Why the Ducati Diavel should factor highly...
With the summer just around the corner you might fancy dipping your toe into the muscle cruiser market. But which is best? There’s only one way to find out.
As a former BSB-level racer I’d like to think I can get a bike off the line quicker than most. Even more so when my bike’s got a 40bhp advantage. The Yamaha VMAX I’m sat astride is currently the fastest motorcycle from 0-60mph on the planet. And it’s faster than any production car, too. So how on earth have we just been trounced over the quarter-mile at Bruntingthorpe’s test track by a rider almost twice my age, with considerably more girth around the middle and with half my talent (come on, give me something here) riding a Diavel.
My VMAX might have 25% more power than the Ducati, but it’s just suffered a knockout akin to Mike Tyson’s stunning defeat at the hands of James ‘Buster’ Douglas.
Was it clutch drag? Poor fuelling? Clunky gearbox? The right excuse doesn’t come quick enough before I have to face up to Tony and hear his words which cut through me like a rusty knife covered in barbed wire: “What happened there, mate?”
The truth is, I don’t even know – but I’m sure about one thing; I need a go on that Diavel.
Tale of the tape: How the Diavel beat the VMAX
Ducati’s DNA will always make sporty bikes. So where the VMAX weighs fractionally more than a small horse, the Diavel is nearly a third lighter at just 210 kilograms. To put it into context, that’s a couple of slender pillions. And where the Yamaha has a wheelbase of 1700mm – long enough to keep it stable under hard acceleration and so beat most sport bikes off the line – the Ducati measures just 1590mm; still a lot longer than a superbike, but short for a cruiser. Plus, the Ducati has sophisticated traction control that keeps it running dead straight no matter how hard you dump the clutch.
Everyone is raving about it
Up until now, the nearest I’ve been to riding the bike is watching it shoot off down the road on a daily basis, complete with one of my colleagues brandishing a full-face smile. To say this bike has been popular around MCM towers is a huge understatement. It’s been practically unobtainable, but now I’m getting my turn as Tony hands me the Diavel's ignition fob and I make my way over to the mass of black metal, styled halfway between a street bike and stretched-out muscle cruiser. The styling is typical Ducati and long before I’ve even sat on the bike, I’ve fallen in love with this machine’s sexy curves and bold lines. Nothing looks out of place and there are just enough shiny bits strategically placed to make it feel expensive, without becoming a KitKat wrapper. The bike’s twinstacked exhaust cans draw me in like a magpie and, despite the workmanlike welding and bizarre plastic wart on the collector box, I find myself following the flowing exhaust pipework as it worms itself towards the front of the bike before vanishing from sight beneath the Diavel’s tubular frame. The whole bike’s packaged neatly and the cosiest of all components is the mammoth 1198cc, eight-valve, V-twin motor – a direct donor part from the Multistrada 1200, but tweaked to produce an extra 12bhp. It’s nestled down low between the bike’s chassis and a delicately styled belly pan which harbours the bike’s front cylinder. In a similar style to the VMAX, the Diavel’s smoothly shaped 17-litre fuel tank is a key attraction, sculpted in such a way that it’s profile flows perfectly into the scalloped single seat pod I’m about to lower myself into.
The ergonomics are perfect
I use the word ‘lower’ because that’s exactly the process required to locate you in the Diavel’s perch which sits all of 770mm high – a couple of inches less than most sports bikes. I’m 5ft 9in tall and this position feels perfect to me. Not only can I get both feet comfortably on the ground but from here I can reach out easily to the wide, roadster-style handlebars.
First impressions count and even though I’ve not yet turned a wheel on this bike, I’m liking it. The layout of the split screen instrumentation falls naturally in your eyeline – unlike on the VMAX where you’re constantly shuffling backwards to read the tiny data dash integrated into the bike’s fuel tank.
There’s no key for the ignition. Flick open the kill switch twice and the bike’s electronics spark into life. The starter button is under the kill switch and the steering lock is electronic and switches off automatically when the ignition comes on. To switch it off you close the kill switch. To turn off the electronics you push the switch down a little further.
All very flash and guaranteed to impress anything with a Y chromosome, but it quickly becomes tiresome and you know that at some point it is going to break.
25 How much more % power the VMAX has over the Diavel
The electronics let you ride it like a muscle bike
On sports bikes, traction control is a cover-up. Clever digital handholding that lets clumsy idiots ride like Valentino. On a muscle bike, the whole idea is brute force and clumsy ignorance of the laws of physics. Open it up as hard as you dare and let the rear tyre take care of the rest. Where the traction control on Kawasaki’s ZX-10R and BMW’s S1000R are performance aids, on the Diavel it’s largely there as a safety device. And it works. Tony left the bike’s settings in plain view for me to scrutinise. I knew this bike came with traction control, but I had no idea it featured eight different levels of it. The bike’s set in DTC 1 – minimal electronic intervention – with the power cranked to the max on Sport mode unleashing all 162bhp of this bike’s potential.
Now to try it.
Did I mention it was fast?
Bruntingthorpe, part two. My turn on the Ducati. The hydraulic clutch engages effortlessly, as does first gear. My heart’s racing as I twist the bike’s fly-by-wire throttle, taking the revs up to 6000rpm. The VMAX is tricky off the line from these kind of revs, but I have faith in the technology. With that, I drop the clutch and get catapulted forward at a rate that would make sport bikes run crying to their mothers – 0-60mph in 2.6 seconds. If you’re trying to fathom just how fast that is – it’s around the same pace off the line as an F1 car. It’s ripping my arms off trying to hold onto the thing and the only reprieve is when I accidentally hit the rev limiter, flinging me forward like I’ve just hit a brick wall. Second gear engaged, we’re off for more of the same. Through the gears and the traction control’s still engaging on and off, but its interaction is allowing me to keep the throttle pinned. How easy can going fast get?