Between selling like Del Griffin, riding like Lance and watching the Giro... I hardly have time to chat up the GNC boys or hang out at the LBS in chamois, hoping for an impromptu group ride to erupt out onto the pavement.
Although all the ancestors I have known have basically been American, there is a swelling of my heart and a feeling of homecoming when I see the Italian landscape littered with bicicletas. Especially when I spy fine Italian birds. I need to immigrationally relocate to a foxier, more Italian country. I think Italy may fit the bill.
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