Those of you who have known be for a long time know that I love to drive and that I especially love to drive sports cars. My dad had one, well 2, and I drove them all the time. Not only that, I was really good at it. You can imagine my excitement when I learned that our rental car was an Alpha Romeo. Although a bit nerve-wracking at times, I’ve really had fun driving the windy Tuscan roads and through the tiny streets of the medieval hilltop towns. I admit it—I’ve been reliving my youth. And then we reached San Gimignano. Suffice it to say that I headed down a very steep and narrow street, much like many others I’ve driven in the past week or so. This one, however, was so narrow at the bottom that it was impossible to get through. I had to back all the way up the hill. Smoke was billowing from the engine compartment, crowds of people gathering and, I believe taking bets on how many parked cars I’d take out in the process. Folks on the other side of the alley way were betting that I’d take out the wall and the car fender. Rosemary, realizing my desperation, hopped out of the car and provided direction while Peggy reassured me that I was doing a fine job. The AR finally made it to the top of the hill and I found a place to park it and headed for the first Tabacchi for a cappuccino. The smell from whatever was burning in the car (I think it was the clutch) permeated the town square and all the little side roads. People were commenting, wondering about the source of the terrible stench. It was that smell that Rosemary was suffering from. It is still with us, unfortunately, despite leaving the windows down all night. I guess my ‘race car driver’ days are over.
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