Ode to my Monster…
It’s the quiver through the bars as the brake’s released, and the shimmy from the rear when the throttle opens up again. It’s the mid-corner chink of a peg, worn sliders and perforated boots. It’s head down, arse up and it bellows, ‘hang on!’ It’s the pop of the exhaust when the throttle closes again. It’s a commuter, a tourer, a racer, a ticket to see the world. It’s stress relief – dancing through the Dales, without a care. It’s two up comfort and solo bedlam. It’s the Ducati Monster and it’s medicine. Jeremy Dixon, email