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?

Any info would be appreciated!

This gorgeous baby really does make me feel like climbing the rope in gym class.

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!’

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

I woke up at 6:00. 6:15. 6:45. Alarm goes off.

This was the day that I have been waiting for. For what seems like..forever.

Finally a nice long ride. One where I don’t have to be home at a certain time, or the weather looks iffy or some other such thing that would truncate my day. This day..this day was free and clear.

Date: Saturday March 22, 2003 – 7:15 am

Temperature: 45 degrees.

Mileage: 1817

Rolled out of my garage at 7:15 to meet Kenny at the rest stop on the Expressway. As he pulled in, he took his helmet off with a curious look on. “We won’t be meeting Brian on the Cross Island. His bike was stolen last night.” Oh no. Oh No! What the frick is wrong with people? How can you possibly think its ok to take someon else’s stuff?! For the next 45 minutes of travel to meet up with Myko, this was all I could think about.

Because we did not pit stop to meet Bri at the Cross Island Marina, we arrived at the diner 25 minutes early. How that is possible, I have no idea. The marina is on the way. I think we actually slipped through a tear in the Matrix or something.

Ramapo Forum Diner

Corner of Rt 59 / Airmont Rd. in Suffern, NY

Chocolate Chip Pancakes, Bacon & 2 cups o’ Joe

The perfect breakfast. Truly.

Airmont Rd -> Spook Rock Rd -> 202 -> -> Long Meadow Rd -> 17a & a buggery cop who wrote Mike a speeder. 83 in 55. Total crap. No way he was going that fast. Anywho..

17a -> 94 south -> hang a right at the cemetery and the leaning barn towards Orange County Rt 1 to Pine Island. There are cows on Rt 1 Cows. Just being. Farms have flooded heavily out here. Kenny actually thought they were all little lakes. Sweeping lefts..rights..no traffic..just us like a big caterpillar snaking along in individual sections but all part of one thread. I see Mike’s headlights in my mirrors. It makes me smile. It’s been quite a long time since they’ve been there. Too long.

Orange County Rt 1 -> OC Rt8 -> quick left onto OC 62. I know that I’ve told him that they really do exist in New Jersey, but we had to show Kenny the Camels. They were laying low. Trying to blend in with the horses, but they didn’t fool us.

62 -> Left on 284 -> right thru Unionville -> bare left onto Unionville Rd (Cowpoo Rd) -> stay right onto 651 -> 23 North thru Colesville, passed Highpoint State Park into Port Jervis & Rt 6 -> left at light on 6 -> stop at Dunkin Donuts. This is Myko’s favorite stop. Why? I have no idea. He doesn’t drink coffee. Doesn’t eat donuts. Yet he LOVES this place. The bathroom is creepy. I hate those drains in the middle of the floor. I know there is a tiny little man in there that videotapes me peeing and sells it on the internet. Or..maybe not.

Off to Hawks Nest.

As we approach some kid who is traveling in the opposite direction, pulls a quick U-ey and tags along with us. We just plugging along at a nice easy pace. We make our way thru what people travel miles and miles to see, the succession of switchbacks along the mountain ledge, u-turn at the end, come back thru and pull off at the overlook. Our 4th wheel follows.

“Heh heh..you guys look like you dressed up like you’re expectin’ ta crash.” Can I throw up now? Really. I muster up all the energy within me to not lash out at him for being a buffoon. I am successful. As the conversation goes on, it’s clear that this kid has been exposed to strictly squidly types who ride around in t-shirts & shorts. Poor thing. Most of the time cats like that learn from experience why gear is a prudent decision. As we discussed the nature of asphalt slides, he inquired about ‘how much those suits cost.’ So, maybe there was s silver lining. Maybe we met him, just to have that conversation. Stranger things have happened.

Shit. My camera battery died.

I felt Kenny’s eyes burn into me when he kid looked at our bikes and said..”Heh heh..she’s got the biggest bike.” Oh boy. I’m a big girl and I can ride it all by myself too! Blah. I asked Myko & Kenny if they were in for ‘the long haul.’ With that they grinned and said ‘Hell Yeah.’ We left him shortly thereafter, making our way north on Rt 97.

97 provided us with un-trafficked sweepers for many delicious miles. Bang a right at the blinker onto Rt55. This duel-y truck keeps spitting sand into my eyes. There is still snow on the ground up here. It’s gotta be about 15 degrees colder under the tree cover. A steady 90mph for miles and miles and miles. Not a car in sight. The sky is blue. Life is grand. I’m feeling at home on my wheels. There are Myko’s headlights again. It makes me smile.

