You know the holy-shit grin? If you’ve ever seen a bike and liked it, chances are you do. It comes in varying strengths, from the small “hey, that’s pretty neat” smile to the “ohmanlookatthatbikeohman” face-splitter. Think of the former as running across a mildly interesting commuter and the latter as watching a pack of superbikes slash through a track. As for the kid walking past me, his grin was somewhere in the spectrum’s middle — slightly abashed, eyes flicking between the ground and the scarlet Ducati Monster 696 on which I sat. Nine months earlier, I’d walked his exact path and smiled the same goofy smile. Regardless of age, it appears to be the default response when learners confront a Ducati on their first day of riding school.
Not quite northern Italy, but undeniably Italian.
Bike schools are not a Ducati’s natural habitat. Nevertheless, the Monster was the school’s designated bike for students like me, which felt like learning how to talk to girls by chatting up a model. Trevor, the school’s owner, explained it thusly: “The 696 has a low seat, doesn’t weigh much, and it’s just cool.” He is undoubtedly right about the cool factor. Though the 696 was Ducati’s entry point in 2008, the bike’s tubular trellis frame and sculpted tank ooze Italian presence. It looked slightly out of place in the school’s gritty tarmac lot, as if it had been plucked by an angel’s hand from the hills of Bologna and dropped into the rainy British morning.
I hoped the same angel’s hands would safely shepherd me through my Mod 1 and Mod 2 licensing tests, for which the 696 was my steed. Outside of puttering around on my 125cc Yamaha, I’d never ridden a proper bike on the open road, and my experience on the Monster was limited to the parking lot maneuvers that comprise the Mod 1 gauntlet. The 696 had been an amicable companion when asked to tootle around at walking pace, but handling the power and weight of a big bike at road speeds was admittedly daunting.
Fortunately, the prospect of piloting the 696 turned out to be much more intimidating than the practice. True to Trevor’s word, the baby Ducati has a learner-friendly physique, with a 770mm seat height — lower even than my dinky Yamaha — and a dry weight of just 161 kilos. It at once felt stable yet biddable, almost docile despite its available firepower. But unlike the Yamaha, which has all the thrust of a hair dryer, the Ducati’s throttle seemed to tingle with potency — even small twists produced immediate forward momentum. That’s thanks to the roadster’s torquey 696cc air-cooled V-twin, which pumps out a minimum 67.5 hp and 44 ft-lb of torque (horsepower quotes vary across the web: MCN reports 67.5 hp as does Visor Down, The Telegraph claims 80, and Ducati’s defunct stats page said 74). My Yamaha mustered a herculean 12 horsepower, which is, you’ll notice, a smaller number than 67.
Low seat, high fashion.
Figures aside, the V-twin isn’t shy about telling its rider what it wants. Due in part to a tall first gear, the 696 has a lumpy sort of reluctance below 3000rpm. Get the digital tach’s ticks above that, however, and the engine’s power curve impersonates a fine American pancake: perfectly flat, syrup-thick, and butter-smooth. But the twin Termignoni silencers might as well have been playing the Italian national anthem. Even in miniature Monster form, Ducati's storied V-twin growls throatily at low revs before leading into smooth middle notes and a heady bellow near redline (which isn’t marked on the tach, oddly). That 696cc mill is a delight at all speeds, even with a closed throttle — shutting the butterflies for engine braking produces hair-raising tones. Italy might be famed for its tenors, but their baritones sing with equal emotion.
Despite that exotic heritage — and the “Monster Racing” message that scrolls across the dash on start-up — the 696 is decidedly unfussy through town. With its wide ‘bars and accessible grunt, guiding the featherweight roadster at slower speeds is easily accomplished. The Monster’s hydraulic slipper clutch is deliciously light, allowing for precise control at the lever, though the V-twin's effortless torque can be a bit of a handful in town for inexperienced fingers. But with the clutch so undemanding to operate, it’s a readily resolved concern. Gear changes are carried out with pleasing feedback from the six-speed ‘box, although I found false neutrals on a couple occasions — the gear lever feels certain, but not quite slick. Regardless, the 696’s surprisingly friendly nature quickly replaced my clumsy inputs with confidence.
It must be said, however, that the Monster’s seat was less than friendly towards my six-foot frame. The “Italian ergonomics” stereotype has mostly fallen by the wayside, it seems — just as Ducati’s reliability has improved leaps and bounds, its bikes’ riding positions have evolved beyond undiluted masochism. But perhaps there were still traces of the old ways when Ducati built the 696. That low saddle didn't pair well with up-and-back pegs and low-and-far handlebars. The resulting downward-sloping rider triangle plugged me in to the front end through twisty bits, but holding a cruise cramped my knees and demolished my right wrist. Stretching out at traffic lights was a blessedly sweet relief.
Left: Sachs monoshock lines up with the swingarm's left spar. Middle: eye-catching details even on Ducati's budget offering. Right: the classic Ducati-Termignoni pairing proved better than any radio.
On the other hand (or rather the same hand), stopping at said traffic lights revealed another of the Monster’s main strengths: the front brakes. Merely breathe on the brake lever and the Monster’s twin Brembos slow the bike with reassuring swiftness. Adjusting to a big bike’s power and weight is one thing, but hardly anyone mentions how much more oomph you might find in its brake lever. Thankfully, the 696’s setup proved easy to modulate despite its responsiveness. That’s a definite boon on the road, and would presumably suit track sessions as well. The suspension is similarly well-judged: upside-down Showa forks and an adjustable Sachs monoshock feel sporty and stable without being harsh or knife-edged, allowing the chassis to work in harmony with that lovely V-twin.
Between my Mod 1 and Mod 2 tests, I covered nearly 200 miles on the Monster: through towns and down narrow country lanes, over sweeping A-roads and on major motorways. The latter least suit the Italian roadster, as its lack of wind protection and semi-aggressive riding position conspire to engage the rider’s pain receptors rather than his/her dopamine faculties. But it’s still a capable cruiser, as the engine has more than enough legs to munch miles and squirt past slower traffic. The V-twin's nature is perfect for road riding in that it’s got power, pace, and excitement all throughout the rev range — you don’t need to cane the thing to extract its best effort. Rather, its charm and performance are ever-present.
You might suffer a bit for looks like this. Worth it.
As an irrationally proud partial Italian, I had high hopes for my first encounter with a Ducati, and the little Monster didn’t disappoint. It’s gorgeous to look at, easy to ride, fast as you like, and tugs at the heart with each twist of the throttle. My knees and wrist have all but forgotten their troubles and are ready to give things another chance. When faced with a bike from Borgo Panigale, emotion will always rule logic.
Fortunately, my tests didn't require second chances. The Monster saw me through both Mod 1 and Mod 2 on my first attempts. But nine months earlier, I was the newbie who'd rocked up with nothing more than the hope to attain a learner’s permit. The resplendently red Ducati had arrived as I walked in, an anonymous student in its saddle, V-twin burbling gruffly. “That’s what you’ll ride when you do your big-bike training,” my instructor had said. I could only stare and smile and think, Yeah right. He was right after all, as witnessed by the kid who took up my former role as grinning aspirant.
Hey kid — if you were smiling then, just wait until you ride the 696.