The Aprilia RSV4 Factory – The Power and the Passion

Exquisite. Exciting. Exhilarating. Enrapturing. Effing sensational. These and so many other adjectives bounced around my mind in my initial introduction to the Aprilia RSV4 Factory – and it was standing still! Since drooling over Max Biaggi’s Aprilia RSV4 in Phillip Island’s Pit Lane way back in March ‘09 I have been coveting an affair with the exquisite beauty so when the offer came from the good folk at John Sample Automotive (the Australian Aprilia importers), to spend a weekend with the recently released Aprilia RSV4 Factory I was at the warehouse quicker than Usain Bolt.

It’s been a long time since I have been so smitten but it was definitely love at first sight between me and the RSV4!

When its elder stable-mate – the RSV Mille – hit Australia back in the late ‘90’s I described the sensational 60-deg v-twin as “a six beer bike” as you could sit in the shed with your mates, and have a six pack while perving on the delectable beast.

The RSV4 Factory is even more attractive and I rate it as a “slab of beer” bike.

I was keener than a kid up the ‘Cross to have my way with the latest Italian mistress from the Naole factory but experience tells me that admiration and patience provides a better reward. So, I took time to again drool over this exquisite example of Italian engineering and admire the passion of design that is inherent from the front to rear: the lines of design, the symmetry, the styling, the aggressive front end with the subtle air-intakes that still retains the Mille appearance, the fairing fasteners embossed with “Aprilia”, the immaculate welds, the unique duck-tail, the sculptured tank, the carbon fibre guards and covers…

“The RSV4 Factory is so precise, direct and unwavering it finds the corner before you think about it.”

But above all what overshadows its majestic appearance is the compactness of the machine and the size – or the lack of it. It’s similar to a 600 or – believe it or not – its baby sister, the GP replica Aprilia RS250 two-stroke. Side-by-side the similarities are astonishing. A true example of the adage: “not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog.”

What a special piece of engineering! The RSV4 is simply beautiful.

Everyone – bikers or non-bikers – were gobsmacked at its size and presence. Only the Italians can make aluminium, plastic and carbon-fibre look so damn sexy.

Finally, after all the months of anticipation it was time to throw a leg over and I haven’t been as excited – or nervous – to ride a bike since experiencing a 990cc MotoGP bike.

The seating position is comfortable with an easy reach to the bars assisted by its slimness. There’s also plenty of room on the seat putting you in the bike rather than on it.

Turning the key allows the on-board computer to scroll through its checklist with the information available via a toggle switch on the left-hand swichblock.

The wait was over. Time to press the start button.

Oh the sound; the tantalising burble of the V4!

A blip of the throttle turns the burble into a bark and may even raise the hairs on your neck. The muffler does look obtrusive but there is a method to the madness. The aural ecstasy increases as you click it in gear; the butterfly valve in the muffler opens, turning up the concerto of the V4. (The can has the mandatory catalytic converter but the butterfly recycles exhaust gases to reduce the decibels and make the noise police smile – a little.)

Within the first few kilometres whatever expectations I had about this bike had been answered and exceeded as the RSV4’s attributes clubbed me in the head. It wasn’t long before I was screaming in my lid and slapping the tank in unbridled enthusiasm for this new ride.

The RSV4 Factory is so precise, direct and unwavering it finds the corner before you think about it. I felt the bike was taking me for a ride and asking why I was taking so long to get there!

To be polite I asked Miss RSV4, how could she be created so dynamically to be at home on the track or to be so user-friendly on our Aussie country roads?

The RSV4 Factory is one very sharp and competent scythe as she answered with a laugh with revs increasing, carrying me rapidly to the next corner.

We recently had the good fortune to ride the KTM Superduke, an insane combination of 990cc 60-degree V-twin, Brembo radial brakes and lightweight trellis chassis. The big slugs and sharp fuelling gave it electric response – you certainly wouldn’t want to have a big sneeze in a low gear…

Certainly less manic, but truer to the original supermotard theme is the KTM 690 Duke. It still boasts the trellis frame, perches you high above the family sedans, and retains the barking mad ability of its big brother. The notion of a big moto-crosser, modified for street use has been bent a fair way with the Duke.

