its ergos, and its tetchy thought-sharp handling.
I couldn’t.
The fuelling was spot on. It fed me 96Nm,
belting its 178kg (dry) and me off three grand
like a two-am backhander. I sat on it like a
demented ape, high and proud with my elbows
up like a true motard-beast, and I did not once
curse the seat. There really is no need for
motorcycle companies to inflict buttockcruelty
on us in 2020, and Bologna
understands this for the most part. You can
actually put in a long day atop the
Hypermotard’s bum-vinyl, and no-one was
more surprised about this than me. Yeah, you
will feel like you’ve been for a ride, but you’ll
be walking unaided into the pub. That’s a
good result in my world.
The handling, which is sharp and fast, as it
must be, did take me some time to absorb –
probably six or seven corners. And then it was
all fierce intent.
“It’s a Ducati,” I would tell myself each time I
felt somewhat over-committed approaching
a corner. “It’s handling incarnate. Shut-up.
Jesus hates a pussy.”
And so it went. Every time. I never wished the
Hypermotard would do anything “better”, but
I often wished I could.
I found it tall (870mm), and you do sit very
much “on” it. So care must be taken when
you’re paddling it around parking or doing
slow, feet-down, spasmo U-turns. I had a brief
slippery moment when the whole carnival
came close to setting me on my rump and
falling atop of me. But that was just me
being short and fumbly in that lurching
42 KIWI RIDER