To The Crusher - Bimota Tesi 1D

Still burping the last of Aprilia's Moto' 6.5 The Crusher opens wide for Bimota's oddball Tesi 1D...

Bimota's chief engineer Pier Luigi Marconi conceived the bike that (bar the V-Due) become the biggest albatross around Bimota's neck while still at college.

Two swingarms bolted to the engine removed the need for a frame, which slashed weight and the clever front swingarm isolated braking, turning and suspension forces via a cunning system of ball joints and rods. Sheer genius. Until you rode it...

Pulling away was unnerving, not just because everyone was staring (costing £25,000 in 1990, the Tesi was the zenith of exotica), but because the steering was so stiff below 20mph that you zig-zagged like a four year-old on his first real bicycle.

Should it all go wrong, the tiniest spill could dent that exposed front swingarm to the tune of needing a new one - get the cheque book out, again. But don't hold your breath - spares were notoriously hard to come by.

But what of the lack of dive under braking that let you brake harder, later, and turn all at once? Well, it worked in theory but in practice you swiftly found the lack of dive brought with it an utter abscence of feel for what the front tyre was up to. A (much faster than usual) crash on the brakes was the only result of pushing the Tesi's envelope for most.

Then there was the fully-adjustable suspension that needed several degrees in rocket science to even approach a useful set-up (by all accounts no-one ever managed), the exhausts that melted your boots and the sky-high price that unfortunately clashed with the beginning of a world-wide recession.

To quote ex-Bimota salesman and TWO Publishing Director Jim Bowen: "I had to snigger - banking a 25 grand cheque knowing depreciation meant we'd probably buy the bike back for a fifth of that a year later."

To the crusher with you, you over-priced Italian shed.

Bimota's chief engineer Pier Luigi Marconi conceived the bike that (bar the V-Due) become the biggest albatross around Bimota's neck while still at college.

Two swingarms bolted to the engine removed the need for a frame, which slashed weight and the clever front swingarm isolated braking, turning and suspension forces via a cunning system of ball joints and rods. Sheer genius. Until you rode it...

Pulling away was unnerving, not just because everyone was staring (costing £25,000 in 1990, the Tesi was the zenith of exotica), but because the steering was so stiff below 20mph that you zig-zagged like a four year-old on his first real bicycle.

Should it all go wrong, the tiniest spill could dent that exposed front swingarm to the tune of needing a new one - get the cheque book out, again. But don't hold your breath - spares were notoriously hard to come by.

But what of the lack of dive under braking that let you brake harder, later, and turn all at once? Well, it worked in theory but in practice you swiftly found the lack of dive brought with it an utter abscence of feel for what the front tyre was up to. A (much faster than usual) crash on the brakes was the only result of pushing the Tesi's envelope for most.

Then there was the fully-adjustable suspension that needed several degrees in rocket science to even approach a useful set-up (by all accounts no-one ever managed), the exhausts that melted your boots and the sky-high price that unfortunately clashed with the beginning of a world-wide recession.

To quote ex-Bimota salesman and TWO Publishing Director Jim Bowen: "I had to snigger - banking a 25 grand cheque knowing depreciation meant we'd probably buy the bike back for a fifth of that a year later." To the crusher with you, you over-priced Italian shed.