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Felt like my left foot was turning into a cloven hoof, the gearchange changing into a piece of dung the further I got from the previous owner's home. Was I once again to turn out a gullible fool? With used bikes bought privately I had a fifty percent success rate - I was due to take a bath again. By the time I rolled up at my house, it was patently obvious that I'd bought a dog! Looking down, imagine my relief to find merely a loose gearchange lever!
The owner had sold the bike to me as a prime example of the Ducati vee twin breed, only two owners and 7000 miles. Given that they have a rep for a dodgy finish, it certainly looked the business. Only a Philistine would call it anything other than beautiful - I preferred it to the much hyped 916, at least with regards to its looks.
The next morning it spat out smoke like an old man does phlegm. The engine made grinding noises as the starter spun before the motor caught; something I've always had a phobia about - heavy mechanical noises in the early morning did my head in! The exhaust note soon drowned out everything else, including coherent thought at that time of the day.
The explosion of angry combustion caused the nutters next door to pop their heads over the fence - saffron coated, crew cut, religious fanatics. The first bite of early morning acceleration hit me like a quick taste of sake (that's what my Japanese friend reckoned he was brewing in his basement).
After that it was all a bit of a saga. The big vee twin wanted to bound forward with maximum violence whilst the traffic wanted to close all the possible escape holes. Salad days with the Duke included many a near miss - thank goodness for its powerful discs! Trying to ride slowly was like rubbing salt into the wounded pride of the SS - its clutch went all jerky and the motor threatened to (but never actually did) cut out. I tried to bolster my ego by running along at high revs in first and second. The glorious noise went down as well as the time I'd pissed in a public swimming pool. The engine didn't so much vibrate as feel as if something was on the verge of locking up solid, though it never went that far.
Because of the riding position, I had to bob my head up and down, checking the tarmac ahead and then the traffic. If you were into bondage and SM then the riding position might be thought comfortable but, for me, I found anything less than 80mph made no sense at all. After the first ride into work I felt like I'd been seriously abused. I was a tad embarrassed to get off the bike in a stagger reminiscent of the more depraved bum-boys. I almost fell into a trough of depression but got myself together before I had to confront my workmates, came up with the usual spiel about how brilliant it was.
Coming home the weather turned stormy, the engine cutting out. Formerly lithe and controllable, the bike seemed stout and unsteady. I only made it back by pretending to strafe the cages that got in the way, a straggle of inconveniently placed auto's. WD40 cleared up the ignition hassles and straightened out my mind the following day when it was nothing but rain. A few more days of that left the bike looking a bit wretched, with loads of rust and alloy corrosion sprouting out of control. Could've reduced a grown man to tears - just as well I'm still a juvenile delinquent, then!
The weekend finally came around, time for the open road and some speed kicks. Much more fun, shooting around at 120mph and going into corners far faster than my mates on Jap fours. They had the last laugh when I collected two speeding tickets on the same day. Extreme mental trauma that - the first real outing, I get done every which way! I think the cops have something against big red motorcycles. Or perhaps, just the way the handling and power encouraged me on to ever crazier riding. Whee!
The next week, a not so gentle trawl through heavy traffic. The clutch nasty, the motor demanding to be given its head. I'd expected some low rev torque, the kind of beat you could luxuriate in, but the SS didn't really want to know. Violently self-willed and obstinate just about summed up the headstrong Ducati. In some ways quite hazardous as it often pushed me to ride a bit harder than I really wanted. The motor may've been tweaked because another SS I came across couldn't keep up, like they were different models! I couldn't see any telltale signs of the heads' bolts being tampered with, so maybe I was a better rider than I thought. Or not!
A sunny spell revealed just how much of an old heap, in appearance, the Ducati had become. It shone up okay but the polishing sessions soon became a regular (twice weekly) necessity. They should come with parasols, or something. Other peccadillos included gumming up the calipers (nothing a good kicking couldn't sort) and losing one of the mirrors. And there were a couple of smears of oil where some of the engine casings met. To keep the level topped up took half a litre of lubricant a week.
There was no doubting the bike's pedigree, many Ducati's put on a pedestal by their admiring owners. I could almost feel its history seeping out of the components. Nevertheless, I had some negative feelings. A montage of near misses and recalcitrant metal often popped up in my mind when I should've been working or glued to the TV. As if my subconscious tried to warn me off! I became almost as moody as the Ducati. All it took to revive my spirits was a blast out in the countryside when the sun was shining. The bike egging me on to greater things, only complete paranoia about more speeding fines holding me back!
Talking of moolah, I was in dread of the fines to come, and possible ban, for picking up two tickets in one day. I was hoping the fact that they happened in two different counties might confuse them. With that in mind, when someone offered me £500 more than I'd paid for the Duke I was well relieved to see the back of it. I moped around the house for a few days for no sane reason that I could see, but soon found happiness in a cheap CBR600.
H.E.T.
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The ex-racer stood in the dim light of the street. The owner had resorted to bump-starting. To my doubtful eyes an amazing feat of physical coordination. The open pipes allowed an explosive blast to echo off the stone buildings. I quickly put my full-face lid on before I went deaf. I'd wondered why I'd had to shout at the vendor to make myself understood.
Blipping the throttle was the only way to stop the vee-twin motor dying. The clutch was heavy due to racing springs. The throttle was quick action. Just a touch had the revs soaring. The gearshift was vintage slow and cumbersome. The gearing was so tall that, in first, slip was needed until 20mph. Searing acceleration like a scud missile. By the time I made max revs in second the road came to an end.
The motor went well enough to convince me it was a good 'un. What was left of the chassis was quite solid. The guy was keeping the racing fairing for his next project. The front light stuck out a yard on some precarious brackets. As stock Pantahs are quite expensive beasts I was happy to pay £600.
There weren't any indicators. Riding at slow speeds was difficult. The throttle sprung back with a final snap and the clutch needed slipping. Hand signals were thus difficult. The Pantah had supreme stability which allowed unlikely antics. I made it the 10 miles home in one piece.
