KTM 950 Supermoto

Looks, despite all appearances, aren't everything.

The point is, you don't have to look good to feel good. And for the KTM 950 Supermoto, that's a good thing.

The folks at KTM must be painfully aware of the incandescent Ducati Hypermotard concept bike. Like the good Ms. Theron, the Ducati is lean, sleek, spare and achingly beautiful. All the things the KTM 950 Supermoto is not.

The KTM is all tubes, struts, points and angles, with no two pointed in the same direction. From some angles it looks like an espresso machine that crashed into a pumpkin patch.

The bodywork evokes those awful Fome-cor-and-duct-tape movie bikes from Hal Needham's MegaForce. And while the KTM may, to some, exude a kind of industro-chic, post-apocalyptic edginess, it's safe to say it won't make the next museum installation of The Art Of The Motorcycle.

But here's the good news - the kind that will keep its (possibly myopic) owners coming back for more.

The KTM 950 SM may well be the best-feeling, most capable, most intoxicating day-in, day-out streetbike we have ever tested. Our good Executive Editor Brian Catterson, who knows a thing or two about both motorcycles and intoxication, has testified that it's the most fun motorcycle he has ever ridden.

We should have - and pretty much did - see this coming. All it took was a few eye-opening rides on the Supermoto's hormonally boosted big brother, the 950 Adventure S, KTM's simply wonderful 942cc liquid-cooled V-twin stuffed in an overgrown motocross chassis. Even with its lifeguard-tower stance, small front brakes and semi-knobby tires, the Adventure was miraculous on tight, twisty asphalt. Up against revered sit-up streetbikes like the Ducati S4R Monster, the Aprilia Tuono and the MV Agusta Brutale, it simply hauled Italian asso.

We couldn't help thinking that with stickier street tires and bigger front brakes, the Adventure just might qualify for the Canyon Bike Hall of Fame. So when KTM announced the 950 Supermoto with the same motor, less wheelbase, wide 17-inch wheels, big discs and top-notch WP suspension, we started drooling like Pavlov's poodle in a bell factory.

We Become Acquainted
We hopped on for our first, triumphant ride. The riding position was great, the tapered aluminum handlebar bent in a classic motocross curve. Rubber-damped pegs waited right where one's feet would have them. The rounded seat had us skeptical, but the seat/tank transition was dirtbike smooth, allowing one to crawl freely over the KTM. The engine was the wonderful 75-degree, counterbalanced marvel we had grown to love in the Adventure. The SM revs quicker and is stronger through the midrange, due to its slicker airbox and pipe arrangement. Its 87.6-hp peak is down 1.3 ponies versus our '05 Adventure.

The carbureted, catalyst-equipped 950 engine needs the handlebar-mounted choke in the morning, and with its light flywheels it is likely to stall if you're not careful for the first few miles.

The combination of a shorter wheelbase (thanks to a shorter fork and swingarm, and stiffer suspension) make the Supermoto even more wheelie-happy than the Adventure. And that, dear reader, is where the fun begins. For is there any word in the language that conveys more sheer, exuberant joy than the verb "wheelie"? This thing paws at the sky after every stop sign like a Lipizzaner stallion. It sits up and begs, no clutch required, when it hits the powerband in second gear. It waves its front wheel at the adoring crowd, like Queen Elizabeth in an open carriage, over every hump in the road.

Then we hit our first real corner. And quickly realized, as in that famous scene in The Crying Game, that something was very wrong. As it was set up from KTM, the SM simply wouldn't hold a line in a corner, even at relatively wimpy lean angles. Steering was twitchy and imprecise. The wide, 120/70-ZR17 front tire would track along any ridge or seam in the road when tilted, pretty much dissolving its rider's confidence. And the front end was amazingly harsh over small bumps--not at all the compliant, supermoto-style ride we were expecting.

OK, Touch That Dial
So we started fiddling. The suspension components are first-class WP pieces, the fork a stout 48mm inverted number with all the adjustability one typically finds on real motocrossers. All the damping dials were in the "normal" settings, as dictated by the sticker under the seat. We started backing off the damping, everywhere. Things changed - but not nearly enough. The front end simply wouldn't settle into a corner the way it should. Finally, in desperation, we backed the fork preload to full soft. KTM recommends the same five turns in on the neat fork-top hex nut for every riding and payload situation from "Comfort" to "Sport".  So imagine our surprise when this minor tweak absolutely transformed the SM.