It looks like a cutting implement, and it is. Everything except the seat and the wheels is sharp and straight. Sitting on its side-stand it projects its lines forward and downward, with an aggressive “I want to carve up roads” stance.

At 65hp (48kW), KTM’s indomitable LC4 654cc overhead cam single has been tweaked for a rev-happy existence, finding its mid-range and then bwwraapping its way through the top-end. It’s certainly designed to charge, driving hard through gaps and gears, punching through the next straight to blip down the gears and tip into the next corner. Given this, KTM was wise to fit a slipper clutch.

“…it felt as if I was no longer riding, but just standing up and flying through space and time with controls to hand…”

“Are you ready to race?” asks KTM’s strapline, and for good reason – if you expect a laid-back, lugging single that thumps right off the bottom, you’ll have to assess whether you can keep up with the Duke. It must be ridden beyond 3,000rpm to run smoothly, with a low-down engine temperament like a tethered thoroughbred straining at the reins.

Climb-up onto this steed and you’ll be greeted by a seat that’s highly convex in profile, a ridge line along the centre of the bike, falling away quickly to the sides and smooching up to the short, narrow tank. The result is a thin perch that naturally promotes your weight to shift forward and inward at every corner; and any moderate squeeze of the brakes puts this cornering process in motion.

There is little in the way of clutter up-front, with flat, single-piece alloy bars and the merest hint of a fairing – something closer to a stylistic nod in that direction, rather than any real attempt to fend the breeze. The upshot is that you are situated high above the road, with an easy reach to the bars and a gentle bend to the pegs.

When it all comes together, the end effect can be quite surreal. While swinging (at a sensible speed, officer) across the Colo Heights ridgeline, it felt as if I was no longer riding, but just standing up and flying through space and time with controls to hand, accompanied by some toe-twitching at either end of each corner.

Brembo braking is specified, and at the front a single floating 320mm disc is dominated by its 4-piston radially-mounted caliper. Combined with the wet-chassis weight of a bit over 160kg, they arrest progress like a tube of glue in a Roadrunner cartoon – damned quick. A single-piston unit on a 240mm rear disc kept things all-lined-up, and presented substantial bite.

Take a look at any automotive show over the past year, cars or bikes and one thing quickly becomes apparent. White is the new black. Blame a resurgence of 80’s ’style’, the mis-mash of Miami Vice-esque white jackets, white sneakers and the latest iPod. Whatever the reason, it’s actually a welcome change particularly so for those manufacturers insistent on flying the corporate colours at every opportunity.

In 2008 it’s found its way onto Triumph’s Street Triple with a slight pearl effect to lift it beyond any possible comparison to ‘Toyota Camry white’. Get the right light effects on the paintwork and it positively shimmers.

Launched in 2007 the Street Triple was instantly hot property coming off the back of the award winning Daytona 675 supersport and showing the world that Triumph can do naked as confidently as any FHM girl. Sharing common parts with the Daytona 675 underlies the Street Triple’s character which as it turns out, is a very positive thing indeed.

Jumping aboard you’re treated to a fresh and sharp looking instrument cluster with that is easy to navigate. The seat height at 800mm isn’t the shortest for a naked but somehow manages to feel a lot lower than that. Storage under the seat is limited but at the very least the battery is easy to get to. The relationship between the seating position and the bars is perfect for a naked, not too far forward or back. The only gripe comes from the reflection from the polished bars on the speedo and tacho cluster cover, which made it difficult to get an quick reading and may annoy some riders. Or just look where you’re going instead, a much better idea methinks.

Pressing the starter button you instantly get the impression that a) this isn’t any going to be any ordinary naked bike and b) where the hell is that V12 sound coming from?! Seriously, this thing sounds like a 12 cylinder Lamborghini engine – that or a bonkers 3 cylinder Diahatsu engine but I know which sound I’d rather believe. The Street Triple engine is the same 675cc, water-cooled three-cylinder, 12-valve engine as in the Daytona 675 but with a slightly different cam profile, giving more low-end torque and a lower rev limit of 12,650 revs. Triumph claim 108PS (106bhp) at 11,700rpm with 69Nm (51ft.lbf) of torque at 9,100rpm while achieving Euro-3 emission regulations.

