moment when I have to do an illegal U-turn
(not in front of a Highway Patrol car), and
ride back through a corner so Mr Edards can
make a photograph.
You get three riding modes, Sport, Touring,
and Urban. Sport is for high holy days when
the force is with you and you’re riding like a
supercharged spider monkey.
Touring is where most of my time with the
Hypermotard was spent. It offers a notably
smoother power delivery (still the whole 114
horsies), and that delivery made my manic
inputs less terrifying. So maybe the former
mode before lunch and the latter after lunch.
Or vice-versa. Only you can make that posthamburger
call. I tried Urban mode briefly and
then ignored it, because it’s not the boss of me.
Polishing that arsenal is a goodly suite of
electronic assistance – Bosch Cornering ABS
(in six axiseses...), as well as Ducati traction
Control (DTC) and Ducati Wheelie Control
(DWC). Which allegedly stops you backflipping
the bike while courting young ladies.
I loved the sense of empowerment the
Hypermotard offered me. It was up for it
if I was up for it.
Art used to do that to me all the time. He was
very good at it. He assuaged my self-doubt and
made me feel like anything was possible, even
if it was immoral, illegal, or mortally dangerous.
Because if we didn’t get caught and we didn’t
die, we’d laugh about it afterwards.
I spent a lot of time laughing on the
Hypermotard. Each time I’d put it through
Mother Putty’s Ten-Mile snake-bite, and when
I’d glance at either the entry speed or the exit
KIWI RIDER 47