-line impetus was truly astonishing, as iss the sound – as you’d d expect from a full Akr ra’ exhaust that injects a healthy dose of mid drange to the 959. Bereft of initial punch h from the corners in comparison with the barrage of 1199s/1299s, it didn’t lose much w hen clicking into higher gears and carries its momentum into the corners with consum mate fluidity.
Honed hustler
Like a crisp bogey tha at’s ripe for picking, it chewed Maggotts an nd Becketts nicely with insane change o f direction – as good as any race bike I’ve spanked through this fabled (and damn fas t) section of track. You just have to glanc ce at the kerbing and it’ll meet an apex, yett somehow manages to maintain a superna atural air of stability. We’re not sure of its performance on the scales, but you can be et Tim’s bike has shed 15kg from a stoc ck 959.
It boasts one of tho ose uncrashable front-ends that submissively begs for exploitation and ooze es mechanical grip, as if there was a racing slic ck fitted. As with many OE set-ups, the 959’s stock suspension doesn’t respond well to committed circuit speeds and pushing either end – particularly the front. Öhlins’ 30m mm cartridges replace the stock Showas and the difference – unsurprisingly – is night and day. With a beautifully plush action and progression through ut the stroke, you know exactly wh at’s going on
LIKE A CRISP BOGEY THAT’S RIPE FOR PICKING, IT CHEWED MAGGOTS AND BECKETTS NICELY WITH INSANE CHANGE OF DIRECTION.
beneath you as the bike goads you into braking later and later every lap. Tim is a svelte chap, so the 8.5 spring in the TTX shock was way too soft for my morbidly obese chassis, although it didn’t hinder the day.
I think the question on everyone’s lips is: why hasn’t someone assassinated Donald Trump yet? Sorry, I got side-tracked. The most FAQ at Silverstone was, ‘does the swingarm make a difference, mister?’ Not only does the Pierobon swinger’ boss the bike aesthetically, it’ll boss your wallet at around £5,000 but is 10% lighter than the stock Aldi version and moves the centre of gravity forwards. The MotoGP -look a like requires staunch speeds to unlock its minerals and, in truth, lesser-experienced riders and those short of pace simply won’t detect its functionality, other than a slightly stiffer feeling from the botty. There’s no denying that the 959’s lower swingarm pivot (over the 899) assists mechanical grip, but lap-by-lap, I was becoming greedier with the throttle and there was nothing but drive and stability. Even after three sessions and a tyre that looked like it had been savaged by John McGuinness’ teeth, the rear refused to step out of line or even shimmy – a rare trait at Silverstone. There’s also a vastly heightened sense of feedback from the rear and every grain of surface was measurable.
Also measureable were the brown stains in my pants after some precipitation began to fall during my third session. It was merely ‘mental’ rain but magnified by the fact I was riding a £40k special. Spanking a fully-insured, mass-produced press bike on track in iffy conditions is one thing, but sliding down the road on someone’s über-trick weapon as they patiently wait in pitlane is an entirely different shitstorm. Discretion was the better part of valour, so I wobbled back to the pits and had a poo.
Money well spent
Tim had to scoot after luncheon yet valiantly left me in charge of his steed for the afternoon, and the murky, dank morning changed to a brighter rest of the day. When someone chucks £40k at a bike, there has to be an element of rationality when it comes to testing protocol. Of course it’s going to be good. It’s about highlighting what works and what doesn’t, though there isn’t much of the latter to report.
The stock 959 has all the ingredients to be a stonking track tool: plenty of power, a proficient (yet pernickety) chassis and a 21st century electronics package. However, that’s never manifested itself into a respectable showing against the stopwatch, and more conventional supermids have whooped the Panigale’s lap time. And I’ll just go back to that pernickety comment – as beautiful and alluring as the 959 is, the Panigale family have never been easy to ride fast.
Tim’s 959 is an exception and, despite the spec’ list and racier components, it’s far easier to ride with a more fluid action. Bragging Öhlins drastically assists the monocoque chassis in maintaining composure on track which, along with the wheels, are its most prominent features in terms of handling. Regardless of top-shelf Brembo paraphernalia that offer race-spec braking performance, it implores stupidly fast corner exit speed and back it up with an unflustered midcorner stance.
Rick has built on a solid base and enhanced every aspect, as you’d envisage from the money thrown at it, but it’s difficult not to sycophantically rave about the spec’ sheet when it’s so extensive and 99% of it deserves an honourable mention. There’s a medley of exuberance (the Pierobon swinger) and attentiveness (cartridge kit rather than the full fork transplant) blended with stunning aesthetics. In a cluster of lavish Ducatis at Silverstone that included brand-new 1299 Superleggeras, Desmosedicis and sexy Desmo classics, it was Tim’s 959 Panigale that stole the show. It stole my heart as well.