2018 SuperADVbike Showdown In The Desert

When my plane out of Syracuse left the runway, it was 20 degrees and spitting snow. Two days later, I was descending into the Mojave Desert in 100-degree heat, practically cooking sous vide inside my gear. When Zack and Ari asked me to fly out to Southern California to test the 2018 Ducati Multistrada S, BMW R 1200 GS, and KTM 1290 Super Adventure S, I imagined riding through gently waving palm trees in cool coastal breezes. Instead, we set a course for the San Jacinto Mountains and the brutal sun of the desert. Additionally, it was immediately clear that, like a Canada goose trying to keep up with a pair of condors, I have nowhere near the pace to keep up with Zack and Ari. But on this batch of highly capable ADV bikes, even though I was out of my element and out of my depth, I couldn’t have felt more in control. Let’s Talk Bikes.

While BMW, Ducati, and KTM each have more off-road-oriented ADVs—the R 1200 GS Adventure, the Multistrada Enduro, and the 1290 Super Adventure R (not to mention, the 1090 Adventure R), respectively—the models we chose for this comparison skew toward the sport-tour side of the spectrum: that’s 370 combined horsepower intended (mostly) for the middle of the road.

Related: The 2018 Triumph Tiger 1200 Is A Two-Wheeled Land Rover

On paper, our Euro contenders appear to be quite similar. They each have two cylinders, trellis frames, a dizzying array of electronics, and top-spec components. Yes, they cost a lot, but you get a lot for the money: lean-angle-sensitive traction control, electronically adjustable semi-active suspension, hill-hold control, up/down quickshifter, cornering-optimized ABS, keyless ignition, heated grips, cruise control, tire pressure monitoring, and the kitchen sink. While they’re functionally very comparable, the way they go about doing it all is very different.

The BMW R 1200 GS is the progenitor of the category and remains the benchmark. The base-model GS comes in at $16,695, but our test unit (in attractive Lupine Blue Metallic, for all the horticulturalists out there) came equipped with several options, including the Premium Package, the Style Package 1, GPS, Passenger Kit, and Sport Suspension. All told, our test unit cost $22,415. Actually, $23,854 including side cases.

Since I’m still fairly new to this motojournalism gig, I’ll sheepishly admit, the venerable GS is the first BMW I’ve ever ridden. Yes, that’s like a restaurant critic who’s never had pizza. Make that bratwurst.

As I told Zack as soon as I got off it for the first time: “I totally get it.” If BMW cars are generally regarded as thoroughly engineered luxury/performance vehicles, BMW motorcycles add a distinctive quirkiness to the formula. Opposed-twin engines and asymmetrical styling, I once thought, maybe aren’t for everyone. Well, now that I’ve supped at the BMW beer hall, I retract my previous statement.

As soon as you rev the big wasserboxer, feel the lilt of the torque pulses, and revel in its Wagnerian exhaust note, the quirkiness translates to genuine affection. A measured 101 hp is the lowest of the batch (the last GS we had on the dyno produced 113 hp), but it never feels underpowered—unless you’ve just gotten off the KTM. Cruising at 75 mph on the freeway, the BMW starts to get a bit buzzy in the pegs and grips, and the engine feels like it’s straining, even though it’s spinning at about 4,500 rpm.

At 573 pounds (wet), the GS is the heaviest bike here, but once aboard, the way it carries its weight low in the chassis makes low-speed maneuvering incredibly predictable. I’d go so far as to say that swinging the bars from stop to stop in first gear on the GS made me more comfortable at low speeds on any bike. Can a motorcycle be altruistic?

Riding through the sweeping corners of the Idyllwild National Forest Highway gave me another insight into why the GS breeds such allegiance. The telelever front suspension isolates throttle and brake inputs from the front end, which means getting off the throttle midcorner or applying the front brake doesn’t affect handling—only speed. Plus, because telelever front ends don’t dive when you touch the brakes (which would steepen rake), the rake is set quite steep, so the bike turns quickly and with a light touch. In the corners, it made me more aware of my steering inputs at the bar. I’m accustomed to using the throttle to stand the bike up on corner exits, but on the GS, I had the sensation of having to countersteer out of corners. It doesn’t take long to get used to, and it’s incredibly reassuring, especially on unfamiliar and potentially gravelly roads. Plus, it soaks up bumps like it’s its job—which I guess it is.