On further examination, the electrics proved to be much modified. The ignition was self-generating and electronic. The main alternator was junked in favour of a total loss battery system. This allowed about 20 miles of night riding before the lights went out. Or about four dabs on the electric boot. An alternator and set of indicators were top priority.
I was still able to ride around in the daylight hours. The bike was a bundle of laughs to trundle through town. The tremendous noise and outrageous acceleration had cagers snapping their necks. It was one of the safest bikes I'd ever ridden. There was no doubting my presence. The braking was something else. The discs had ultra-hard pads that produced vision distorting braking. Their lack of feel made them dangerous on slimy surfaces.
After a week a crashed 500 Pantah turned up in the breakers. As well as the electrics, I bought a half fairing, bars, pegs, exhaust system and seat unit. All for a bargain £100! With those fitted the bike was more or less back to stock. With the open pipes I'd been stopped three times by the plod. The racing riding position and minimal seat had produced searing back pains. To round off the month I sold the racing bits for £150.
The engine retained its racing components and traits. With the pleasant stock riding position, I was quite happy to juggle the throttle and clutch at slow speeds. In return I had a fearsome dose of acceleration between 6500 and 10,000 revs. The bike moved as well as a mate's CBR600 in third or fourth. Only losing out once past the ton, although top speed was 135mph. I only found this out from riding in the company of the CBR. The Pantah's speedo went berserk each time it touched 120mph. I still haven't decided if this was in celebration or protest.
The stock motor only made 60 horses. Racing engines would improve on that, maybe making 80hp. The stock exhaust and intake is very restrictive. Easy to get another 10 horses that way. The rest is down to harder cams, port work and higher compression pistons. The con-rods are the major limit on engine work, too much power will make them snap.
I'd guess my bike was making around 70 horses. With a weight of 420lbs that gave great acceleration and reasonable engine longevity. The one weak spot in the motor was the belt drive to the cams. These were much less complex than the old bevel drives. I put in a new set after the first 1000 miles and replaced them at 7500 miles. In a stock motor they might last for as much as 20,000 miles. The lumpier cams and higher revs gave them a much harder time.
Vee-twins are traditionally tuned for an excess of torque. Harley take that concept to extremes. Massive capacity, low revs and a deal of fun. The Italians do things differently. They love to make intricate motors that will safely rev high. Which is where the desmo heads came in. Back in the seventies valve material wasn't good enough to stop float at high revs. At least not with the large valves Ducati thought necessary. The desmo system opens and closes valves using a separate set of cam lobes. A brilliant bit of work. Maintenance is its downfall. It needs a skilled hand and a couple of hours to shim the system so that it all works together well. Valve servicing was needed every 4000 miles. I let a Ducati mechanic do the work at an expensive 75 quid a time.
As high revving as the motor was, it still ran well between 2000 and 6500. Below 2000rpm it'd cut out, because the self-generating ignition circuit didn't put out sufficient power. Once the motor was hot, it'd start first press of the button if it stalled. Cold starting was more of a problem. The choke system was missing and the open bellmouths gasped petulantly. I did try a few bump-starts but the bike liked to stall dead and fall over. I kept a spare battery and it'd eventually spit into life after a quarter of an hour on ice cold mornings.
There were a few oil leaks, probably down to the high pressure pump needed to service the plain big-end bearings. A hard run around town resulted in a big puddle under the motor. 200 miles in a day was a quick way to lose two-thirds of the lubricant. Slinging a couple of cans on the pillion perch was a good idea.
Passengers were reluctant to go very far. Complaining of earache (the silencers had mostly rusted right through), bum-ache and toothache. The latter from a thrilling dose of vibration as the motor was revved into red. With a ninety degree vee there shouldn't have been much. Past 10,000rpm the bars and pegs shuddered. The petrol tank felt like it wanted to split in half. At milder revs I could find little to complain about.
The hard edged acceleration complemented the handling well. As with most Dukes, the faster it went the better it felt. Had the gearing been less tall it would also have been a dead easy machine to trawl around town. Clutches are always a dodgy item on Ducatis. The amount of abuse mine was put through meant I was putting in new plates every 5000 miles. I even had one drum start to crack up. The crunching noises every time I touched the lever meant I got to it before there was an explosion of metal.
The gearbox was also a bit doubtful, with tales of boxes exploding. The fluidness of the change didn't inspire much confidence. It crunched and groaned but went into gear eventually. It was slow enough to hinder acceleration. Better to put the box in third or fourth, use the rev range to surge forward. Okay on the open road but impossible in town. Below 3000 revs the chain felt like it was about to snap.
It was after about six months fun and games that the gearbox seized up solid. It was possible to take off in second. If you thought that a burning clutch had narcotic possibilities. I spent a week revving the balls off the engine until I tired of the noise. It felt like a holocaust was about to happen. My friendly Ducati mechanic took £300 of my hard earnt bread. As well as selectors, a couple of teeth were worn down and the bearings were at the end of their service life. The rebuilt gearbox was still stiff but made less noise.
The state of the drive chain and sprockets had an effect on the smoothness of the transmission. Chains rarely lasted more than 5000 miles. A combination of drive-line lash, power pulses and a hopping back wheel (when I got carried away on the front discs). Sprocket life varied greatly. Some lasted no longer than the chain, others lasted twice as long. A function of their material and the accuracy of their manufacture. I did have one chain break. The chainguard (so minimal it was just a sop to the law) shattered. The crankcases survived with just a little whiplashing (ouch).
I was 30 miles from home at the time. I pushed it two miles to a motorcycle shop where I was able to buy a length of chain. The dealer wouldn't lend me any tools to get the chain tension set up. I rode slowly home with the chain threatening to leap off the sprockets. It would've been worse if it was too tight. That might've ruined the gearbox drive bearing! It's probably worth investing in an O-ring chain and sprocket set. I could never justify throwing that much dosh away.
Another limitation on a frugal lifestyle was fuel economy. Town riding gave 40mpg. Mild cruising managed 45mpg but giving the bike its head returned 30 to 35mpg. That was no worse than modern middleweight fours given the same kind of stick. A stock Pantah will give an easy 50mpg, maybe even 60mpg under mild conditions. I checked the plugs to find the mixture was nigh on perfect. To be honest, I'd much prefer to have the performance rather than the economy.
