Prepare to Monster

There’s a Monster out there with my name on it, literally.

Specifically, a Ducati Monster 796, their new model with the single-sided swingarm, spiffin’ new headlight and other tasty bits.   A little gold foil stickie on the tank says “LEWIS.”  This may be important later; take the wrong Monster out of the paddock at Misano and the carabinieri will interview me.

Took a walk outside the hotel this morning, waiting for the group to meet for brekkie in a few minutes.  People get up late here, linger over cappucino, socialize deep into the small hours over liqueur and smokes.  I want to want to do that — it’s like a vacation dream — only it doesn’t suit my body’s stubbornly diurnal insistence to get up!, get out!, get moving!  Were it not for my effortless ease at becoming profoundly lost, I would have blasted the bike around town a bit while I waited, but w/o a functioning cell phone (or navigational facility; mine’s broken), it didn’t seem the better part of valor.

So I came back and had me some breakfast.  Bologna is the City of Meat,  like Chicago with better seasonings.  Breakfast consisted of meat, cheese, cheese with meat and meaty cheese, chased with the obligatory ibuprofen ration (left leg isn’t reporting in since the plane ride; it appears I’ve donated some function to Air France but I will try to cover this up and just shift the bike as little as possible — that’s what twin torque is for, right?).

There are choices beyond meat, including fey Nordic yogurt and granola, but why would you bother?  In the birthplace of Spaghetti Bolognese, the meatball isn’t simply a fact of life.  It’s a life choice.

Enough of this pseudo-cultural babble.  I’m off to meet the crew for (their) breakfast and another round of trying to convince the hostess that I don’t want espresso in a demitasse dessert portions, but a Pot. Of Coffee.  Now.

Then it’s pack up for San Marino and go ride the hills, trying to keep the pack in sight so I don’t get fricking lost, ’cause getting up in the morning is likely to be the only thing I do faster than these young, pretty pro riders.  Of course, you’re never really lost until you run out of gas, daylight, physical endurance and pidgin gesturing facility — all at once.

So I’m off, then.  Did I mention there’s a Monster outside?  It has my name on it.