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" to "I'm carrying Kirstie Alley before her weight-loss program." So imagine our surprise when this minor tweak absolutely transformed the SM.
The sun rose. Clouds parted. Birds started singing. Charlize yawned, reached over and gave us a long, sweet kiss, even before we'd brushed our teeth. 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.
Whether you hang off road-race style or stick out a boot and play supermoto-man, the 950 SM is always willing and usually able. Pirelli Scorpion Sync tires offer prodigious grip, while radially mounted calipers grabbing streetbike-spec discs are almost too powerful for their own good.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? As Charlize would say, "Yes, yes, omigod YES!"
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.
Dyno ChartWe 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 like Jack Nicholson slapping Faye Dunaway in Chinatown.
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 favorite road, the one where the kids on the 600 sportbikes lie in wait, you'll realize this thing has your number. -MC