(Here is the original article I wrote for Urban Moto before they sanitized it.)
When I was first approached to test ride the new 2010 Aprilia RSV4 R my first thoughts were that it was an insurance scam. I imagined a nefarious plot of a new bike, somehow damaged by careless deeds, and me as a surefire way to write it off as a loss while keeping guilty hands clean.
Not that that would stop me. Everyone has to die someday, but not everyone gets to die with an obituary that reads, “he died as he wished he had lived, with 400lbs of Italian muscle hanging between his legs.”
The morning was quiet. Contemplative. I made peace with my bill collectors. I called my mom and confessed to the broken lamp when I was 10. While I made a cup of coffee I sent a few emails to Angelina Jolie informing her that, regrettably, our love would never be. I suited up, I then kissed my woman goodbye and said, “I have a 180hp stairway to heaven, remember to tell people how dangerously handsome and full of limbs I used to be.”
When I first saw the bike in person I was shocked by how deceptively small the bike is. It’s lean and predatory. The 65° V4 hides in a sleek twin spar frame. Its sharp nose and air intakes demand teeth painted on them like the old p-40 flying tiger, perfectly matched to the grunts and berserker screams you will be tempted to issue as you strafe past your foes at mind bending speeds. The wide seat and finned tail section jutting high in the air evokes images of a hawk diving down from the sun to eat your neighbor’s precious fucking Chihuahua. Beastlike is a suitable way to describe this machine. You turn it on and the first thing that hits you in the base of the spine is the guttural roar that emanates from the stock pipes. It makes your heart race, that sound, the growl of a dog about to eat your face.
The rundown I was given consisted mainly of, “fuel goes here, this is how you change the engine mapping, and for the love of god don’t hurt the bike. If you don't bring it back we know people. Bad people.” The engine mapping is selectable on the fly and has three settings; (R)oad, (S)port, and (T)rack but they could aptly be renamed to; (P)ansy, (G)row a pair, and (H)oly Jesus fuck this thing is fast.
Riding away on the bike the first things that I noticed is how manageable this thing is on city streets, and how superbly comfortable it is. Bikes this fast aren’t supposed to be this comfortable. It’s just wrong. Aprilia also managed to get an insane amount of torque into a 4 cylinder. Someone needs to tell Aprilia that torque is supposed to be the realm of big twins. I’m sending them hate mail for challenging my 2 cylinder dogmas.
The minute I hit the [secret test facility] I opened the bike up. Within milliseconds shift lights flashed almost faster than my foot could cycle through the gearbox, the exhaust detonated with the sound of the heavens splitting, reality blurred past me and before I knew it I was hitting 140mph and the horizon, which had previously been a good horizon-like distance away, was suddenly inches away from my face. Einstein would have called this bike a time-space displacement device.
Back in the age of steam locomotives engineers postulated that if one traveled faster that 50mph the air would get sucked out of your body and you would asphyxiate. It’s a good thing theory proved false, because at speed this thing would suck your skeleton out your ass and after few minutes on this machine and you defy the laws nature. You are evolution perverted through the eyes of twisted Italian mad scientists. I started daydreaming of flying the bike off the top of a mountain, punching God in the face, landing, and giving science a big high-five.
I was quickly snapped back into reality as I hit the exit for the [perfectly legal test facility.] The bike hungered for corners, and those tight twisty cliff-side roads are a perfect feeding ground. Every turn was devoured as the bike crabbed claw full after claw full of asphalt and spit it out behind us. I cut apexes so tight I was getting hit in the face with road weeds and the bike just pushed me to go faster. The throttle by wire and computer controlled 8 bank injectors were sublime. Screw what the analogue people say; I for one welcome our eventual robot overlords.
The twistys turned into long high speed sweepers, where I blasted past signposts and little houses and was able to get a little wobble out of the front end, but I tack that up to the fact that the suspension wasn’t set up for me, and I am about 50lbs heavier that most riders. Entering the long, downhill, radar proof straightaway of the [privately owned] tunnel I gave the bike one last chance to kill me. I stuck the throttle on 11, pounded through the gears and entered warp speed. At about 100 is when I hit the patch of water in the tunnel. Those 180hp, and no traction control broke the rear tire free and the rear end started fishtailing.
It’s a strange thing when you are about to die. You think the most inane thoughts. Mine was, “Oh shit, I hope I don’t land on my keys…because that will hurt.”
Fortunately my muscle memory knew what to do. My ass puckered up and grabbed on to the seat like a squid tentacle and my hand dumped power off the throttle. The bike is surprisingly forgiving and I managed to stay rubber side down.
I knew I had pushed my luck and if fate didn’t get me soon then the law would, so I headed back to drop the bike off.
Walking away if you listened carefully you could almost hear the clanking of the big brass balls I had just grown.
