2006 Ducati Sport Classic Paul Smart 1000LE - Motorcycle.com

As someone who drove or rode the above three examples in their original guise as well as the new cover versions, I was always left with the feeling of, "what the heck do these things have to do with the originals, for God's sake?" For instance, take the new Mini. As a past owner of three first-series cars ('62, '67 and '69) I know these road-legal go-karts all too well. They had a start button on the floor, sliding driver windows, and a steel cable to open the door. To call the new, fat and luxurious Mini a proper successor to Alec Issignosis's genial minimalist creation is a bad joke in my book. And the "new Beetle"! How could anybody dare change from rear wheel drive to front wheel drive and still call it a Beetle? How could you ever throw the tail around in the rain with the new model? That's plain chutzpa! The new Triumph twins fare only slightly better. Yes, they are much truer to the originals but where's the vibrating heart and soul of the old twins? Yes, said vibrations made the things leave a trail of nuts, bolts and washers in their wake but did the new models have to feel so damn castrated?

For instance, it would have been all too easy to put dual shocks in the back of the PS1000, just like in them good old days, yet the single "conventional mount" shock coupled to a double sided swing arm is a brilliant reinterpretation of the old testament. Life for Ducati would have been much simpler if they would have used the complete front end of the SS1000. But in the PS 1000 you'll find a narrowed-down triple clamp that pulls the fork tubes closer and flattened, one-off brake disc carriers all in order to achieve that narrow, tall and lean look for the bike's front end. The end result is convincing. Wherever the eye rests you can see that Ducati, with an almost fundamentalist zeal, did not cut any corners or recycle stuff from the parts bin with this one. Need a last example of their dedication? Look at the tire's tread. No, those aren't

That's enough with the philosophy. I drag the bike out of the downtown dealership, swing a leg over and before I even get to squeeze the clutch lever, I can hear myself cursing compulsively inside my helmet. I'll spare you the list of exotic locations to which I sent the mothers of various high-ranking people in Ducati in my cursing. I mean, you try to reach for the handlebar, bend, then bend some more all the while thinking, "Where's the Candid Camera? This is a joke, right?" The bar height is just the beginning; I haven't mentioned yet the fuel tank's length that simply stretches you inquisition-style over the whole bike. The combination of these two demonic dimensions means that the first few minutes of city riding it feels like hell has come down on earth. So you wanted to know what a real 1970's racer-on-the-road felt like? You don't need a PhD in bikeology to know that this thing doesn't mix with city dwelling. No, sir. After a short show-off spin in the city I park the Duc at home. I have it for the whole week, and it's better to wait for a proper outing in the fast lanes.