Ducatisti

Sigh! (Long ago photo by BobbaLew.)

During the ‘80s Yr Fthfl Srvnt went along to the Syracuse Nationals at the behest of local “Ducatisti.”
The “Ducatisti” were Rochester residents that owned Ducati motorcycles. They were elitists who felt Ducatis were superior to all others.
They all worked in a foreign-car repair shop, and one guy, Peter, was more-or-less their leader. He owned a Ducati Super-Sport much like what’s pictured, except his was silver with a blue stripe.
I don’t know that any of his fellow-workers had a Super-Sport — I remember one having a much modified springer Ducati. Most Ducatis had desmodromic valve actuation = their valves were closed mechanically by cams instead of by springs.
Mine was desmo, but had only 32 mm carbs. Ultimate was 40 mm toilet-mouths, and Peter’s Super-Sport had that. The starting circuit (additional fuel) was plugged on one of my carburetors, so that carb needed to be replaced. Each cylinder had its own carb — it was a 90° V-twin.
There was one other area motorcycle like mine, but it also had 32 mm carbs. Mine was the Strohmier bike, purchased used from Peter Strohmier. It had Campagnolo magnesium wheels. That second bike didn’t have the Campy wheels, but like mine it was black.
The 32 mm Super-Sports weren’t that serious; they just looked gorgeous. Peter suggested I switch to 40s like his SS. So I ordered 40s, not knowing you also had to swap manifolds to properly take advantage of a 40.
Beyond that, cylinder-head porting and smoothing was needed. Even then a 40-mm carb was a bit much. At lower speeds common to the street-riding I did, 40-mm was too much. They were so big they didn’t accelerate air-flow and turbulence.
The only time a 40-mm carburetor made sense was at top-end. Peter bragged about the 140+ mph his SS could do. Out where he lived, in the country where I am now, there was a road where one could safely crank 140, assuming you didn’t attract the gendarmerie.
But ya don’t do 140 in Rochester. Yer lucky if ya get over 60.
The Syracuse Nationals were one of a series of nationwide races on mile or half-mile dirt ovals. Syracuse was a mile, and also a horse-racing track. The venue was part of the State-Fair complex. But the race wasn’t part of the State Fair. Schoolbus demolition derbies were also held there.
The Nationals were more a celebration of all things motorcycling. Bikers of all stripes attended: Hells Angels, Mohawked street-racers on 200-mph crotch-rockets, and Ducatisti like us — but only a few.

Harley’s 2018 dirt-track racer.

Nearly all of the motorcycles being raced were Harley-Davidson dirt-track racers. There was one Honda, based on a heavily-modified V-twin Honda tourer sold back then. It looked like an air-compressor, but was reconfigured to mimic a Harley-Davidson dirt-track racer. It was fairly strong, a team effort, but a Harley won. Harley also had a team. Many racers were private. Harley sold its dirt-track racer to privateers.
My attendance got in the way. I was invited because of my Ducati. But I wasn’t a speed-demon. We gathered at the repair-shop, then rode as a group out to Peter’s.
From there we rode to the Thruway, Exit-45, the Victor exit. Once on the Thruway, the others opened up, 90-100 mph. I couldn’t do that; as a bus-driver I had to protect my license. Clearly I was slowing things.
Once in Syracuse, Peter paid our entry in full as a group, which we would later reimburse.
Next was parking our motorcycles, always a challenge for me, since that involved slow-speed balance of a heavy motorcycle. Ducatis are light, but still almost 400 pounds.
We found a tiny place to park, amidst the 89 bazilyun motorbikes. Next was getting my Super-Sport up on its center-stand. At least I didn’t drop it, and that included the slow-speed pre-park maneuvering.
We watched the race from the grandstand, then returned to our motorcycles to ride home.
Back on the Thruway the others put the hammer down! That second black Ducati had also come, and was riding two-up. He accelerated away from me, so I opened up my 40s.
Proof yet again my 40s were too much . Even two-up that 32-mm Ducati was leaving me behind.
Most got way ahead of me, but suddenly I was catching up. No idea they were slowing for Exit-43. I overshot as the others all got off. They waited patiently as I returned wrong-way on the Exit-43 entry-ramp. Were it not that Peter had our Thruway ticket I coulda kept going.
I also didn’t know we were headed for a dive near Peter’s house. When we pulled in I split.
No dive for this kid, and it was my first and final foray with the vaunted Ducatisti. Also my final contact. Even the racing was boring.
Since then the Japanese have marketed crotch-rockets that make my Super-Sport antiquarian. I’ve had four Japanese crotch-rockets myself, and they were much more pleasing.
That Ducati was a pain, but it sure was gorgeous. I used to park it in front of my house, and stare at it.

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered well enough to return to work at a newspaper; I retired from that over 12 years ago.