My Journey with the 996s Ducati
Alright, so I finally got my hands on this Ducati 996s. It wasn’t exactly pristine, let me tell you. More like a project someone gave up on, which, you know, is right up my alley. I’ve always believed the best way to know a machine is to get your hands dirty, really dirty.
First thing I did was just stare at it for a good long while. Parked it in the garage, cracked open a drink, and just looked. You gotta understand the beast before you try to tame it, or in this case, fix it. The previous owner had a list of “minor issues,” which, as anyone who’s bought a used Italian bike knows, usually means a Pandora’s box of electrical gremlins and mechanical quirks.
So, the teardown began. I decided to start with the basics: fluids, filters, and a good old visual inspection. Pulled off the fairings, which on these things is an art form in itself. Lots of hidden bolts and tabs just waiting to snap if you’re not careful. Found a bit of a mess under there – some dodgy wiring, a bit of corrosion. Nothing too shocking, thankfully.
Then came the engine. I wasn’t planning a full rebuild, not initially anyway. But you know how it goes. One thing leads to another.
- Checked the valve clearances. Desmo valves, man. They’re cool, but adjusting them is a whole ritual. Took me a solid weekend, mostly because I was triple-checking everything. Didn’t want to mess that up.
- Flushed the coolant. The old stuff looked like swamp water.
- Changed the oil and filter. Standard stuff, but still satisfying.
The real “fun” started with the clutch. These Ducatis, especially the older dry clutch models like the 996s, they rattle like a can of bolts. Some people love it. Me, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t rattling because it was about to explode. Pulled the clutch pack out. Plates were a bit worn, but the basket looked okay, surprisingly. Decided to replace the plates anyway, just for peace of mind. Getting that big circlip off without the special tool? Let’s just say some creative language was used.
I spent weeks, pretty much every evening after my day job, and all my weekends in that garage. It felt like a proper “996” schedule, but for the bike, not for some soul-crushing office gig. My wife started calling the Ducati my “other woman.” Can’t blame her, I was obsessed.
Reassembly was slow. I took photos of everything during disassembly, thank goodness. But there’s always that one bolt, that one connector you can’t quite remember where it goes. Lots of consulting the workshop manual, which, by the way, sometimes feels like it was translated from Italian to Japanese, then to English by someone who only speaks Martian.
Finally, the moment of truth. Put some fresh fuel in, connected the battery (after cleaning all the terminals, of course), and hit the starter. It coughed, sputtered, and then… ROARED to life. Man, that sound. There’s nothing quite like a Ducati twin thumping away, especially one you’ve poured your own sweat and blood into.
Took it for a short spin around the block. Still a few things to iron out, a little hesitation off idle, maybe a sensor that’s still a bit grumpy. But it ran. It moved under its own power. And that, my friends, is a victory. It’s not just about owning a Ducati 996s; it’s about understanding it, reviving it. That’s the real practice, the real record I wanted to keep.