‘Beep-Beep’..’That was awesome..I HAVE TO PEE!’ Kenny’s bladder makes us pit stop. Men. Pfft. We actually managed to find the only gas station on EARTH that doesn’t have a bathroom, disgusting or otherwise, for public use. We saw a man who could barely walk to his car, with a 40 of beer in a paper bag. He was kinda creepy. Onward thru 55. Um…I didn’t know what frost heave was until like 2 weeks ago..now I know first hand. 1-2-3 of us hit a bump that knocked each of us for a loop. I hate that. I actually took a turn that made my stomach drop. I almost got nauseas. It went around so deep, like a bowl and was tight. I felt like I might go wide at first, but I applied peg pressure and looked where I needed to go and the 996 ate it up.

209 -> 445/55 -> 299 -> Lunch at PJs in New Paltz

The town is FILLED with bikes. Mostly Harleys. There were some kids protesting the war on the roadside. ‘Honk for Peace.’ If we honk…will that work? Hmm. I smelled my burger after burping in my helmet. That’s gross..but true.

Rt 7 -> Rt 9 -> Rt 52 -> Rt 300 -> Rt 32 -> Rt 107 -> Rt 9W -> Seven lakes drive ALL the way to 17

We split from Myko & take the Thruway 287 to Rt 17 into NJ -> Rt 4

Rt 4 is a traffic nightmare. I feel like my left hand is going to explode. Clutching becomes a chore. Strike that, an exercise in torture. Traffic, traffic, traffic…all the way to the toll plaza of the George Washington Bridge. Some fuckwit tries to knock me off my bike for lane splitting. Oh well.

Don’t be expecting any more potholes in your area. The Cross Bronx has filled Earth’s quota. That could possibly be the most treacherous roadway anywhere.

Okay, see? This is the reason I hate Long Island. TRAFFIC! Too many people and they are ALL on the road at the same time. The LIE is partially closed so everyone on Long Island in on the Northern State. EVERYONE. My hand has died. It seceded from the Union of My Body. Ouch, ouch and furthermore OWWWWWWWWWW!

So far, I think it has taken us about an hour & half to go 25 miles. I still have about 40 to go. Please. Just let the traffic start flowing. And with that…it does. Onward we press. The Expressway is clear sailing. I feel the effects of my bike on my body now as I pass the 400 mile mark. My neck is achy and my clutch hand begs me not to squeeze it. Kenny breaks off at 53. Only 9 exits more for me.

The last mile.

It’s really like 10 miles. My hand knows we’re close. You know kinda like when you have to go to the bathroom and your butt knows its almost home. The last mile is like an emergency.

There it is.

My street.

My garage.

My laughing daughter.

“How was your day?”

Amazing.

My ride for the day was cut short. Damn. Here I am lonely. Again.  Tick, tick, tick. The hours are going by. The sun goes down. At 9:30, I look out my window. Huh. It’s the moon. I guess that means the rain just sailed right by. I head back out to the garage, much to the disappointment of my dog, and get the Monster back out. I love riding that thing. She’s so comfy. Out into the dark I go. Heading towards the beach. I mean, that makes sense right? Go to the beach at night by yourself.

It’s official. I’m a loser.

The air was cool and it swirled around me like tickling fingers. It filled up my lungs and made me feel small. I felt like a speck in this huge universe. There weren’t to many other cars out. It was very unusual. Just my little headlight burning down the road. As I approached the beach, the air became thicker, heavier. The most delicious smell of honeysuckle surrounded me. It was so incredibly sweet and succulent. It made me want to eat it. It followed me along, fading and returning throughout my ride.

The Ocean Parkway was empty. Again it was just me and my headlight burning along. The sound of the Duc, humming. Over the dunes and into the horizon, a storm lit the sky sporadically with red flashes of light. Above me, a big movie-like moon came out to see me. There is that honeysuckle smell again, and the sound of the Duc, humming. Bump, Bump, Bump, the breaks in the highway.

I was blue. Lonely. It was the pits. But, as each mile passed and I saw the simple but expansive beauty of the shore, the sky, the sweetest smell of honeysuckle, and the storm on the horizon, and I felt silly. It was almost comical that I had the audacity to let small petty things bring me down. There I was, fortunate enough to enjoy the solitude and peace of the night, on my motorcycle. Therapy on wheels. You can’t beat it.