The cost and the age of the machine inhibited any plans to do an around the world tour. A week's camping holiday of about 1200 miles was the most I did. 300 miles in a day was tolerable. Loads of junk could be strapped on the bike without upsetting its poise. It didn't necessarily stay there. I had my tent and sleeping bag fall off the back. They survived being run over by a car. I'd placed the Ducati so hastily on its stand that by the time I'd run back it'd fallen over.
They are quite tough beasts. Mine survived several mild clashes with the tarmac. The indicators tend to snap off and I managed to scrape a couple of millimetres off the engine casing. It doesn't fall over rapidly, there usually seems time to get a boot down or wrench the bars. Even riding on bald tyres was possible if a bit of care was taken. I rather enjoyed the controllable slides that resulted on wet roads!
There was no way that the front brake could be used in those circumstances. There wasn't any delay, the front wheel locked straight away. Even after a year's worth of practice, I never found any feel in the front discs. It took that time (and 25000 miles) to wear out the pads. This turned out to be because they were so hard they'd worn down the discs! I was alerted to this by some clanging noises.
A collection of variously worn parts from different breakers followed. The same bits are also used on other bikes, so it's possible to mix and match. The resulting brake had about half the power of the old one. The first time I tried for a quick halt I almost shat myself. The bloody thing took another 60 yards to pull up from 80mph. The Pantah doesn't like to steer when the forks are down on the stops. I applied bar breaking force and missed the cage by an inch.
There was more feedback. Enough to make it almost safe to brake in the wet on decent tyres. I preferred Pirellis, they gripped well and lasted for 8000 miles at the back and 12000 out front. Some jerk of a tyre fitter took a huge chunk out of the alloy rim. They refused to pay for a repair. As it was a front wheel they were as rare as hen's teeth. Alloy welding was considered and rejected after I had visions of the wheel cracking up at 100mph. In the end I bought a new wheel! The most expensive tyre I ever paid for. I might just accept that the fracture was caused by ageing alloy.....
The plastic bits were even more fragile. The fairing cracked up, loosened it vibrated with a renewed frenzy. The hairline cracks rapidly became massive seams, huge chunks of the fairing falling off into the slipstream. Replica GRP replacements were even thinner and lasted mere thousands of miles. The seat unit was similarly dodgy, threatening to crack up and throw the rider off the back.
Problems have to be expected on any bike over ten years old. The Ducati was probably no worse than any similarly aged Japanese motorcycle. Certainly, there are few low mileage Pantahs on offer. Because they tended towards reliability even when thrashed, they were used hard. Once experienced, it's not easy to back off the throttle. That mind tripping surge of power and torque combined with the instinctive handing added up to a lot of fun and games on the road. Prices are over the top, these days, but that goes for most Italian stuff and even decent Japs.
N.K.
For retro we should read real motorcycles. And the definition of a real motorcycle is one that impresses more with its torque than power. In some instances this is just an excuse for getting away with antique engineering (who mentioned Harley?). The M900 makes a mere 75 horses at just over 7000 revs but has massive low and midrange punch, the engine basically identical to the well proven (dry clutch aside) 900SS. The only area in which it's really retro is that it has a stripped naked look.
The layout of the Ducati's ninety degree engine makes any styling effort difficult, the back cylinder all but disappearing amid the tubular frame and ancillaries. The castings on the motor are not very attractive, the lines of the frame and engine being in conflict......all the more shocking, then, that the Monster is such a stunning looker. The huge petrol tank and pared down rear end contrast with the silver frame whilst the meaty upside-down forks dominate the front end.
If the styling looks a bit extreme, the riding position is quite conventional and reasonably natural. Town riding was a breeze. There was an excess of torque that made crazed used of the gearbox redundant. Weighing about 430lbs the Ducati was just light enough to chuck around in town, whilst the suspension was up to coping with the mad machinations of council neglect upon the rutted road surface.
After a couple of days of becoming used to the machine, I found I could ride through town in a thoroughly delinquent manner. Doing wheelies in the first couple of gears was just a twist of the throttle away and so good was the balance of the M900 that even on the back wheel it felt reassuring. When the cagers did something really stupid the twin front discs and single rear would pin the bike down like nothing else I'd experienced. The four piston Brembos are usually found on much bigger bikes, so with the minimal mass they slammed the bike to a halt.
The frame and forks had to be good to absorb that kind of violence. The massive upside-down forks had a rigidity, a resistance to twisting, that most motorcyclists can only dream about. The wrap-around tubular frame, with its excess of cross-bracing and use of the crankcases as a stressed member, held everything in line, giving the impression that it could take twice the power.
Any company can specify top notch suspension and, these days, make extremely stiff frames, but what counts is having the experience to put it all together in a way that optimizes steering geometry, weight distribution and suspension settings. Ducati have wads of experience both on the road and track, and in almost every way the narrow vee-twin engine is much more suitable for perfecting the chassis layout.
Like the 900SS, the Monster comes across, almost immediately, as a special kind of bike that rides on the road in a much more secure way than the Japanese hordes with their huge across the frame four cylinder engines; emphasizes the uncanny difference of its nature with the mind warping way it lays down its torque, big hammer blows to the heart and acceleration that beats to death larger, more powerful Japanese iron.
Most Italian bikes take a time to become acquainted with, some take months before the taste for their character is acquired, but the M900, along with the 900SS, is entirely different in that respect. Within minutes of taking the controls it's Big Grin time. If Ducati made demonstrators widely available it'd sell by the boat load. Ducatis used to be full of all kinds of hidden nasties but they have managed to combine all the subtle qualities of motorcycling with an instant rapport and friendliness that gives the best of all worlds.
In town the bike will do anything you want, go into any amount of cut and thrust, ninety degree turns and running over pavements, dogs and pedestrians. And, it'll do it a damn sight better than any other machine that weighs over 400lbs. True, across London antics, hustling through snarled up traffic for a couple of hours, would turn my wrists a bit numb and my backside would begin to complain. The suspension was a touch stiff, but nowhere near as bad as the old bevel drive Ducatis, for constant, repetitive bouncing over rough, apparently abandoned roads.