The GS automatically selects damping based on the preset riding mode. Unfortunately, other than spring preload, it doesn’t allow the rider to tailor individual suspension—or engine mapping, ABS, or traction control settings—within each mode. So if you’re in touring mode for the sake of comfy damping rates, you also get a more intrusive traction control setting. BMW does a good job with the presets, but not allowing the rider ultimate adjustability makes the system seem a generation behind.

The up/down quickshifter also seems behind the curve. It simply isn’t as smooth and unobtrusive as the KTM’s and Ducati’s.

Whereas the BMW lags a bit behind in the electronics department, it compensates in the ergonomic and luggage departments. I found the seating position the most comfortable of all three bikes. It rotated my body to rest more on the meat of my tuchus (what little there is, candidly) rather than on…um…parts that aren’t meant for sitting. The combination of windscreen and airfoils offered the best wind protection of the lot, though the screen-adjuster knob is situated on the throttle side, which is annoying.

The Multistrada and Super Adventure probably only exist because of the GS, and it’s easy to see why it created a new genre of motorcycling three decades ago. The GS is a bike clearly designed by logic, but it’s logic applied in a way that enhances the inherent charm of the layout. It makes it a supremely capable, endearing machine, if a little too composed compared to the competition.

Continuing our ride on California State Route 74, the road becomes Pines to Palms Highway as it traverses the lunar-like landscape of the San Jacinto Mountains. On one side of the range, it’s green with pine and scrubby plants; on the other side it’s arid and 20 degrees hotter, planted with palm trees and irrigated turf. Like the twisty mountain road that links the two landscapes, the Multistrada represents a link between the sport-touring and traditional ADV worlds, coalescing in one tidy, tech-laden package.

Related: The 2018 Ducati Multistrada 1260 S Touring Might Be The Best Heist Bike Ever

Considering the Multistrada is such a big motorcycle, it feels surprisingly small. So small, in fact, that I think it broadens the appeal of the ADV category. It feels more like a normal motorcycle, not like some Mad Max tank killer like the KTM. It still has long-travel suspension (though 1.2 inches less than the BMW and KTM), good wind protection, and all the other great features we love about ADVs.

Consistent with its relatively lithe stature, the Ducati handles with the lightest touch. At 553 pounds (wet), it’s just heavier than the KTM, but its handling is the most nimble and athletic. To me, it handles like a tall Panigale, responding telepathically to initial steering input from upright. Ducati likes to play up its superbike roots when talking about its non-superbike motorcycles, and by disguising the bike’s larger stature with quick handling, it’s clear that’s what Borgo Panigale is going for with the Multi.

However, Ducati’s Skyhook semi-active suspension didn’t provide the same on-rails feel of a superbike—or of KTM’s WP system. It felt, well, more suspended from the sky than glued to the pavement. Ari commented that even in the hardest damping setting he thought the suspension was too soft and rebounded too quickly, resulting in a vague, almost sloppy feeling in fast corners. The front end also felt a bit nervous under Ari-level (read: hard) trail-braking. Front end weight bias or geometry may be to blame here.

With a 1.9-inch-longer wheelbase and one degree less rake compared to the previous model, it was surprising that it felt less stable. None of these gripes, however, made me feel less confident in the corners, but I do wonder if Ducati’s chassis updates came off quite as intended.