“Riding away the fun starts instantly as your ears are given a treat to that three cylinder harmony.”

This of course is the catalyst for a speedy introduction to the rest of the rev range as experimentation with the ‘volume’ ensues.

The engine feels strong all the way through the rev range and picks up well from down low but still responds best when treated like a 600cc bike, not a 675cc bike. That’s when you really appreciate and notice the extra capacity and in turn, start to use it to your advantage exiting corners well ahead of where you expect a mid-weight naked to be. The Street Triple’s Keihin closed-loop fuel-injection system never interferes in the fun and keeps the action running smoothly.

The wet, multi-plate clutch is light but weighted perfectly. In fact when riding I don’t think I even thought about it once which may seem negligent but actually is a positive sign it’s doing what it’s suppose to without interfering with the rest of the ride. Fade was never an issue and it felt as though it belonged on a bike of much higher spec.

Once onto more challenging roads the bike just wanted to get on it’s side and drive through the corners aided in no small part by the quality tyres. The Dunlop Qualifiers are a fantastic choice for the bike and allow you to take advantage of the bikes other strengths. Tipping in was direct and effortless with the Street Triple again borrowing parts from the Daytona 675, this time the aluminium frame. The aluminium swingarm measuring 574mm (22.6in) from rear wheel spindle to pivot point, as used on the Daytona 675 takes advantage of the short, compact engine.

The bike felt composed everywhere except when hitting bumps when hard on the gas. This tends to unsettle the front a little much like a supersport bike which comes as no surprise considering the amount of common parts it shares with the Daytona 675. If the rest of the bike dictated a more genteel nature then the suspension would be at odds but as it is, it’s perfectly suited. The relatively firm ride particularly rewards when hitting slow and medium paced corners and is even better on ultra smooth tarmac where the Kayaba suspension works best.

Considering the bike is more sports focussed it was a little disappointing when pulling up on the brakes, with the Triumph lacking a bit of initial bite. Perhaps it was just this particular bike but when the rest of the bike is performing so well, your expectations are raised. The funny thing was, they still did their job with the positive points are that they are progressive and consistent which goes a long way on rough or uneven surfaces and in the wet. The Street Triple uses Nissin two pot sliding calipers with sintered pads.

The 6-speed gearbox kicked each gear in place with confidence every time, although there were a couple of occasions sitting at the lights when the gears didn’t want to engage at first attempt. A small price to pay for an otherwise excellent, solid gearbox.

Until a couple of years ago, if someone asked you about a Ducati you probably thought of a lean, trellis-framed sportsbike, with a booming exhaust and an uncompromising head-down, bum-up riding position.

I’ll confess up front that I ride a 2001 Ducati 748R, so I’ve got the bug in its original, highly-tuned form. The Bolognese legend was built on those characteristics, but has progressively matured its model line-up to accommodate those who stuck with it – or longed for it – beyond their sportsbike riding. Sooner or later, people want to be comfortable!

The Monster, first in 2-valve and then in 4-valve water-cooled variants, introduced a svelte silhouette which situated the rider in, rather than over, the bike. This allowed a natural upright position with an easy reach past the prominent tank to the comfy bars. It was a genuine precursor to the super-motard craze, and remains a soulful urban companion that can still swing through the weekend bends.

The Multistrada (literally ‘many roads’) fills a very useful niche between the Monster range, and the more traditional sports-touring segment occupied by the likes of the Honda VFR800, Triumph ST1050 and Ducati’s own ST3. Packing an 1100cc water-cooled V-twin, it simply couldn’t be more appropriately named – it can do most things pretty damned well…

Want a bit of glamour? Check out the scarlet red paint job, jet black Marchesini alloy wheels, and single-sided swingarm.

