and after each ride , helpless before its superbly managed savagery . I could do nothing but abase myself before it . And it also made me into a serial killer – obsessed , psychotic , focused on nothing but the kill … erm , ride – and aching and sweating until the next kill … erm , ride . To say I loved it would only be partially correct . I did love it , but I was also little insane about it . The Irish have the perfect word for it . Fey . I was as fey about the Panigale as an Irishman with a belly full of
Guinness , a handful of broken fightingbottle , and a Leprechaun for a slave . The Panigale was with me for ten days . I rode it every day . On some days , I rode it twice . I took it touring , for pity ’ s sake ! I did one unhinged over-nighter via a pitiless broken bitumen . And then back again – dry-eyed and feral with intent . My wife , who is well used to my strange and wicked ways , was starting to notice things were not the normal strange and wicked .
KIWI RIDER 51