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In its element, which, let's be clear, is tight and twisty ribbons of asphalt, the MV Agusta Rivale is an absolutely sublime machine, ready to attack a corner with precision and honk a wheelie on its way out, its three-cylinder wail filling your ear holes with pure auditory bliss. In most other environments, however, the Rivale makes me do something I rarely do on a motorcycle: look for the shortest way home. But let's be real for a second: nobody will be looking in the Rivale's direction for a machine on