Want to tweak things just to your liking? Twiddle away with the fully-adjustable Sachs shock (with remote preload), and 43mm Showa forks.

Like a bit of cruising – checking out the urban or rural scenery? Well, just ride the easy vibes at the front end of the tacho.

Thinking of two-up touring? Hook up the optional hard panniers, and welcome your passenger to the wide rear seat and grab-rail.

Want to be a bit of a lair? Just crack the throttle and it transforms to mimic its younger Hypermotard brother.

The Ducati Multistrada brings a sit-up-and-laugh seating position with single-piece bars sitting high above the fork yokes. The seat is about as comfy and wide as an office chair at the back, but as narrow as a sportsbike at the front, allowing you to slide your weight forward and inward when you up the cornering pace.

“…those two 550cc slugs boofing-away at right angles are just never going to mimic a balanced-to-buggery in-line engine…”

Urban riding is a doddle, with huge leverage from the bars and the punchy engine hitting hard off the bottom. Don’t expect silky smooth roll-on from low revs – those two 550cc slugs boofing-away at right angles are just never going to mimic a balanced-to-buggery in-line engine; nor would buyers want them to.

The Multi undergoes a real metamorphosis as the tacho works its way past 4,000rpm. It’s here that Mr. Cruiser disappears, and Mr. Sports-Touring shows-up. The vibes melt away, and the engine shows an eager willingness to work up to 8,000rpm. Within this range, you can’t help wanting a bit more exhaust noise from what works beneath (sic)! Nonetheless, here the engine feels indomitable, surging forward even when packed for touring.

Pub lore is like a zombie plague. Irrational, unthinking – and unstoppable. Twins have more torque than inline fours. Supermotos are quicker than sportsbikes up a twisty road. Fireblades are too nice… each statement more wildly inaccurate than the last, and, regardless of how many counter-arguments you put through their heads at point-blank range, they – cla-clack – just – BLAM – won’t – cla-clack – stay – BLAM – down. They just – cla-clack – keep coming – BLAM.

Honda’s 2008 CBR1000RR Fireblade is “nice” in only the same way as a precision-manufactured firearm might be. It’s exquisite in the way it goes about what it does, but what it does is brutal. BLAM! Wait for the dust and smoke to clear, survey the size of the hole, then look down at the sophisticated piece of hardware which made it; “Nice,” that’s the new Fireblade.

Excepting the last of the carbed ‘Blades, the 1998 model, which didn’t care too much how it was ridden, and the first injected bike of 2000, which had too much chassis for its 125 rear-wheel-hp motor, there was always a brutality about Honda’s sportsbike-for-the-people (for most of the ‘Blade’s life, there was a pricier, fancier – though slower in street trim – WSB-homologation model in the lineup to serve as the flagship). For most of the ‘90’s, until dethroned by the R1, the Fireblade was the rowdy streetbike option. The 954cc-engined 2002 bike kept a lump of torque hiding just off a closed throttle at any revs and a loft-happy front wheel. Its successor, the totally-redesigned first CBR1000RR or 2004, had a bulging bottom-end in a year when litre sportsbikes lunged for peak power. It also had a racebike-like quick-action throttle, firmly-damped suspension and an uncanny ability to stay level whether on the brakes or the gas. It was composed, fast, it won races and championships, and it sold big… even though it was too nice, apparently.

Tech

The old bike had done so well for itself, Honda could’ve been expected to leave most of it alone. At first glance, the one accompanied by the initial “Blimey; that’s different” reaction to the new bike’s snub nose and wispy tail, those confronting looks appeared to be stretched on around mostly-unchanged metal. Look closer, though, and about the only thing that’s stayed the same is the number of spokes on the wheels; three.

Honda’s obsessive-compulsive engineering is evident everywhere. What weight could be lost has been ditched, and the rest has been scrunched up into the centre of the bike. Even the styling has been co-opted by the mass-centralisation bug. The nose and the tail barely protrude past the wheel spindles, and the ducktail is minimal in the extreme. A band of exposed subframe traces the outline of the back of the rider’s seat before the plastic starts; it’s one of the ‘Blade’s neatest touches, and it must keep a whole 20 grams off the back of the bike.

