The sound is directly familiar, a gentle scratch above the engine's fatigue note as the bike cranks through a tense right-hand bend and my knee-scraper brushes the road. Nothing unusual about that, in these days of sharp-handling bikes and plump, sticky tyres. Apart from that the mechanism I'm riding is a BMW the primary boxer that I've ever bended fast enough to get anything other than a centre stand, cylinder head or the toe of a boot touching the ground.

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