The fat, low profile Michelins lost some of their reassuring feel when used on such roads that had taken a dose of rain. The slight slides never went right out of control but required a lot restraint both on the brake levers and the throttle. When a cage cut me up in the wet, I found the twin discs rather too powerful for the front tyre, and it also lost a little feedback just when I wanted more. This complaint was more a function of their exemplary behaviour in the dry, by way of comparison, than any defect when compared to similarly equipped Japanese bikes, which had an even harder time but were better tyred.
It was dead easy to slide the back tyre on wet roads, all it took was harsh use of the throttle or back brake. The thing was that the Duke never went out of control; was so responsive that I began to abuse the back end, controlled by a wholly adequate and multi-adjustable single shock, just for the fun of it! Wild slides woke up dozy peds and were often employed to make sprightly right-angle turns.
Having done 3000 miles on a bike that already had 1800 on the clock (at eight grand new I can't think how anyone could afford one), the back tyre is moments off going illegal and the front is about 500 miles away from following suit. Running on worn out tyres is always a good test of a motorcycle's chassis. Most Japanese bikes, even if they are near sublime when brand new, in that state become close to rolling death-traps.
The Ducati remained steady in straight lines, even flat out the weaves were so slight that they were not really worth noting. Where the tyres made a difference was in how far I could lean over. On good rubber I could get my knees down, but on the worn stuff the tyres started shuffling sideways and I had to edge the chassis upwards, causing the M900 to run wide in corners.
Even under such extremis I always felt completely in control, there was scads of feedback from the tyres, always sufficient information to know when things were getting close to going out of control. I've ridden Japanese bikes that, in the blink of an eye, have switched from apparent stability into wild wobbles. Some combination of surface irregularity, road speed and chassis wear suddenly setting them off. There was none of that frightening nonsense on the Ducati Monster.
On good tyres I couldn't really fault the bike. It'd cruise along motorways at the ton without any squirming (it'd probably do more but I wasn't able to hold on for more than a few seconds), whilst those really long, fast curves held no terrors on either a rising or falling throttle, though the brakes were a bit too snappy to use in anything other than an emergency - the front discs are probably the one thing on the bike that take a little time to really get a feel for; even now I'm often still in terror of their sheer, excessive stopping power! The pads have just started to rattle a little, so by the time 5000 miles are up I'll be buying a new set.
I'm actually quite surprised that the calipers haven't started to seize up yet. This pessimism caused by the wholly, stupidly, inadequate front mudguard, which because of the design of the upside-down forks can't easily be replaced by a more substantial item that'd be more suitable for the awful British weather rather than the Italian Riviera. Not only does the guard allow gallons of water on to the front of the engine, it seems especially designed to splatter both the calipers and the forks.
The latter were non-adjustable but that was okay as they were perfect for me. Their very stiffness must've made the act of damping the springs much easier than on conventional forks. They would absorb minor ripples and some quite large bumps, only becoming a bit lost over London sized pot-holes, which were so deep they threatened to snag the front cylinder. It would be a great pity if dirt thrown off the wheel ruined the seals, upside-down forks being even more susceptible to this trait than conventional front forks. There seemed to be no way that a pair of gaiters could be securely fitted to the legs.
The back end was much better protected from the weather, a swinging arm mounted guard keeping the worst of the muck off the single shock. Overall finish was up to Japanese standards, but the Monster was a real pain to clean, there being so many crannies into which the road grime was thrown by the front wheel. A high pressure hose seemed ideal, but a couple of minor brackets and fasteners were already speckled with the dreaded rust, so a couple of English winters might do a lot of harm.
I know that won't be a problem for the Kings Road poseurs as they'll get the Porsche out for the winter but I insist that my motorcycle is usable all year around (I can only afford to run one vehicle). Using the Duke as a high speed tourer was slightly limited by a seat that could've been better shaped and padded, but it was good enough for two hours before various muscles decided to become very cramped. At least with the M900, I had the choice of riding like a lunatic or taking it nice and laid back. The gargantuan (and, to my eyes, ugly) silencers still allowed a reasonably resonant exhaust note once on the open road and more than 80mph was on the clock, which was reassuring in the way that most vee twins are. Put it this way, I can't recall a ride that I didn't enjoy immensely, that didn't leave me wanting to leap back on the bike for more or have me looking around for a way to make the route home just that bit longer.
Country roads that twist back upon themselves are an ideal exercise ground for the M900. With its relatively low centre of gravity, it feels even lighter than its claimed 410lbs dry and can be flicked from side to side as easily as many Japanese 500 twins. Exhilarating is the best description that comes to mind, when racing with friends mounted on Japanese fours - the poor buggers have to play with their gearboxes like crazed madmen and I can almost see their arm muscles bulge under their leathers. The Ducati makes hard road-work seem easy and I had to keep trying harder to find the limits of both the chassis and the engine.
The motor's been around long enough to sort out any problems, a relatively simple two valver with belt drive to single cams. The clutch is the only really weak spot, although the belts have limited life and if oil changes are neglected the main bearings may start rumbling.
The 900SS is a bit more practical for the really fast stuff, but the M900 wins on macho looks and ease of general riding. Both are practical, almost sensible, motorcycles. I really think the world would be a better place if every home had one.
Frank Barring
Cynical minds might merely wonder if the M600 is just a reworked Pantah. Even nastier minds might wonder why the M only has 55hp against the older bike's 60hp! The Monster is mostly sold in European countries where horsepower limits (for cheap insurance) is the game and the bike has to be tuned up for the UK market. To confuse things further the mill is actually a sleeved down 750cc unit.
The major difference to the M900, apart from the obvious lack of grunt, is a much superior wet clutch that removes most of the bigger bike's low speed grumbling - for posing in town the M600's easily the better choice. The gearchange is superior, too, with just five ratios that are more than a sufficient match to the engine's wide spread of torque. The throttle seems to have a direct connection to the back wheel.
Not only does the Ducati weigh less than 400lbs, it also carries a lot of that mass low. What a nice combination of qualities it had - loads of torque, more than adequate power (though without the excesses of the 900), a narrow chassis and excellent weight distribution that gave an easy going and secure feel at the same time. In short, loads of fun!
