Dashing designer Duncan Quinn—aka DRIVEN’s own 007—recently had another encounter with a dangerous Italian supermodel in the wilds of California. 

The man just lives for pleasure alone…

It’s always with a sense of delighted anticipation that I get onto a Ducati.

Like the little fat kid who’s been given a bag of sweets, all the pleasure-center lights in my brain start to go off even before the experience begins.

It’s like turning on a Christmas tree.

Our Man on the 848 Evo

Complete with all the baubles and the hot blonde angel stuck on top wearing Agent Provocateur.

Of course the problem with this, like every experience you anticipate with great expectations, is the chance that your treat won’t be quite up to snuff.

The treat for this particular trip was Ducati’s new 848, in Evo Corse trim.

Which aside from the fancy paintwork and magnesium marchinesi wheels also entails some steroids to put 140 horses between your legs.

Our Man on the 848 Evo

I was lucky enough to have a fellow bike nut to share the day’s fun with, in the form of actor and former hell-raising wrangler, John Hensley.

I didn’t even know what a wrangler was, apart from a brand of jeans.

But I guess I do now. And it definitely involves him wrangling his way up the tarmac faster than any mortal has any right to.

After much debate, we decided to meet at Leo & Lily in Woodland Hills for breakfast and head out from there.

Our Man on the 848 Evo

In honor of the almighty jet lag I was suffering from, having spent more than a week in Europe, I suggested a 4am start.

Needless to say, I was told to shove my suggestion where the sun doesn’t shine.

So come 8am and change, we sat and shot the shit over coffee and eggs while the rest of the sleepy neighborhood nestled at the base of the Malibu canyons came to life.

It’s always fascinating to me how much glorious driving road exists just a stone’s throw away from the casting couch of Hollywood.

Our Man on the 848 Evo

The kind of roads you may just get down faster on a bicycle coasting than you can in a 500 hp supercar.

They’re that twisty. I’d highly recommend them if you get a chance. It’ll be good for your soul.

The Evo was a surprisingly docile and easy companion around town and drew the usual smiles an grimaces any Ducati does.

Loved by the lovers, hated by the haters.

It had me wondering for a moment if it had the guts for the glory as it was simply too well-behaved.

But then I realized it was a classic case of “treat em mean, keep em keen…” give it a full handful and you’ll rapidly find yourself riding a very expensive unicycle.

Our Man on the 848 Evo

And from there on out it’s much the same hooligan behavior.

Keep your right wrist wound open and you’ll find yourself holding on with taught forearms for dear life as a joker-like grin involuntarily spreads across your face and the digital readout blurs in time with the scenery.

It’s easy to be tricked into thinking these things are easy to play with, but as I’ve said before, they don’t call them donor cycles for nothing.

Which is why supreme concentration is required.

The reward is a Zen-like calm and the ability to point the thing wherever you want it to go with pinpoint accuracy.

I arrived back in West Hollywood after about 300 miles with a dusty grin and a sore arse.

Our Man on the 848 Evo

It’s certainly not the most comfortable bike in the world, but God forbid it should be.

I’ll take lithe, agile and a little bony every day over “built for comfort, not for speed.”

As I left the keys with the concierge so that it could be picked up, I couldn’t help but wish I had another day or two on the left coast to blast up through Big Sur and suck in the sea air.

I didn’t want to give it back but needs must.

And although it didn’t scare the life out of me, it still gave me a full-on afterglow from having ridden to within an inch of needing a new set of pants.

And that, after all, is the sign of a very good ride indeed…

DQ

848 Evo Corse:  ****1/2  – some of the best Christmas tree lights in town

Mulholland Drive:  ***** – twisty heaven

Runyon Canyon: ***** – run it before you eat your eggs