With 1,262cc, variable valve-timing, a measured 138 hp, and 86 pound-feet of torque, the Ducati is the most powerful bike of the group, beating out the KTM by 9 hp. Of the three bikes, it spins up the quickest and the power delivery feels the most raw. Ducati-like, in other words. While the numbers don’t lie, our butt dynos certainly were deceived. In spite of putting up big numbers, it doesn’t deliver the oh-s–t levels of performance I’d hoped for.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s exciting-fast—just not superlative-fast, which is what I want out of a $22,595 Ducati. That price, by the way, is for the S model, and includes an extra $200 for the Iceberg White paint and $1,300 for the Touring Pack (touring cases, heated grips, and a centerstand).

The Ducati’s ride modes each have default suspension, engine, traction control, and ABS settings, but unlike the BMW, it allows the rider to change every parameter. Each ride mode is thus a custom mode the rider can tailor to his/her specific tastes. To help the rider determine changes, it has cheat sheet-like notes and graphics that shows what altering a certain preset achieves.

If the Multi’s multitudinous acronyms—ECU, IMU, ABS, DTC, DQS, DWC, DSS, DCL, and VHS—confuse you, just think how the bike feels. At times, it seems like it gets its wires crossed. It’s 2018; gunning the throttle doesn’t just pull a cable. Twisting the grip filters info from the ride-by-wire throttle through the IMU to the ECU before finally getting those 106mm pistons moving faster. It wasn’t a consistent problem, but occasionally the bike would hesitate or accelerate more slowly than at other times. Again, it conveys the feeling that it’s just not as sorted as the other bikes, especially the BMW, which seems like it’s had three decades of refinement by humorless German engineers in white lab coats and bifocals.

The rev-matching up/down quickshifter (DQS, if you’re keeping track) is a gem. The Multi’s hydraulic clutch, though, has a characteristically small friction zone, which caused all of us to stall several times at stoplights. It has a nice, light feel, but with a distracted suburbanite in a Suburban breathing down your neck, you’ll want to give it some gas before releasing the lever.

Although it has some rough edges, if you’re a Ducati fan, that won’t negate your overall enjoyment of the motorcycle. As an owner of a ‘15 899 Panigale, the Multi feels very familiar to me. It makes similar noises, handles with the same light touch, and has that modern Ducati way about it. So, if you love desmo twins as much as I do, (spoiler alert) it’ll be easy to ignore the fact that the KTM exists.

But the KTM does exist. If I owned either the BMW or Ducati, I would justifiably adore them; they both inspire huge pride of ownership and are incredibly competent. But the KTM is the proverbial gun in a knife fight.

It comes down to the engine.

The LC8 motor is a force of nature. Like Louis XIV claiming his absolute power was divinely given, the Katoom flaunts its big stonking engine around with orange-gilded, look-at-me fourth-gear power wheelies. Even though its 129 hp and 85 pound-feet of torque are fewer than the Ducati’s, it feels a heck of a lot stronger. I guess that means its claim to the throne is probably more God-given than Louis’, the little ponce. There’s no other way to explain it (okay, looking at the dyno chart gives a clue).

And it’s more than just the engine. Our test model had the optional Travel Pack (only $525), which adds Hill Hold Control; the excellent up/down quickshifter; and Motor Slip Regulation, which works in conjunction with the IMU-controlled stability control to prevent the rear from sliding when there’s too much torque drag after downshifts. With the $1,200 touring cases, the bike comes to under $20,000. That’s $4,000 less than the BMW.

With big power comes a big machine (unless it’s a Ducati…). While the KTM is the lightest of the group, it’s physically the largest, in part because of its 6.1-gallon fuel tank. And boy does it feel like a large motorcycle. In its lowest seating position, I was very much on my tiptoes; in its tallest position, my feet sort of hovered just above the pavement, which kind of gave that unnerving feeling of walking down a flight of stairs and finding the floor a step before you expect it. “Oh, son of a…uh, never mind, we’re cool…”

It also has the heaviest steering, making the Ducati feel like a welterweight. Through the twisties, though, it’s utterly composed and dead stable. It may take more effort to manhandle the thing around, but its chassis and suspension are so dialed in it hardly matters. Chuck the thing in with abandon, feel the semi-active WP suspension compress, hit the apex, crack open the throttle. The front goes light, the horizon sinks, the exhaust crackles like a Moto3 bike. The pavement parts. All hail the Super Adventure S.

