W
hen something’s right, it’s right. Right?
My eyes simply devoured this thing.
From every angle it was exciting,
while still managing to somehow exude
fierce functionality. I threw a leg over and my
knees slid down the tank recesses like keys
into well-oiled locks. I swear I could feel ‘Iron
Man’ armour enclosing my body. I leaned
onto the bars and felt my whole being click
into place, alert, supported. I have never
fitted a bike so naturally, right off the bat.
Like slipping on a condom… umm, I’ll stop
with the analogies because it’ll just get all
unnecessary. My brother recently told me
not to be effusive in bike reviews. Sorry,
FO, the Aprilia is a weapon - ‘amissis arma
pro ones licentiam’ [latin rambling about
losing your weapons license – Ed].
But until then, joy unconfined.
While on an aesthetic level the Tuono V4 RR
impresses like a supermodel, it’s the technical
delivery that precipitates descent into the fiery
pits of hell – and I mean that in a good way –
like only committed sinners will comprehend.
For a start this fire-breathing, four-cylinder
redhead is fitted with an Akrapovic pipe, so
four trumpets into one are going to pipe your
arrival at the Styx. The dealer’s delivery dude,
a devilish Mike Cross, says, in effect, “If you are
going to play the piper, you may as well be
heard” and then took the baffles out. Crikey.
If there is a dark argument to be made for
saying no to the electric bikes of an oil-
weary future, then this bike is Cerberus,
the hound of hell, barking ferociously
against the squealing electro-bland.
So, hound barley on the leash, off I went
in search of underpasses and long echoey
KIWI RIDER 41