Easy Rider

 It's an old chestnut (but there's a reason why old chestnuts become old chestnuts) that sometimes the most disconcerting things about your new home is the occasional scene that seems like it belongs in your old home. On one of my recent walks I was camped out on a bench on the Lungomare when suddenly a couple motorcycles drove by, and then a couple more, and then four more, and suddenly there was a small gang in front of the Barinello Cafe. As it turns out, they were all members of a local motorcycle club in the next town over, who were taking advantage of a lovely fall day for a drive.

There was no sign of Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, or Jack Nicholson.