“…It’s been a couple of years since a litre four’s come out with an engine which is so overwhelming everywhere…”

Where emissions regs have seen sportsbike exhausts bulge outwards again, Honda have crammed the ‘Blade’s into the space under the suspension linkage; if you dropped a Rizla paper into the gap between the muffler and the swingarm, it’d get stuck. Pity, then, that it’s been made of mild steel and painted high-temperature black. It’d look better in stainless, especially when it turns golden with repeated heat cycles.

The engine has lost its cassette gearbox and a kilo from the crankcases in the process. The front brake callipers are a new, much shrunken four-piston radial-mount design from Tokico, and the front discs have lost almost half of their mounting bushes, down from ten to just six.

At just under 200kg wet (Honda have taken to quoting weight with a full tank of fuel), the new ‘Blade is six kilos lighter than its predecessor and the lightest litre sportsbike on the market – first time Honda have held the title this century.

The Hornet 600 is a bike with humble roots; its beginning lay in the Japanese-market-only Hornet 250 of 1996, a fun, if curious way to put leftover CBR250RR engines to use (the screaming miniature sportsbike had ceased production two years earlier). Compact steel-spine frame, fat wheels at either end, and UJM styling with the wrinkle of a neat chrome-heat-shielded exhaust holstered up the side of the ducktail. In time for the 1998 model year, someone at Honda noticed that the bigger CBR600F3 engine – itself headed for the old bikes’ home – would fit in the 250 frame, and brought it up at a company meeting – possibly.

It’s not much of a stretch to picture the Honda higher-ups okaying the idea with a “sure; what have we got to lose”-type shrug… then nodding in astonished approval as the modest little bike with the detuned sportsbike engine, basic suspension, low seat and clean styling sold by the container-load, spawned one-make race series and its own aftermarket industry, and generally became a cult bike – in Europe. Here, we didn’t quite get the idea of a cheap, hoonable naked 600 back then, and, after three years of trickling sales, Honda pulled it from the local lineup even as it fixed the bike’s only real foible – the 16″ front wheel – for the big European market which continued to love it.

It took until last year for Honda to update it (we’re getting it a year late). After the almost-accidental success of the original bike, there would have been some anxiety about what to change and what to leave alone. Almost a decade had passed since the original bike was designed. Technology had moved on – a lot. The new Hornet was always going to be different. That’s what we’ve ended up with – a very different Hornet – and it’s almost entirely a good thing.

Styling

The original Hornet was a simple, unassuming design. Round headlight out front, peanut-shaped tank in the middle, gently-stepped and sloping one-piece seat out back. Only that sidearm exhaust stood out – or didn’t, rather.

The new bike makes more of a statement. It looks compact and cute and just ferocious enough to get any doubters interested. It knows where it came from; the shape of the tank – down to the blue paint – and the matt sidecovers follow on from the old Hornet, and the stylists have reached even further into the past, to one of the first middleweight Honda fours, the CB400 of the mid-70’s, for the combed-over header pipes and the step-down from the seat – via a retro imprint of “HONDA” on the vinyl – onto the rear guard and the sticky-outy LED tail light. Bravely, possible stylistic liabilities have been made into features. The bullet-nosed stacked-bulb headlight is flanked by shrouds which mimic Honda’s wing logo, and rather than hidden beind heavy matt metal heat-shields, the stainless catalyser casing under the engine has been polished and streamlined into a jet fighter drop tank.

“That’s some attention to detail right there. Nothing’s just been thrown on there. Everything’s been thought about.”

The front guard’s a direct transplant from the current 600RR, the instruments, in a casing which continues that bullet-shaped theme, from the previous one. The back of the bike is tailored for pillions. The matt-finish tail panels won’t scuff, and there’s a pair of chunky grabrails neatly styled to resemble the wheel spokes – and the little slots in both of those match the ones in the front guard and the sidecovers. That’s some attention to detail right there. Nothing’s just been thrown on there. Everything’s been thought about.

