I never thought I would get on my GSXR 600 and genuinely feel like it was disappointedly slow. Having returned the Aprilia Tuono back to its rightful owners after a 5-day sonic bender, I can only warn you of the flagrant praise that is forthcoming.
Until recently I had never straddled a bike manufactured by Aprilia. It is an elusive brand that has evaded me like an invitation to an orgy in Calabasas. I know it exists – I’ve heard good things; but I have yet to be in the right place to see if it will live up to everything I’ve imagined. I once met a bike racer at a barbecue who converted to Aprilia after years with Ducati. He irritated me with details of its spectacular specs but the only thing that really stuck with me was his admiration of the way the power comes on…and stays on, with the four huge cylinders on this 999cc engine.
First impressions of the look of the bike were underwhelming. Naked bikes always make me think of men that have difficulties meeting women. Like Lotus drivers or those sneakers that are shaped like a foot. It’s a man that has science fiction in his heart and a rusty Bowflex in his yard. But my critic was halted abruptly when my big-tittied neighbor and I, took it out for its first little leg stretch on the 405 freeway.
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a very very thick cock? You know the girth you normally expect from a French butcher. The man with a face so marred by alcohol and duck pâté, yet still all the village women cannot resist his stinking sex.
This is the confidence and the pride you enjoy when seated on the yellow, foam rubber seat also used in the manufacturing of insane asylum furniture…and somehow this makes sense, as you may loose your mind or your bowels on this machine. From the bottom of each gear till the top, this bike produces incredibly thick “AMG Mercedes” power. The sound is clinical and precise – German in a way. It’s not the mating call of a Yoshimura aftermarket exhaust. It is the whirl of the butcher’s meat slicer that brings the girls to the yard. This thumping engine was originally destined for a proper race bike, but was not deployed for whatever reasoning… So they decided to stick it on this unassuming “cruiser”.
You could ride this bike around in 1st gear all day and be content with about 110mph at the top of 1st. If you feel like teaching two chaps in a late-model convertible Z06, a lesson on the 210, then no need for more than a respectable 3rd gear “F*ck you.” And if you happen to find yourself on a windy route 39 wearing little more than jeans and sneakers, and can’t resist being really immature, then the bike will step in if you come in a little too steep on the throttle or a little shy on rubber. The bike’s APRC – whatever the f*ck that stands for – system is some sort of traction control, that mostly keeps the front and rear wheels on the tarmac when you try and puncture into a parallel universe. My writing this article from a café instead of a hospital is testament to its efficiency.
The upright seating position takes some getting used to, after years of darting around like a greyhound in aerodynamic discomfort; but I soon began to appreciate the posture that keeps my upper bodyweight off my wrists and my sullied chakras aligned. I also appreciated the massive Brembo brakes that were undoubtedly complicit in keeping my soul from passing onto the next life and not leaving a smiling corpse for CHP Officer Peabody to find up there, just north of Azusa. With a few thousand feet drop offs and curb high barriers, its testament to this bike is that I could ride it so hard and feel so safe.
Sadly I wasn’t brave enough to ride it through the front window of the Ducati dealership on La Cieniga Blvd, as would be befitting an ending of this review; but I will say that a blast up the 39 on this, is in the very least as thrilling as unprotected North Hollywood group sex.