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From Bologna, I made my way south on the Autostrada to Rome, arriving at my sister's place in a light rain. Rome is a city best explored by motorcycle or motorino. But motorini are second-class citizens in Rome's vehicular hierarchy. While in Rome, I carried several passengers: my sister's best friend from Bethesda and my father, whom I gave a ride to Trastevere with his watercolor pad under his arm. Good times.
After the wedding, I headed back to San Liberale to work at the Motoraduno Ducati. My German came in handy, and I learned what more things were called in Italian. Except for Maurizio, English was not really an option. The Ducati Raduno was as they eccezionale. I did not appreciate the wealth of Ducati's at the time, but there were F1 Santamonica's, Mike Hailwood Replicas, and bunches of lesser models present. We rode bikes up to Cima Grappa, where a huge ossario contains the remains of 100,000 war dead. We toured wineries, and took a major field trip back to the Ducati factory, where I met Fabio Taglioni and the factory PR director Nadia. We took home all kinds of swag.
Maurizio let me ride one of the bikes from his stable, a retired TT2 racer with a red tubular frame. It had been converted to mono shock, and was certainly a trick bike. I would later take it for a spin in the Dolomites with the Kiwi's.
Toward the end of the weekend, Maurizio asked if I would like to come back and work over the summer. I suppose he saw that my Italian was progressing to the point that I could communicate with others besides him. And besides, I could split up wood from the giant woodpile adjacent to the kitchen door as fast as anyone. They had tentatively hired a good-natured, tall, and handsome fellow but he was turning out to be rather slow. He did however bring in meticulously stacked boxes of wood! He had, as another boss was fond of saying, "no sense of urgency." I told Maurizio I had promised a friend that I would visit him in Berlin first, but afterward, why not?
The rest of the week was spent more or less taking the Laverda in to get new tires and a good servicing before heading north. I got the hang of the San Liberale pace. Work like mad on the weekend so that Tuesday is free for motorcycling. We would sit out front on the patio with our latte macchiato's and listen to the motorcycles coming up the road. "Bicilindrico? No? Quattro? Forse Walter sul Benelli." As often as not, we were right about the motorcycle if not the person riding it.
Posted by Underblog at February 28, 2006 7:16 AM
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