Last summer I stopped at a petrol station in the Dales — 60 miles in, shaking out my hands, dreading the ride home.
A lad on an R1 pulled up. Noticed me flexing my wrists.
"How long you been fighting that?"
"Three years," I admitted. "Tried everything."
He pulled off his glove. Underneath was a slim black wrap around his wrist — barely noticeable.
"Motowrap. Compression support. Keeps the tendons stable without restricting movement."
"Does it actually work on a sport bike? Tucked position and all that?"
He smiled. "Mate, I just did the Snake Pass and Cat & Fiddle back to back. Hands feel fresh."
I ordered one that night.