The 950 SM was starting to show signs of its true corner-carving worth.

Taking A Load Off
The primary test rider in question weighs a goodly sum, truth be told. So why did making the front preload softer make such a dramatic improvement? It seems that for all its essential goodness, the 950 SM is absurdly sensitive to its front-to-rear suspension balance.

The sticker also recommends no changes in rear preload, no matter what you carry or how fast you carry it. But now, giddy with our newfound suspension-tuning genius, we set to the rear shock with drifts, hammers and implements of construction.

To put more weight on the front we dialed rear preload up one turn, rode and smiled. We spun it up a couple more turns, and smiled some more. With the damping still set full loose, the bike was fun, ridable, but, well, loose. So we dialed the recommended damping settings back in. The rear end was now riding relatively high, so we tried to dial some preload back into the fork. Nothing doing. Harshness and oddness started to creep back in. No matter what we did anywhere else, the fork simply wouldn't accept more than one turn of preload.

Suspension thus dialed, we rode. And smiled. Rode some more. And grinned so hard, we may have pulled a lip muscle.

Chassis tuning is a long, hard battle with compromise after compromise. Or so we thought until we rode this particular two-wheeled starlet. Can a motorcycle steer with flickable ease, yet remain precise, rock-solid and incredibly stable at any lean angle? Apparently so. Can a bike want to stand up on its hind wheel exiting any corner, and yet feel totally planted at the front, with excellent feedback, while in said corner? This one can.

Can a sit-up, dirtbike-derived machine eat hunched-over sportbikes, of any size or nationality, for lunch? Uh huh.

Can a motorcycle let a grizzled old motorcycle tester with 30 years in the biz go faster down a particular favorite road than he's ever gone before? And make him feel safer, more comfortable and more controlled every foot of the way?

Once dialed in properly, this thing is essentially perfect. The trellis steel-tube frame is as stiff as ... well, fill in your own simile here, so we don't get into even more trouble. The front brakes, lovely radial Brembos with four separate pads in each four-piston caliper, are almost too perfect. They have amazing initial bite, so much so that using one finger is not just possible, it's necessary. The suspension works beautifully, and is comprehensively adjustable. If you know what you're doing with the myriad damping screws and knobs you can dial in anything from trail-rider plush to roadracer snubbed.

We Attain Nirvana

Many motorcycles have great individual parts. But few, if any, combine those parts to work so amazingly well together. Like the controls and switchgear of a Lexus, each control's response gives you valuable lessons on how all the others will work, even before you've used them.

The engine is smooth, strong and flexible, with very good carburetion: it has the low-end power to pull you away from an apex with confidence and authority, the midrange to slide the rear tire - or not -predictably, and the top end to launch you to the next braking point. The brakes are very strong, but also highly controllable, and the lovely suspension performance and spot-on geometry make the transition from tire-moaning braking to full-lean cornering not just confidence-inspiring, but actually fun.

The tires, Pirelli Scorpion Syncs, are sticky, predictable, and contribute mightily to the SM's unflappable equilibrium. And the upright, natural riding stance and wide bar allows you to throw the SM through esses.

After a few corners, the bike seems to fall from your consciousness, and suddenly it's just you, road and speed. And soon even speed seems to disappear. At its best, this thing works so well it seems to make time slow down, giving you the mental elbow room you need to see things more clearly, carve lines more precisely, make corrections before they're needed. You feel like you could work a Rubik's Cube while you ride. It's that good.

Yes, there are a few fruit flies struggling in the marmalade. The looks, for one. The price, for another, a good three grand over a good J-spec superbike with less weight and nearly twice the urge. The log-shaped seat, which is fine for a 50-mile roll in the asphalt, but no prize on a longer trip. And the lack of easy adjustability for rear preload, which wouldn't be a problem if the SM wasn't so sensitive to changes there. But after one ride on your favourite road, the one where the kids on the 600 sportbikes lie in wait, you'll realize this thing has your number.

Source Motorcyclist