Motorcycle culture from the manufacturing side has always been a minor fascination for me—to watch how each maker approaches a market segment and how each decides to compete. With today's worldwide manufacturing resources, it's not like the Japanese companies have an inherent advantage in one area and, say, the Europeans another. They'll ship CNC machines, design consoles, and talent anywhere a truck can go.

The products we ride every month represent a combination of manufacturing capability, design ethos, market research (and interpretation thereof), and, to a strong degree, internal cultural bias. It’s like the questions are: Who are we as a company, and why do we make products the way we do?

Some of that comes from tribal knowledge that transcends documentation. For example, several of the engineers and development test riders I know from book projects involving Ducati and Suzuki are still at their posts. Having spoken with them, sometimes at great length, I feel like I can sense their hands on the product, even as far down the food chain as a finished motorcycle. They are truly skilled development engineers all, but it's also fair to say each has a bias or maybe a set of preferences that do ultimately inform the product.

Culture in a motorcycle company is more ingrained, more complicated than one player can effectively influence, of course. I sense that most of all from Ducati, whose predilection to sportbikes runs deep. Even models that aren’t pure sportbikes—the Multistrada and the Scrambler, for example—have not just stylistic attributes of street-going racers but some of their very mannerisms.

I just spent a couple of days on the Scrambler, a bike whose appearance I like and whose price is fantastic, just $8,500 (see the Scrambler First Ride here). But as I understand the marketing here, the Scrambler is supposed to appeal to the same buyer as the Triumph Bonneville, the urban, ironic, modern rider who wants a "genuine" experience on a back-to-basics machine. Many of them are new to the sport. And yet, in my view, the Scrambler's suspension is far too stiff, and the throttle response is off-the-charts too abrupt. If someone of my experience has to concentrate on riding smoothly, what's it going to be like for the true beginner?

There’s no question that the Scrambler would be a better motorcycle with smoother throttle response and softer suspension—especially for the intended buyers. But would it be a Ducati? Ducati’s aren’t soft; they’re taut, eager, and ready to jet forward at the slightest command. If the Scrambler were all marshmallow-like, would it still be a Ducati? I think that’s a question asked often during development, and there was a conscious decision to give it this hard edge.

I have a similar reaction to the Suzuki GSX-S750 reviewed in the June issue of Motorcyclist ( see GSX-S750 First Ride here) . As the former owner of a 2005 GSX-R750, I was hoping for some of the supersport's aggressiveness and visceral thrill. It's not there in the –S, and I know why. Marketing wants to create a clear wedge between the GSX-S and the true GSX-R; one cannot encroach on the other's territory. Too bad. Were it up to me, I'd shoehorn in a full-strength GSX-R750 engine and tell the guys in fuel injection to clamp down on the secondaries for markets where licensing or taxation demands something close to 100 hp. Little to no engineering required. Then you could let the crazy-ass Americans have the full dose—127 rear-wheel horsepower or so. The GSX-S would then be an epically fun bike for $7,999. Simple, right? I guess it's telling that for all the time I've spent in Hamamatsu, no one from Suzuki has ever asked for a résumé.