That’s how much bhp the 576cc bike kicks out @ 13,000rpm!

reduced on corner exit. It was an art form, which I most certainly didn’t master, but I began to acknowledge what was needed and it felt awesome on the few occasions I got my exits spot-on. It became customary for the rear of the bike to squat as the super-grippy 17-inch Dunlop slicks did their best to keep traction, but that wasn’t always possible. Even they had a limit and breaking traction was the sweetest sensation of all, even if it was only by the slightest of margins. Apparently, just five laps of testing were stipulated for the MMX, but I must have missed that part in the morning’s briefing. By the ninth lap I was in my element, well and truly at home on the tiny and focused race bike, lapping up every second of the experience. Lines learned, apexes became a doddle to nail and the wheelies out of corners had become predictable and manageable. Even the track’s downhill first corner, which is approached from nearly 170mph, didn’t prove a challenge to slow the bike down for and pitch into – quite unlike the story at the beginning of the test, at which point the rear end was wagging like a dog’s tail and causing me to overshoot the crucial tip-in point. But that was now a distant memory; I’d reached motorcycling nirvana. Never before had a motorcycle made me feel so alive, or sounded so good. The MMX was as much a sensual experience as a physical one, which ended far too soon for my liking. Twelve laps completed, I couldn’t pretend to not see the hi-viz wearing, clip-board waving, angry looking technician for another three laps.