SeekingFire Ducati Blog
A Duck Named Bella
September 25, 2007
I woke up absurbly early on the 8th day of September, unusual for a Saturday, feeling too anxious to sleep any longer.
I puttered around to kill a few hours and then as soon as 9 o'clock rolled around I took off to Thunder City. There I spent some time getting acquainted with the 15th[*] motorcycle to work it's way into my life: a 2006 Ducati ST3 with glossy black paint, the Ducati Performance kit treatment, and 1950 kilometers on the clock. I worked a matching top case into the deal but it won't be delivered for a few weeks yet.
Many hours after picking it up I celebrated in my leathers at Luigi's with a glass of Italian red, the Duck slowly cooling down in the parking lot outside.
It was the test ride on the Thursday before that did me in.
At first the Ducati felt a little alien, like a parallel evolution of the motorcycle that was heading for the same ultimate destination via a different path. Right off the bat I blew an up-shift and hit a false neutral (I quickly realized the gear shift lever was set too high for me from the factory, so I wasn't fully up-shifting). There was a lot of weight of my wrists and the bike felt light yet strangely long while traveling up Broad Street.
Slowly becoming more acclimatized to the Duck's character, a word which seems to crop up a lot when talking about Ducatis, Peter led me to the off-ramp onto the highway to Saskatoon and with the feather-light bike leaned over, the windblast supporting my weight, and the rising crescendo of it's very beautiful and unique sound accompanying the torque of the L-twin pulling me faster and faster... well, it was like everything suddenly clicked into focus and made sense. I was hooked.
I named her Bella, after my maternal grandmother (the obvious Italian meaning is merely a nice bonus). Bella is somewhat uncompromising, temperamental until fully warmed up, infected with a contagious wanderlust, growly in a delightful way, beautiful to look at, and utterly unflappable when I get her into situations that she would have every right to frown at. In other words, the finest motorcycle I've ever owned. A bike so good that I feel compelled to write about her.
I've always been intrigued by Ducatis: the history of the marque, the unique sound, the passion that they inspire in riders, and above all their beauty. I remember being in awe while reading about the introduction of the 1993 Supermono and 916, and the 2007 1098. I've read the stories about Paul Smart and Cook Neilson countless times. I've pored over pictures of the Super Sports (from the 1970s round and square case models right through to the 1000DS) and dog-eared every page where Peter Egan writes about them in Leanings I and II. I spent long minutes absorbing every detail of historical bikes while at the Guggenheim Art of the Motorcycle exhibit in Vegas. I always thought that I'd eventually dance with a Ducati, though I imagined it would be in "rosso". Bella wears black, however, and it's gorgeous. Paint that I could swim in laid over curves that appeal to Man's deepest instincts.
By the end of the first week I'd ridden 1300 kilometers with her. Up to 1800 by the end of the second week, including some soulful time spent exploring cottage country in the Qu'Appelle Valley with the golden leaves of the lake-front trees lining the narrow winding road. I love listening to her music. She purrs most of the time, and growls with authority while accelerating, but never barks. She has more manners than that.
Bella has a longer reach to lower grips than Josephine, my previous bike, had. Where Jo (a sweet red GSF1200S) had a real handlebar, Bella has clip-ons on short risers. At first my wrists and shoulders assured me that I'd be much happier with either the Heli bars or the Cycle Cat risers but I decided to tough it out. So far it's been a good decision—above 70 or 80 kmph the windblast makes the riding position feel balanced and natural.
I'm more breaking into the bike than the bike is breaking in to me, but the resulting riding experience is amazing. I'm worried about having to go through the adjustment period all over again every Spring so I've started researching specific exercises that I could do to keep the right muscles in shape. My clutch hand especially. I keep repeating the "it adds character" mantra and hope that the muscles on my palm and fingers somehow grow stronger. There are hydraulic aids to reduce lever pull at the expense of level travel, but I suspect that if I mold myself to the bike rather than change what it is that I'll eventually be rewarded. She feels honest that way.
I've dialed the suspension in slowly, ending up my slightly increased preload in the front and maximum preload in the rear—and I'd take more in the rear if I could get it. With every notch I brought the rear up I could felt the slight rear-end wallowing after a bump settle down and the front-end sharpen. It's a bike that encourages me to be a better rider rather than coddling me with overly soft suspension and ergonomics that are comfy only on the show-room floor.
Winter is coming fast on the Canadian prairies and the morning temperatures are dipping below freezing. A Powerlet adapter for my electric jacket liner arrived yesterday and it made the 7:00am ride to work feel more like the glorious autumn afternoons. I have the Ducati Designs connectors for the heated grips fuse on order, and I'm starting to research which heated grips to go with. I ignore the fact that I have to scrap the frost on the seat before heading off to work as the price of more saddle time.
I find myself contemplating what I can do over the winter to spend time with Bella. The thought of installing bits of carbon fiber adornments worth more per ounce than fine gold fires my imagination. She'll slumber soon, but come Spring she'll be waiting.
[*] Depending on how you count it. I've been riding for 26 years, since I was first big enough to fit onto a Honda 50, and my memory of bikes during my younger years isn't all that certain.
