Ducati’s christened this monster motorcycle after His nemesis; wonder what the Pope has to say about that. Nonetheless, the story goes that an employee blurted out something to the effect of “Holy old monks, it looks like the Devil himself!”, and since Italian companies have a long tradition of honouring employees’ verbal ejaculations, the name stuck. And it’s easy to understand why.
Confronted with the Diavel in a dark lane ahead of a 500-km ride, the Diavel makes short work of whatever little is left of my morals and conscience, and encourages one vice after the other. The first is pure lust. The black parts merge seamlessly with the shadows, while the blood red parts drip menace into the night.