Don Brown, a prominent motorcycle-industry analyst, advised T.P.G. during the acquisition. “The top people at Texas Pacific just thought Ducatis were beautiful and figured that, with good management, any problems could be solved,” he says. (T.P.G. and Cagiva declined to comment for this story.)

Mistakes were made. In 1997, T.P.G. brought in a new C.E.O., the Italian-born Federico Minoli, from the consulting firm Bain & Co. It was a baffling choice. “Minoli is a very personable guy,” Brown says, “but he was the wrong man for that job. He knew nothing about the motorcycle industry.”

He knew America, though. A former Procter & Gamble exec, Minoli spoke fluent English and was enthusiastic about marketing Ducati more aggressively. “The first thing to do is crank out as many [Ducatis] as you can,” he said in 1999. “I don’t believe in scarcity.” To emulate Harley-Davidson’s model of brand extension, Minoli shifted into overdrive to establish “a Ducati way of life.” He opened a Manhattan flagship store and pushed for expensive upgrades for Ducati dealerships. Events like World Ducati Week and Ducati Revs America drew thousands of fans to Italy and Las Vegas. A limited-­edition Ducati with a matte-silver finish appeared in the 1998 Neiman Marcus Christmas catalog, and a Ducati even made a flashy cameo in the 1999 film The Matrix.

But Minoli’s strategy was a woeful mismatch with Ducati’s rarefied customer base, whose members didn’t appreciate laying out that kind of cash just to share the road with faux connoisseurs. “T.P.G. saw a brand that could be marketed to sell significant amounts of fashion apparel and expensive riding gear—like Harley does, but without the rhinestones,” Falco says. “However, to do that required them to continue selling desirable motorcycles. And that’s where things went wrong.”

T.P.G.’s biggest blunder was in design. It had failed to secure the services of two of Ducati’s leading designers, Tamburini and Galluzzi, in the deal. Had it been buying, say, the New York Yankees, surely T.P.G. wouldn’t have overlooked Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter, but it underestimated the absolute importance of retaining Ducati’s stars. The defections cost Ducati its hallmark sex appeal. Despite the short-lived improvements in manufacturing and financial discipline, the loss of those designers made T.P.G.’s high-profile purchase begin to look like high-priced folly.

Partnering with the Italian unit of Deutsche Bank, T.P.G. bought the remaining 49 percent of Ducati in 1998 for a reported $174 million, bringing the total price to between $400 million and $500 million. A year later, T.P.G. took the company public and unloaded 65 percent of its stock to raise about $285 million. Minoli relocated Ducati North America from New Jersey to Northern California, 3,000 miles farther from Bologna—diluting its influence and puzzling industry analysts.

Not only did Ducati no longer have Tamburini or Galluzzi to create a new signature model, but its competitors were catching up in matters of style and engineering. In response, Ducati charged designer Terblanche with replacing the classic, though aging, 916. Terblanche’s marching orders, says Lock, were to build a machine without referencing its predecessor. Terblanche came up with the lean, minimalist 999, a radical departure from anything on the market. It was more powerful than the 916, with quicker handling and better ergonomics, but fans didn’t demonstrate their customary affection. “Design really is a fickle beast that isn’t tamed by mere business plans,” says Falco. “It’s not a matter of cutting pennies here and there in manufacturing and shipping, but of appealing in some elusive way to the whims of the customer.”