If anything, it was better than the 900 which could both be a little cantankerous at low revs and a little too wild at the top of the range, just a little bit too easy to completely overdo it. The 600 was a real easy bike to leap on to for the first time, roar up the street with a silly grin after just a few minutes of getting used to the controls. Luckily, this ain't the end of the fun, as the M600 has plenty of hidden character to unfold as time goes by.
My immediate problem on the 700 mile machine was dealing with the singular front disc. The bigger bike has twin discs and so much power it needs a bit of care and attention to avoid locking up the front wheel. The problem with the M600 was that the disc was completely unpredictable - sometimes howling the tyre other times the lever would come back to the bars.
The handbook reckoned there was a worldwide guarantee, so off I went to the local Ducati dealer (about 75 miles away). The same old story, you didn't buy the bike from us therefore we'll have to charge you. I'd bought the bike privately in London - I think the owner was into some HP scam as he seemed happy with £3750! I kept calm with the dealer, who eventually, if reluctantly, revealed that a fluid change should sort it out.
Disc brakes are brilliant devices but hydraulic fluid is nasty stuff. It seemed to take an age to fill up the system, then the fluid spat out of the cylinder over the switch cluster. I'd sort of flipped the can backwards which spilt another load over the tank and my hand. I rushed into the house for the nearest tap.
After cleaning off all the fluid, I bled the system and then took her for a spin. It always put me in a good mood when the vee-twin motor spat into life and I curled myself around that big tank; just sitting on the bike with the rumbling exhausts was a sensual experience.
Out on the road, the front disc was much improved, living up to its four piston design, though god knows why the fluid had gone off on such a new bike. The meaty upside-down forks, that still have the lugs for a second caliper, were well able to absorb any twisting forces from the single disc. They lack any kind of adjustment but came nicely taut and well controlled. The only thing to upset the forks was accelerating hard out of bumpy bends, when the bars would shake a little in my hands. The altercations disappeared quickly, when the bumps finished or the bike went back to the vertical, so it was probably poor geometry rather than any weakness in the chassis.
The frame's a quite minimal but well braced tubular affair that uses the engine block as a stressed member to the extent that the swinging arm is mounted on the back of the gearbox. This removes an excess of bracketry and is immensely strong. The rear shock could've done with a bit more damping, even turned up high it felt close to letting loose when the bike was really thrashed.
About three days after the brake fluid was replaced, large areas of tank paint started falling off. I couldn't really blame Ducati for my cack-handedness, the general finish was good, way ahead of their old attempts. I ended up having the tank completely resprayed.
That wasn't the end of the brake fluid debacle because it also ate away the switch contacts in the right-hand cluster. I bought a used cluster off a Japanese bike not because it was in any way superior but because the Ducati stuff was not readily available. Most of the M600's electrics including the battery are hidden under the petrol tank, with the airfilter sitting in front, hopefully protecting them from the elements. The only electrical hassle I had was making sure the battery's acid level remained constant as it would burn off quite a bit of water on a long hard thrash. I was caught out once, with insufficient power to turn the motor over, had to get some peds to give us a push!
The induction system appeared a bit restrictive, feeding into two 38mm Mikuni carbs. Engine response was good despite their unlikely positions but after 115mph the engine began to gasp for breath and fuel was poor, 40 to 55mpg depending on the level of abuse. The bike might top out at 120mph but it was a damned uncomfortable business with massive shoulder and neck strain.
90mph was the most I could cruise at for any length of time, the seat limiting cruising to about an hour, before some severe bum and thigh pains set in. The huge tank only holds four gallons because of all the junk underneath it, giving a range of 150 to 200 miles, which was about twice that of the comfort level. The reach to the bars was more reasonable than the butch looks would suggest and it was quite comfortable for posing around town. The Duke was quite a useful commuter, its sure-footed feel making it a breeze in bad weather.
Keeping the M immaculate was jolly hard work, a combination of minimal mudguards and an excess of nooks and crannies where the grit inevitably found its way. A can of Gunk and jet-wash were the best combination. The alloy was good quality with no tarnishing and six months worth of riding hadn't turned up any weaknesses except for where the brake fluid had fallen.
With 3500 miles on the clock all I've done to the engine is change the oil. The cams are driven by well proven belts and the valvegear is Ducati's usual and unique Desmo set-up that stays in adjustment for a long time but is a hell of a job to reshim. There's a little bit of churning at low revs, suggesting that the carbs are about due for a balancing session. I'm not convinced that it's a particularly simple engine (modern valve springs surely make the Desmo set-up obsolete) but it is a tough one. Hopefully, the new clutch will eradicate the problems with the dry job fitted to bigger Dukes.
The baby monster is bargain priced even when new, let alone secondhand. It has none of nastiness or irritants of the older Ducatis, which are best described as character building rather than character filled! I'm pleased as punch with my M600 and am only put in my place on very fast roads by the more extreme race replicas, whose riders invariably lose their licence.....
Mark Chambers
The year was 1992, I had a pile of dosh to spend on my favourite pastime and a yearning for something Italian and bright red. When a 1990 888 Ducati turned up in the local rag I was on the phone in an instant. Fifteen minutes later I was sitting in the seat playing with the throttle. The modified, straight through exhaust made a glorious vee-twin growl that had sold the bike even before I had a test blast.
The next day I was cursing the front end. Every time I used the front brake, there was a lot of clatter and groaning when the pads hit home on the twin discs. Sounded like something was about to break up. I pushed and pulled, ended up with the Duke falling off its sidestand, whacking down on the plastic which immediately splintered.
It was only when I tried to pull the Duke up that I realised what a heavy bugger it was. 465lbs dry, maybe 500bs when full of oil, petrol and water. The low, narrow bars made it difficult to gain leverage and I only righted the beast after pulling a back muscle. A week later I could walk again....
After patching up the plastic with a GRP kit, I sprayed the calipers with WD40. I don't know if you're supposed to do this or not, but it freed off the sliders, removed the noises and made the front end feel like it'd been rebuilt. At around a quid a can WD40's brilliant stuff. The rear disc was permanently seized and remained so even when the rest of the can of WD40 was emptied over it.
