Ducati Diavel Carbon

If you Consider yourself a person of sound mind you will, on seeing the Diavel in these magnificent pictures, have already begun disabusing yourself of the idea of even thinking about buying one. Not a particularly challenging job you might think, given the Diavel apparently makes as much sense as wars no one can win. With a claimed 162 bhp at the crank (around 140bhp at the back wheel) in two of its three riding modes, a nonsensical 240-section rear tyre, a £17,000 asking price (in Carbon form), no screen and Alien meets Gotham styling, the Diavel’s obviously little more than a curious irrelevance; a balloon tyred curio banged together by Ducati to appeal to egotistical man-children with more money than sense. There you go, job done.

Only in all honesty the Diavel is one of the most likeable bikes you’re ever likely to come across, a machine that so efficiently taps into the wide-eyed joy of riding that it’s arguably more relevant than any number of fuel-sipping parallel twins or do-anything adventure bikes.

It starts with the engine. Dubbed Testastretta 11° (the latter being a reference to the much reduced valve overlap interval, down from the donor superbike’s 41°), it’s 1198 based and a terrifyingly over-square (106mm x 67.9mm) artillery piece capable of organ-pulping standing starts, shattering overtakes and obscene speeds between corners. You can only shake your head and offer quiet thanks for the tireless Brembos up front.

Patently this is not a cruiser engine. It does not sound like one, it does not feel like one and it sure as hell does not go like one. Where the Suzuki and Harley engines do everything in slow motion, their responses smothered by the sheer weight of their reciprocating internals (and the bikes into which they’re bolted), the Ducati spins up in a heartbeat. It’s alive to your every input. Too alive almost, certainly in Sport mode and least until your brain and wrist have attuned themselves. Indeed hop on the Diavel after the V-Rod or the Intruder and it’s easy to write the Ducati off as too much like hard work, the engine’s terrier-like desire to go charging off on the back wheel draining your patience. But select Urban mode (100bhp), make sure the tyre pressures are correct (the chassis doesn’t stand a chance if either tyre’s soft) and the Diavel can do the hungover punting about thing, asking very little of you as you flit between coffee stops, bowl lazily around roundabouts or just sit and gaze at those incredible Marchesini wheels until the sun drops from the sky.

But then, on those days when the devil’s on your shoulder, you can explore an area of the Diavel’s repertoire for which the other two bikes have no answer both are a third again heavier and a good 100mm longer in the wheelbase. Switch to Touring or Sport (upping the power level and lowering the threshold of traction control intervention) and just ride. So now you’re perched on your snug little seat, and you’re flying. Out of each corner you tap into more and more of the engine’s astonishing performance, marvelling at its glassy-smooth, laser-accurate and nuclear-forceful response. But the corners aren’t obstacles to be blasted between, for somehow the Diavel steers sweetly too, arcing through turns with a pretty tidy lick of speed before footpegs graze the road. And while the suspension is firm enough to see the traction control busy on bumpier corner exits, generally the chassis does a mighty fine job of keeping you and your exuberance between the hedges.

Get into a rhythm, learn to trust in the bike’s significant dynamic reserves and you find yourself sliding into a thrilling, brisk rhythm. And if you’re one of the buyers Ducati had in mind when they gave life to this thing a sports bike rider with too many summers beneath your wheels for clip-ons and backache your journey times won’t take any longer. They’ll probably come down.

The Diavel’s appeal doesn't end with its improbable alliance of sit-up-and-beg normal speeds comfort and road-conquering dynamic flair. It looks fabulous, it’s well-equipped (sophisticated ABS and traction control systems, keyless ignition, strong LED headlight) and the detailing is superb, from the elegant flip-out pillion footrests to the stacked, serpentine and slash-cut exhausts.

Pulling into a petrol station for a sit down and a deep breath, a kid’s checking the tyre pressures on his Fiesta ST. ‘Nice bike mate’, he smiles, his gaze never shifting from the otherworldly, faintly malevolent Diavel. I thought those words had long since died out, a victim of the modern world’s reluctance to appear impressed by anything or anyone. It would seem not and, against all the odds, the kid’s on the money too.