Born of the same pen of Massimo Tamburini, the MV Agusta F4 and the Ducati 996 are both stunningly beautiful to me. These two motorcycles epitomize beautiful design.
Ducati 996 SPS
MV Agusta F4 Oro
On pure aesthetics which one steals your heart – The MV Agusta F4 Oro or The Ducati 996 SPS?
A few weeks ago while doing something completely unrelated to motorcycling I happened to spy this motorcycle sitting in a garage. Unfortunately, I was not able to get myself into a position to take a clean side photograph of it, this was the best I could do. After doing a quick search around the web it would seem that this is a Ducati GTL though whether it is a 350 or a 500, I do not know. With no one around to ask questions about the bike, I came away with nothing more than a few bad pictures and some very romantic daydreams of cruising along the Amalfi coast.
Any info would be appreciated!
This gorgeous baby really does make me feel like climbing the rope in gym class.
You really know that you’ve really just about had it with cabin fever when dropping a bike off for service constitutes a ‘wow, that felt great’ ride.
Come on already, spring! Sheesh. I guess i shouldn’t really complain. It was mid 50s today. After work, we headed out for a quick spin on the bikes before dinner. Man, i swear as soon as that sun starts to go down, the temp sure drops fast. We toodled around in the sandy backroads at dusk.
The 996 let’s you know that it doesn’t want to play nice in the lowspeed stuff in a hurry. Sensitive throttle, torquey torque, 40 degrees and a sandy, twisting road will remind you how fast you get rusty over the winter. Comparitively speaking, the Triple is just so easy to ride. I am repeatedly amazed at how confidence inspiring it is. The 996 feels like it would just chew you up and spit you out.
The 996 – she’s still absolutely gorgeous in my eyes. As Kenny pulled up next to me on her, I just couldn’t help but feel happy just looking at her. A classic beauty. Apparently Kenny agrees. He tried to hump my bike. WTF, man? ‘You a veddy bed man, Jeddy!’
Sunday May 11 – Saturday May 17, 2003
Crudmop Kenny, Maharajah Myko & Me
The Route:
We head off for the 7am Port Jeff ferry on what looks to be a super great day. Its about an hour from PJ to the other side of the sound, landing in Bridgeport CT. Our intention for this day is to make the full push from Bridgeport to Kenny’s parents place in Maine. It’s totally doable in a single day, no problem.
Our first first stretch across Connecticut should only be about an hour or so up RT 8. As it turns out, it was smooth, sunshiny sailing all the way up 8. As we were rolling along, we see an unmarked cop car on the other side of the hiway, ticketing someone. We drop the pace slightly and press on. Not 5 minutes passes and in my mirrors I see a set of headlights gaining on us in a hurry. We get buzzed by the same unmarked car going well over 100. He heads off out of sight. My spider senses tingling, I KNOW he is going to be waiting for us. He was. Luckily we were shielded by an 18 wheeler as we passed him on the right hand shoulder on a sweeping turn. Sneaky. I snickered to myself in my helmet and thought, score 1 for us.
Mass. gave us a nice treat called damn, i forget now, shit. It snaked along next to a small river. Ess turns on new feeling pavement, shaded by trees and framed sweetly with the flowing water. It set my smile firmly in place.
We boogie on through Massachusetts and into Vermont, the sun shining, the air feeling fantastic. We happened through this town. We all wanted to stay for a while to see what it had to [cough] offer for fun [/cough]
Village. Um..ok. I didn’t see any cannibals or pots boiling with dancing villagers, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.
We arrive in Vermont in no time at all. Its funny when you look at a map and see a twisty road and get all excited about it, you forget about road surfaces. In my mind, a 2 lane major roadway on the map that rolls through the mountains always has a smooth finish. Enter Vermont Route 100. Frost heave city. Bumps galore. Oh well. My spirit is still high. The Ohlins on my bike rules 
Lunch break at Dot’s in VT. Myko gets caught off guard.
The guys are jealous of my expert packing skills. I have a weeks worth of stuff creatively stowed in my tank bag. I bought pre-packed cotton Ts, socks and underwear. They packed vertically very small and neatly. A single pair of jeans & sneakers and toiletries. I was able to just throw out the undies as I wore them and discarded anything I didn’t need as I used it. I ended up coming home with less than I left with. We stayed at a place that we were able to do laundry in so it worked out great.
I had never seen a moose in person. While we ate at Dot’s the waitress, who gave me a flower as it was Mother’s Day, had mentioned Moose being out and about. In my naiveté I thought that it would be super cool to see one while we were out. I later found out, I really didn’t want to see one while I was riding. They’re frickin’ HUGE when they cross the road in front of you. As a NY Metro person who’d never seen one before, I had no idea what they were about.
Somewhere in Anytown USA in Vermont. I don’t know where off hand. As we sat here, the rain started. We pull out our rainsuits and press on. Hoping that it will subside. After about an hour, it does. A rainsuit is such a great thing. Little did we know, this rain was just the beginning.
You can’t really tell by the photo, but the lean angle for my bike on its sidestand was severe enough that I had to have one of the fellas move it to a more level ground so that I could lean it up off of the stand. :-/ What a chick. I feel dumb even typing that. LOL. Someplace in Vermont.
Ahoy Matey! Captain Crudmop says we be a hearty lot. Lincoln, New Hampshire after we pass through the Kancamagus Hiway. Steady rain. Temps dropping steadily. After Kenny’s rain suit disintegrated over the Kanc, I share my rainsuit with him. He’s got perfs in his pants. Pouring rain, 40 degree temps and holes in your pants don’t work very well.
We could have never imagined the weather we would experience as we pulled away from that gas station where the Captain joked jovially. We went on to spend the next 200 miles in soaking rain, fog, frogs and 40 degree temperatures all the way. Shivering, aching, plagued by darkness. Its so bizarre to me to think that there are places that do not have streetlights. There were none to be had from New Hampshire and across our route to Maine. A layer of fog clung quietly to the ground. The rain tap, tap, tapping steadily for hours on my helmet.
Me & Myko, warming up by the fire outside of the house.
The moon over the lake at Kenny’s. A rare break in the clouds for this trip.
Off to Bar Harbor.. or maybe not. When we set off for Bar Harbor, the skies just look sorta, cloudy but not really threatening. Of course, that means rain. We stop off in Freedom, Maine. This mom & pop gas station provides us with some shelter. I get some coffee to warm up and wait out the rain. I opt for the French Vanilla, in which the French was crossed out on the dispenser and replaces with ‘Freedom’. Freedom Vanilla coffee.
Acadia National Park
click for a biggie
Cadillac Mountain near Bar Harbor