The 888 claimed a 100 horses at 9000 revs from the modern incarnation of Ducati's vee-twin, an engine that lost the functional attractiveness of the old air-cooled unit in favour of watercooling and four valves per cylinder. The 888 comes from its cubic capacity, a result of a massively oversquare configuration, 94x64mm bore and stroke.
Any bike, even a heavy old bus like the 888, with a 100 horses to hand is going to be fast but what I didn't expect was the way the power punched in from as low as 2000 revs. Short stroke engines with highly efficient cylinder heads often behave in this way, grinding into the dust all those tales of British big thumpers with enough torque to pull a caravan.
The previous owner had fitted a quick action twistgrip, the merest hint of throttle causing the plot to shoot off up the street like the hounds of hell were after us. I could've done without that, for though the power delivery was undoubtedly fluid, it was very intense and difficult to control. Until I'd adapted to the throttle, progress was a series of lurches that did as little for my ego as it did for the transmission.
Clutches on Ducatis are notoriously fragile, slipping mine soon had the unit overheating turning town riding into a desperate business. Neutral was elusive (none of the idiot lights worked and I'd been warned it wasn't worth replacing them because they would just blow again), holding the clutch lever in at a crossing, the bike suddenly leapt forward as the clutch gave up. Peds were scattered every which way but I didn't hit anyone. I scampered off before a lynching party could be formed. Once the engine cooled the clutch went back to working normally.
Town riding could rapidly turn into hell because the steering lock was minimal, the front brake vicious, the riding position positively painful below 100mph and chassis moved with the same kind agility as a slug crawling over wet cement. When it was introduced, the 888 was marketed as a racer with lights, so these minor tribulations were expected and easily forgiven in exchange for the open road ecstasy. That was the theory, anyway.
The Duke has a tubular frame with lots of cross-triangulation, using the engine as a stressed member, that's immensely strong and reasonably light. With so much power churning through the chassis Ducati chose slow turning geometry in exchange for straight line stability, that left the ride very reassuring at 150mph! Oh yes, this was one fast red motorcycle but it left me straining at the effort needed to whip through a series of bends. A training period on a 1200cc Gold Wing would doubtless be helpful. I suspect that Ducati, used to designing lightweight bikes, hadn't quite come to grips with sheer mass of the 888.
I cursed this recalcitrance some three months into the exploration of the Duke's abilities. I was howling along at about 70mph down some country roads, with a nubile writhing around on the minimal pillion pad, when some lout on a tractor appeared out of nowhere. Trying to steer the 888 with the brakes screaming, and the forks down on their stops, was more like fighting an overloaded wheelbarrow than a piece of high tech, precision engineering.
By the time the speed was down to about 30mph, the bike was totally out of control and it was only by a piece of extreme good fortune that I missed the front of the tractor. Instead we piled off the road, whacked into a stone wall that was so old it took some of the shock by exploding. The tractor was last seen disappearing down the road, the yokel laughing loudly. I couldn't give chase because the wheel was cracked and the fork legs had snapped off.
The bike was carted back to the house in several pieces after my father was summoned in a relation's Bedford van. Over the next seven months the bike sulked in the garage whilst I saved my pennies by riding to work on an MZ 251. Salvation came in the form of a front end from a newish bike that had blown its crankshaft, a rare event resultant from over-revving during a proddie race. You can ruin Ducati engines by running them on old oil, but clutch aside they are pretty tough. I also picked up a good fairing, as mine had cracked up where I'd repaired it.
The front tyre was thinner than the old one, looking so skimpy that I thought it very doubtful but I couldn't be bothered changing them over. I didn't like the upside- down forks that much, they seemed to pogo-stick much more than the old forks but the narrower front tyre made the steering significantly faster. The bike no longer felt like an alternative to a work out with a Bullworker.
The summer of '93 was ruined somewhat by a consumption of spark plugs that would've annoyed even Kawasaki H1 owners. About 200 miles a set, the kind of mileage I could do in a couple of hours. The plugs showed no signs of oiling up so I tried a set of used coils to no effect. With 27000 miles on the clock the electronic ignition unit went in the middle of the Hampshire countryside. That was the end of the summer for me, the bike spending another six months off the road whilst I saved up for a new unit.
The Duke wasn't that expensive to run, fuel at 45 to 50mpg, tyres about 6000 miles a set for Michelins (£200 a pair, though), pads at 12000 miles and an O-ring chain every 9000 miles. Servicing I leave to a back street mechanic who just happens to be a Ducati enthusiast and rides a 450 single. I reckon if he can keep that on the road, he should be able to sort just about anything.
The 888 always feels better after a service, the power coming in especially hard around 6500 revs when it's like being kicked in the stomach, leaving any girl on the pillion clinging on desperately, the musky scent of sexual need streaming off her. The bike's highly horny in more ways than one.
The addictive nature of the pillion meant that the plastic surround started cracking up, early in the summer of 1994 with about 32000 miles on the clock. I bought another GRP kit before the whole thing fell apart and deposited the frail on her arse on the tarmac. This repair was temporary because the cracks came back. I went wild by buying a carbon fibre tail unit at over a hundred notes. Money well spent as I wasn't going to forgo the pleasures of taking young ladies on the back.
Less easily fixed was the electric starter burning out, which had me off the road for two weeks whilst it was rebuilt.....there were absolutely none available on the used market, a comment on their reliability. I always sprayed all the electrics with WD40 every month and went over the connectors, replacing a couple that had gone loose or corroded. Time well spent as I had few of the electrical troubles that are endemic to old Ducatis.
Now the old girl has done 35000 miles. The power is still immensely strong, so impressive that I'm not interested in buying any other bike (except maybe a 916), and so emphatic that it makes young girls wilt completely. The steering's as stable as they come but the flickability's hard going until you develop muscles in the right place. The clutch's in need of a rebuild, the electrics could turn dubious at any time and the finish would be poor had not I replaced all the plastic along the way.
