call me Fernào from now on...

Fernào Magellan

As you might expect I have been DYING for a little r-n-r on the beach, and since its finally summertime HOT outside I figured there would be more people than in may when I rode out there the first time. I again rode to the town of Ravenna, which is much bigger and seems more metropolitan than Forli or Faenza (the two towns I am between) and met up with Igor. We took the easy bike path out to the coast from there. Along the way there is a giant billboard that you ride under, Igor pointed out that the digital tickers along the bottom count how many bikes ride under it in a single day, at 11 it was already in the thousands! Italy loves bikes!! We get to the seaside and buy some provisions at the local store, full of dudes in boardshorts, and kids with sunscreen on, just like you would imagine in any coastal town on a sunday, and we head for one of the Bani.

The Bani (bagno when there is just one) is the term for the privately owned beach resorts that butt against each other all the way down the coast. At first this sounds like a shitty and commercialized way to go to the beach, and for this so-cal native, driving (riding) down the coast and seeing all the signs for the themed Bani makes it at first feel like some exclusive right of those who can afford it. But they are FREE! They gouge you on overpriced food and drink, but get this...they dont hassle you if you bring your own! I started to realize that Italian and American beach cities are going to differ quite a bit! We cut through a small strip of pine forest, over a big dune, and voila!! TONS of cars and bikes and scooters, and people, kids, twenty-somethings, couples singles, big groups of friends, families, all enjoying the sun, relaxing on blankets and big pillows, straw mats, recliners with sun shades, and cooling off in the warm waters of the Adriatic throughout the day. It was perfect, and made for some GREAT people watching. It was a familiar trip to the beach, but not like any beach scene I've ever been to.

There are the usual tattooed tough guys, but they are much older, and their swim suits are much MUCH smaller. That's right folks, welcome to speedo-ville, where masculinity is not challenged by the fact that everybody can see your balls! And how cute that you want to have a wrestling match with you equally naked buddy in front of your topless girlfriends, that's true european bro-ship man! Seriously for all you perves and boob-men out there, I saw alot of tits yesterday! So many in fact that in just a few short hours (and aided by the fact that I'm more of a "personality-man" than a boob-man) I was almost completely desensitized to it all. The speedos was a different story. Imagine a really tall dude, standing over a group of seated girls talking (probably about how rad he is) all the while randomly cupping his barely covered unit! It was amazing! So different and yet I think by the end of the summer I gotta get me one. Needless to say I really wish I had gotten that tea-bag tattoo before I left the US and A.

Igor and I hit at least three bani, the KUTA, with its cool asian theme, big grassy area, plenty of shade, big throw pillows to lounge around on, and great beach access was where we spent most of the day. We met up with some other friends at another one but I cant remember what it was called, further south down the beach, more adults with kids kinda joint, and a much smaller beach access point. Got another swim in and headed to bagno PeterPan. PeterPan was awesome, and more what I have come to expect from the younger beach goers. Booze. Loads of fruity mixed drinks, and long lines to order them, sunburned bums on pasty white girls, and groups of dudes staring at girls with their bums hanging out of tiny bikinis. Bagno PeterPan is a little slice of Orange County I can do without. I just cant take tough guys seriously to begin with, their bad tribal tattoos that go ALMOST all the way around their overdeveloped biceps, and their perfect haircuts and 2-day stubble, but put that muscle flexing, dumb sounding, kinda-mean-to-his-hott-girlfriend-in-public douchebag in a speedo and I just cant handle it! I will say this about bagno PeterPan - the best damn mixed fruity cocktails I have ever seen. Seriously the bartenders look a little rough and its tough to get eye contact to order, but deep down they are as patient, and friendly, and overworked as the bartenders at the Zeitgeist on a sunday mixing bloodies. I have never seen so much fresh fruit behind a bar before (seriously who guts guava by hand!) and they took their time to shoot the shit while making like 8 mojitos at a time, hand crushed ice and all! Best part though of most of the bani, they have FREE SHOWS!!! We could hear one spot The Hana Bi get going in the evening and I was supposed to meet the record store kids there but the day was getting long! Hana Bi has amazing free shows all summer, and their particular nite to rock is tuesday, with all the other bani taking a weeknite to shine throughout the summer months. Not that I'll ride again, maybe drive to Ravenna with the bikes and ride in. Driving to the beach on a sunday and staying all day results in traffic jams out of town in any country it would seem!

This might be a good point to make a few observations about the Italian people I am really starting to enjoy. As noted, speedos are OK. Little kids and their dads running down the beach chasing a toy boat in matching marble-bags is kinda cute. Girls sunning their boobs although quite the frequent and nonchalant act, was matched with just as many girls self consciously trying to roll over in the sun and NOT expose their boobies. Tough guys with mickey mouse tee-shirts - totally still threatening. There have been several occasions where I saw a shirt that would be more befitting a skinny fixie riding SF hipster kid than the over-sized, stretched out neck version of the ironic tee I am seeing here. Except its not ironic! In Italy its perfectly acceptable to be menacing looking and threatening in speech and wearing a donald duck or snoopy shirt. The american cultural influences seems to have stopped after the war, maybe a little coca-cola, and a Harley here and there but Italians are a self sufficient nation and I dig it!

Igor met up with his lady friend who works at one of the restaurants on the coast and we headed home for the night, back to Ravenna for Gelatto, actually my first since I got here which no one can believe! And Igor pointed me towards the road I needed to get back to the Farm. I think I left Ravenna at about 9:15 (or 21:15 to my Italian readership)!! It was going to be a long and dark ride home, but with the glow of a sunkissed torso (read; sunburned), and an elevated bike path along the river for most of the ride lit up by more lightning bugs, I unbuttoned my cowboy shirt and preceded to eat gnats at an alarming rate of speed the whole way back! Italian drivers as crazy as they have been up till now, all seemed a bit concerned for the idiot on the bike on the farm roads at night and most slowed down so much when they passed I thought they wanted to chat, some even slowed down for a while, giving me the use of their brights until another less patient driver came screaming up behind them. It was a little nerve wracking but the whole ride allowed me to count in Italian, keeping track of the number of cars that passed, 42 in all. I rolled up to the Farm at almost 11 and hurried through a cold shower for my aching legs and stood in the shower with a bucket of pasta in hand grinning ear to ear for the ridiculous feat I had just pulled off. Igor's friends at the beach seemed amazed we rode there from his house but looked at me like I was crazy when he told them I rode all the way from Faenza. 108km round trip (thats 67.72 miles - roughly Mission Beach to Oceanside harbour AND BACK! for you so-cal readers, or SF- Napa, or FoCo - D.Town for my Co friends), 13 hours away from the Farm, 2 big beers, a sandwich, and apple, gelatto and about 500 grams of gnats, all on chichi the shit bike! I actually just looked outside at my bike and the blinky light is still on. Safety first! Gotta stretch.

S.