Odin has Sleipnir, an eight-legged flying horse; mankind has the 1290 Super Adventure.

Once I stopped shaking with adrenaline (“compose yourself, Richards; you’re on a touring bike for goodness sake”), I familiarized myself with the KTM’s user interface. Navigating through the menus is easy with up/down/left/right buttons. For those who grew up playing the Sega Genesis, it feels just right. The left button is the back button, so regardless of where you are in the menu, you can always go back without selecting any setting. However, changing settings requires entering the menu and remembering where each setting lives. So if I wanted to turn on the heated grips, I had to ask myself if it was in the “motorcycle” submenu or in the “preferences” submenu. Hmm… Can’t heated grips have their own button on the bars?

The whole system is logical, and like the Ducati, each ride mode’s parameters can be tailored however the rider wishes.

The gearbox is the cream of the crop. It has the slickest box I’ve ever used. Does that shift lever actually connect to anything internal? Like the Ducati, its quickshifter completely obviates the need for the clutch, except when stopping/starting, obviously.

After 13 hours in the saddle on Tuesday, a poor night’s sleep, and a full day at the racetrack in 100-degree heat on Wednesday, we made our way back to the office in Irvine. Riding in gale-force winds leaving the desert, wind turbines in slow relief against the emerald and black night sky, the KTM gave me renewed energy. On top of doing all the things an ADV is supposed to, it’s simply an exciting motorcycle.

For well-heeled riders who’ve had enough with torture-rack sportbikes but who still want all the excitement and some added practicality, this group of bikes makes ditching clip-ons an enticing proposition.

The KTM is our unanimous winner, thanks to its price, its engine, and the way every element is so thoroughly vetted. It’s like a VFR on steroids.

The BMW and Ducati are harder to choose between because they have such different personalities. The BMW is all refinement and subtlety, while the Ducati is more raw and in your face. I’ll give the BMW the nod for second because of its superior level of refinement. It’s funny, we all agree the KTM is the winner, yet we all have this gut feeling that the Beemer by rights should be on top. Berlin’s flagship is utterly, unfailingly, remarkably good.

To some, the Multistrada’s rough edges will make it feel like a work in progress. But as a dyed-in-the-wool sportbike fan, its size and personality make the whole ADV thing feel less like a sacrifice to me. Objectively, it’s more flawed than the others, but it would still likely be the one I’d buy with my own money. Ducatis live under the skin. Taken as a whole package, the Multistrada is almost everything you want out of an Italian sportbike—and it’s not even a sportbike.

The ranking highlights how on paper these bikes seem really similar, but on the road, they each have distinct personalities—and are all exceptional in their own ways. You basically can’t go wrong. Calling them ADV bikes is almost misleading in its categorization. These are SuperADVbikes. Middle of the road never looked so good.

The last GS we had on our dyno made 11 hp more than this test unit. BMW reassured us that Euro 4 regulations were not to blame for the deficiency, though they had no definitive answer to explain the disparity between the two bikes. Peak power is reached at a rational 8,420 rpm. Part of the KTM’s phenomenal power delivery is due to that uber-linear power curve. The Ducati puts up the biggest numbers and has the highest rev ceiling of any bike here, but has a bit less down low compared to the KTM and BMW. It also has the most raw power delivery, though that impression may be partially attributed to fueling.

The BMW appears to have the most peaks and troughs in its torque curve, but on the road it’s the consummate refined package you’d expect. The KTM is a torque monster from low in the rev range. Max torque is delivered nearly 1,000 rpm lower than on the Ducati, and just a couple of electronically indicated hash marks above the BMW. It pulls all day. The DVT-equipped Multistrada 1200 had a glaring dip in midrange torque that the 1260 lump improves upon. Ducati claims an 18-percent increase in midrange torque and that flatter curve says as much.