None of that matters to a Ducati enthusiast, whether it's one of the modern bikes or some seventies antique, they get to you after a while and are hard to shake off. Most 888 owners want to buy a 916, which means there are a few of the former on the market at reasonable prices, but at £5000 to £7500 for something good they ain't exactly cheap transport. Add in the fun factor and they become a bargain!
Richie Brown
I named the Pantah Cruncher. Almost immediately. It was a 1981 model with the original gearbox. With 22000 miles of wear it was as precise as a sixties Honda twin and noisy as seventies BMW. The Ducati was a punchy little number with a blend of torque and power that only the Europeans know how to manufacture. A ninety degree vee-twin with Desmo heads (belt driven cams) and a feeling of history about of it, of metal being wrought in one man's dream. The apprentice must've designed the gearbox.
As any Boxer owner knows, a bit of time and effort can master even the most nasty of gearboxes. Took me about 2000 miles to come to terms with it. As the crankcases are the same, the gearbox from the later 600 can be retro-fitted, but that costs serious money and a near impossible gearchange's a useful thief deterrent.
I was soon in trouble with the Ducati, about three months down the line the electric starter burnt out. Neither love nor money could procure a good used one so I had to pay out for it to be rebuilt - sixty quid for a two day turnaround. The starter gears made the mill sound like it was on its last legs but were blissfully silenced once the motor blared into its staccato beat. Lovely noise, shame about all the chrome falling off the silencers which by then had rotted into straight-thru status (they weren't exactly quiet when brand new). Eventually, the downpipes were modded into a two into one system (keeping their lengths constant) and a stainless steel can fitted. The temperament of the motor was such that, even with a few holes knocked through the airfilter, the power still flowed without any flat spots.
The only thing to upset the power delivery was the time, with 32 thou on the clock, that one of the carbs became full of gunge. They do go out of balance very quickly but are easily set-up. The gunge turned out to be the petrol pipe dissolving! Unbelievable that they'd spoil the whole bike by using some cheap tubing. I replaced it with some British hose and cleaned out the carb. All was well again.
For a while. There was something about the bike that made me a little edgy. Reminded me of the time that I'd unknowingly bought a crashed and repaired CB750. Not that the Pantah didn't handle. After too many Japanese middleweights it was very agile and precise; great fun! Yet, I felt that the bike was going to fail in some big, unspecified way. I'd had that feeling when I bought it, had offered a low price, which much to my consternation was accepted.
The Pantah looked fine, then six years old - exceptionally good for a marque that had a reputation for rusting away the first time they saw an English winter. Ran well, handled exceptionally and looked butch enough to have young kids give me the thumbs up. Yet, I felt there was something wrong.
It was only after six months that I realised what was bugging me. The engine was too quiet. No rattles from the top ends. I worked this out after hearing a few other Pantahs at a Ducati rally. On the way home I glanced behind on the overrun to have my worst fears confirmed. A puff of smoke out of the exhaust. The valves were too tight! You may well ask why I never checked them before - I'm lazy and if something's running I tend to leave well alone.
I approached the Desmo valvegear with trepidation, having heard all kinds of stories about their complex sophistication. However, if you methodically follow the workshop manual and take a weekend over the job it's quite simple. They were so tight I couldn't get a valve-gauge in! No permanent damage resulted from this wanton neglect.
Whilst on the subject of valves, the belt drives don't last that well. About 10,000 miles. The originals went for more than 15000 miles and quite a few owners were caught out when the replacements weren't up to the same spec. Bevel drive fanatics view the new engine with righteous disdain, as just an example of corporate cost cutting. Maybe they're right but the Pantahs do work well.
After 35000 miles the front end turned a bit vague. I hadn't touched the forks, thought maybe some new oil was in order. The bleed screws broke off when I tried to remove them. A weekend with a drill finally extracted them. The oil dribbled out, looked like it'd been in there since the bike left the factory. I put in a thicker grade to help out the damping, which was losing it every time the bike hit a series of bumps. The improved damping showed up the springs, not really being up to the stiff Italian standards that I expected.
My experiences with Wop alloy indicated that I didn't really want to take the forks apart. The obvious solution was to remove the huge half fairing, as the weight of this, plus brackets, was giving the front end a hard time. The fairing wasn't half bad in heavy rain but helped direct water on to the front pot, which caused some stuttering. I made up a brackets for the clocks and fitted an old CB175 light I had hanging around (with an upgraded bulb).
Top speed was down from 120 to 115mph, fuel was the same at 55mpg, weather protection was poor, the engine ran better in the wet, and the handling improved. The forks now felt reassuringly firm, much less willing to bounce on the stops when the twin discs were abused. Oh yes, the bike looked about a hundred times better - that lower line of the fairing's all wrong for the vee-twin engine. A nice weekend's work, that.
With just under 39000 miles done the electrics went haywire. Always a problem with old Italians - they just can't bring themselves to pay up for decent wiring. Wires shorting out had ruined the rectifier, in turn draining the battery whenever the bike wasn't running. Blowing bulbs and malfunctioning indicators (they had a mind of their own and almost caused several accidents) added to the uncertainty and chaos. I was surprised they'd lasted so long! A complete replacement of the electrics was called for, although I didn't have to touch the alternator.
The bike seemed pleased with the two week's worth of effort, ran better than ever. Soon, though, the chassis bearings started to go. No sooner had I replaced the rear wheel bearings than the front's went. A big time wobble announced their 70mph demise. The cagers couldn't believe the antics as the machine was wrenched from one side of the motorway to the other. Neither could I, nor that I never came off - the excellence of the frame and geometry shone through.
I was a bit annoyed at that stage but for the next 4000 miles all was well with the world. Races with a friend's CBX550 proved the superiority of Italian design and a two week holiday showed that the old bus could still make the grade as a tourer. There was one proviso, the stock seat was rock hard and best replaced or upholstered to a higher spec. If you don't do that you end up with piles after a mere 100 miles.
As the mileage crept up to 50 thou the engine became a bit rattly and the performance lost some of its edge. Still well capable of producing lots of kicks, I again began to worry that something serious was going to go amiss. It wasn't until 53000 miles that a strong knocking noise finally identified the malaise as the rear cylinder's small end on the way out. When a Ducati engine reaches that stage's there usually some major internal surgery needed.
