Working the rust out

Occassionally moments occur in life that wake you up. Whatever dull, half-gray day that was happening will be over and you realize that now you are who you really are. Those are the moments in my life that I live for. They are the experiences when all of my senses are alert and my body absorbs every detail. My mind will race, bombarded with too much to realize. Not enough of the details become solidified memories, just that it happened and the feeling that came with. Those types of things I try and write about, but even moments after they happen seem to begin to lose their color. Pulling each sense back to the light from my memory, it is still exciting.
So this time, I was on the bike. The fam and I had discussed already that I would use Saverio's bike, if I wanted, on Thursday's when I need to leave vulcano class early to pick up Leti from school. On campus, I always bike everywhere. Here, I don't. Especially when Saverio's bike was a 30y.r. model of something that probably never saw the inside of a garage, but about 30 winters. It is blue and rust colored with a bell that rings when you ride over bumps and a brake that half works. Before I replaced the other brake, dismounting and foot braking was absolutely necessary. So perhaps you can understand my hesitation in taking such a bike into the wild, unregulated streets of Bologna. People have told me that Bologna is tame compared to Napoli and other Italian cities, but perhaps they don't understand that the fiercest riding I have faced was down Mathew's, east of the quad, after 10am lecture. With a sunny day and my favorite green pants, I filled the tires and hit the streets with time to spare. My excitement may simply have come from riding a bike again, but it all became way more fun when I turned onto the cobbled street (making my bell ring) and away from the heavier traffic. Balanced on the thin, paved portion of the cobbled street, I sped up through the narrow streets, lit by the low sun. Scooters parked on the side partially blocked the path while pedestrians meandered in and out of the street. Pidgeons, without deciding where to go, would wait until the last moment to fly...into my bike. On the busier, paved streets, I could go as fast as my half-polluted breath could take me. It was a tango between buses and scooters dodging J-walkers. In Bologna there is a lot to see and especially on these roads that I have walked so many times I have seen a lot of it. However, on the back of a rickety bike, speeding through the city all of it became vivid. Not because I noticed anything new, but because it all came at me at once. Flying down the middle of the road, through the center of Bologna, uncertain where a sudden turn or absent-minded scooter-er might leave me, I looked ahead and saw the remnants of what makes Bologna a medieval city, the two towers. They seemed like ancient lighthouses hanging over the city, but warning bikers, not boats. The voyage continued until I arrived at the other side of the center. Too many details will make this too heavy (as if it isn't already), but the whole trip had my mind racing from start to finish. In all, not so bad either, ending with chain-ripped pants and hands greasy from holding my chain lock from falling into the gears of the bike. I don't think I will ride a whole lot in Bologna, out of fear for my life, but it will happen again, at least when I need to wake up.