Chassis

The 2008 CB600F Hornet has a reassuringly high metal content. Take a knuckle, pick a spot on the bike, bring the two together and there’ll be a gong of sheetmetal or a thump of cast alloy more often than not. Plastic is at a minimum. The bolt-on subframe is square-section tube steel as a precaution for extended pillion duty over potholed city roads. Scale-verified wet weight manages to limbo in under the critical 200kg limit. It makes Honda’s 173kg dry weight figure credible and puts a number on the weight-conscious design on show on the bike. The frame’s a solid-looking box-section cast alloy backbone with beefy rear endplates bolted on either side. The swingarm is an impressive-looking, not-the-easiest-to-manufacture tapered job with block-and-channel adjusters. Like the five-spoke alloy wheels, it’s neither a sportsbike hand-me-down nor some utilitarian design you’d justify by pointing out that it’s easy to clean. Like its styling, the Hornet’s engineering is proper.

The front engine mounts are small steel plates which bolt onto castings extending down from the steering head. These stick out somewhat, and cast alloy is particularly allergic to tarmac. Nylon or Delrin sliders would go well there. An idea for a factory accessory, maybe?

There are few bikes that non-bikers seem to recognise. The Ducati Monster is one, Honda’s indelible postie bike the CT110 can be added to that list and there is now another that is almost there, almost. It may not be in everyone’s consciousness yet but Triumph’s Speed Triple usually draws the comment “Oh yeah I like those Triumph bikes. Them ones, you know”. Having made it’s screen debut in Mission Impossible 2 in 2000 with upcoming Aussie stunt rider Mat Mingay on board, the Triumph Speed Triple began it’s quest for major cult status and in 2008 it’s just about reached that mark.

It may have evolved since it’s launch way back in 1994 but Triumph’s 2008 Speed Triple is every bit as manic as the first keeping the recipe the same; huge engine, wild looks and barking exhaust note to scare the knickers off unsuspecting birds at your local bus stop.

Engine

That 1050cc DOHC, three-cylinder, fuel injected engine remains the same, tuned for masses of bottom end torque. Peak power is 132PS (131bhp) at 9250rpm while peak torque of 105Nm (77ft.lbf) arrives at 7550rpm and it’s the torque that makes this engine what it is. Get it moving and all you can do is laugh at the ease of which the Speed Triple delivers its momentum and it’s precisely this type of riding that makes travelling through the city or suburbs fun. Whereas a sportsbike needs to be in the right gear, it really doesn’t matter with the Speed Triple.

The sound is unbelievable and plays a big part in the bikes appeal giving its best impression of a 100kph rock concert.

“…While the Street Triple feels a bit ‘David Beckham’, the Speed Triple is all ‘Vinnie Jones’…”

If you fancy yourself as a bit of a stunt master, have a ride. The bike is effortless to wheelie thanks to that engine but just mind the small slippery footpegs as I found my boots liked to wander off the side on a couple of occasions. Riding in ten year old Alpinestars doesn’t help…

Triumph have revised the gearchange mechanism for smoother shifting for 2008 but I’d still like to see more positive shifts coming from the box. With all that grunt though, I didn’t really notice except when in stop start traffic.

For such an integral part of the bike, it seems like there hasn’t been much said but the Triple’s engine is just that animalistic, the delivery so brutally simplistic, that there really isn’t much else to it. Engine go. Engine go more. Me like.

Handling

Having tasted the Street Triple earlier in the year, the Speed Triple feels exact the same except harder. While the Street Triple feels a bit ‘David Beckham’, the Speed Triple is all ‘Vinnie Jones’. Well ‘ard you know wha ‘ah mean?

Suspicions of ‘tampering’ from a previous test gave the initial impression Triumph suspension technicians wanted to give the Speed Triple the ability to cope with the prodigious energy from the engine and simply wound the shocks up as tight as they could. Of course it wasn’t as simple as that but traveling through some bumpy sections of country roads highlighted the bike wasn’t set up for a Sunday stroll.