From my first intimation that something was going wrong until the bike became too rancorous to ride took nearly three months; sufficient time to find a 600 engine out of a crashed (as in crushed at both ends) bike. An ex-racer with some meaty engine mods that have given the old bag a new lease of life. I don't think this motor's going to last long as it's already smoking. Not to worry I've almost completed the rebuild of the 500 (I had to find a good crankshaft and gearbox components).
Jake Garland
I really wanted to buy a Jap 600 replica but none turned up for the two grand I had available. What I did find was a 750 Paso. A weird looking thing, a massive expanse of mostly red paint. The owner assured me, with a nasty grin, that it would see off all the Japanese stuff, and then took me for a frightening spin on the back. Having seen 130mph on the clock I concluded that all must be well with the engine.
The 80hp, 750cc vee twin can trace its roots back to the Pantah (with its belt driven cams), which in turn was inspired by the bevel drive vee's of the seventies. Ducati have a long history of sporting success and making good handling bikes. I was expecting something special from the five year old Paso, an experience that would send me to new highs...
New depths, more like it. The riding position just didn't suit me. Felt like I was precariously perched atop the bike with an excess of mass on both my wrists and backside. Within twenty miles I was experiencing a new kind of agony that threatened to throw me into a screaming fit. I pulled over, staggered off the bike and shook my body back into a semblance of shape! Something often repeated.
The other intrusion into my happiness was the way the plastic flapped around. By the time I got home the left-hand panel was loose - its fasteners had stripped their threads and had been bodged in. No wonder the owner had refused to take the panels off so I could take a look at the engine.
Being an inquisitive soul I soon had all the plastic stripped off the bike. The engine had minor oil leaks from its cylinder heads and most of the bolts showed the telltale signs of having been taken out - looked like the motor had been taken right down to its bearings! The clock read only 15000 miles, so it was either fake or the engine couldn't take its state of tune.
With surgical skill I replaced the plastic, thinking maybe I ought to trade the Duke in for some Jap wonder machine whilst it was still running - when a crack tore through the air and made me swear my head off. Part of the front fairing had a big split in it. Closer inspection revealed that it'd been plastic welded! So I had a bike that had been rebuilt and crashed!
Foolishly, after repairing the fairing, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt. The Paso was heavy and bulky, but tracked along with a reasonable degree of precision. Felt better than Jap's with a similar amount of mileage on the clock, but not really exceptional or mind blowing or anything.
The engine grunted out its power but didn't like low revs, like there was something wrong with the transmission - no cush-drive or a bit of wear in the gearbox bearings. The chain, itself, was newish and in good condition. When I tried to open the throttle in top gear from low revs under load - say going up a hill - a loud knocking noise came from the back of the gearbox!
The engine responded much better to hard use of the throttle and gearbox, thumping out the torque and racing up the road with a noisy bellow that soon left me deaf. It made the cagers jerk out of the way, anyway, probably thinking it was a runaway tank! Hard use of the throttle made it thrum a bit at maximum revs, resulting in various bits falling off...
The first was the left-hand footrest peg whilst some of my weight was on it. It came as a nasty surprise to find my foot waving around at 90mph, the whole bike veering crazily as I tried to work out what was going down. The peg ended up ripping itself off the gearchange rod, leaving the bike stranded in fourth! Unbelievable shit!
This wasn't really Ducati's fault. The peg had been replaced with something non-standard after the crash and the threads bodged with Araldite. It was a wonder it had lasted for so long. Replaced peg and sorted threads saw me back on the road at minimal cost, but I was wondering what was going to go down next.
What I hadn't noticed was that the left bar had broken off and been welded back on! I found this out when the bar went loose in my hand and then fell off! Fortunately, it happened in town when I was only doing 25mph. I pulled over, feeling thoroughly bemused at having the handlebar loose in my hand! Again, a used replacement cheaply sorted the problem.
The third incident was the back mudguard rattling loose, bouncing on the tyre and ending up well mangled. This happened at about 40mph after I tried to make the bike wheelie, something it didn't like - the clutch usually started to rattle rather loudly. As the numberplate was also ruined I had a rather interesting ride home - no plate, no laws; right?
These problems happened over a three month, 2000 mile, period. When it wasn't falling apart I also had a few hassles with the handling. Mostly when powering out of bends. The suspension seemed mismatched, the rear going coil-bound whilst the front fluttered fitfully. Despite these machinations the bike showed no inclination towards throwing itself off the road and I was quite impressed when I had to change direction suddenly after the usual dopey cager did something stupid. Not all bad news, by any means. It could probably be sorted with a decent shock and some better fork springs.
The handling suddenly went dire and the back tyre skidded violently. I pulled over before I fell off, was amused to find the back rubber soaked in oil. I croaked home at moped speeds, having to bung my boots down a couple of times to stop us skidding off the road.
With the plastic off, the rear cylinder head gasket was revealed to be so blown that oil was practically spurting out; the level had disappeared below the minimum mark! Massive force on the cylinder head bolts sorted it, another symptom of the high rev vibration, I think!
After that experience the engine lost some of its zip and made a melody of noises inside the plastic. At certain revs the plastic would reverberate and rattle to an incredible degree, drowning out even the rorty exhaust. Fortunately, at tickover it was relatively quiet.
Four months and 3000 miles had left the engine close to going into self-destruct mode. Nothing for it but to hit the local Yamaha dealer and trade in for a heavily discounted YZF750. Got £2600 off the price! The new Yamaha makes the Duke look like something out of the ark, even has a bit of blood and guts as well as excessive power and fine handling.
The dealer got killed on the Duke. The new owner came back after three weeks with a broken gearbox. After that was fixed the electronics went down and finally the engine started knocking. The shop had sold the bike for three grand but had to spend a lot more than £400 sorting it out. If it had gone down on me I would probably have ended up scrapping it.
Mine was obviously a hard used and much bodged example of the breed. Find one well looked after, it could be a whole different story - but it's not easy to tell the good from the bad. L.K.S.