Flo-Rider

Let’s clarify: I was a Flo-RIDER and Peter was the Flo-DRIVER. (Flo = Florence. Super cool, I know.)

Let me begin with this. Upon arriving in Florence, we hopped into a taxi with a driver who could have raced any of our drivers in Thailand and, perhaps, won. We sped down highways, and whipped around hair-pin turns as we climbed the little mountain to our villa in Tuscany. It was a whole thing. A whole scary thing.

But, unfortunately, for budget reasons, we could not rely on the expertise race-car driver skills of a cab driver for our entire stay. And the bus was only an option sometimes. So, our dear and gracious AirBNB hostess, Annalisa, offered up her little manual hatchback for all our driving needs. WHY she chose to trust us, two strangers, with her vehicle on roads unfamiliar to us, I may never understand. But she did . . . and the adventure ensued.

Our first day out, we played it safe and drove to the bus stop and took the bus into Florence. That went smoothly. And was only mildly terrifying.

Day two, consisted of driving to Mount Amiata. This was a two-and-a-half-hour drive . . . both ways. Whoa! While this may seem ambitious, remember that we live in the era of Google maps. Google gets ya there! However, Google can’t drive the car for you, which is slightly unfortunate.

I will begin by saying this. The drive was stunning. Seeing and exploring the countryside, with sunflower fields and the forested mountainside, lunch in Sienna (Where I got an accidental tuna sandwich. Tuna makes me gag. One person in our party heard that these were salami sandwiches. And half of us were pleasantly surprised. *Names are withheld to protect the guilty.* Thank the Lord for gelato to wash away canned-fish-sandwich taste.) and breath-taking overlooks. I will forever treasure this day, and painted within my memory are these scenes.

And getting there, that will forever be imprinted in my scary dreams. But talking about the scary, that helps. Right? So, here’s the scary: You see, to leave our villa, you must descend a mountain. This is a twist-turny steep sort of deal. It’s slightly like being on a roller coaster. You’ve got the slow climb

before teetering on the cusp of the down. But this roller coaster doesn’t have you fitted safely in a track. And there are ancient rock walls hugging you tightly on either side. And then . . . you begin careening down at breakneck speeds. Instead of throwing your hands in the air and “wahoo”-ing your way down, you unknowingly clench your buns together (because this will surely save you from an unforeseen oncoming vehicle going 30 km/hr OVER the speed limit around hairpin turns).  When you finally reach your destination intact, you realize that you are (1) VERY RELIGIOUS because you just spent the past two hours saying all. the. prayers. AND (2) VERY IN-SHAPE because you just spent the past two hours burning all the calories courtesy of the aforementioned butt-clench safety precaution. AND (3) thankful for a brave husband with mad manual driving skills and savvy international navigation skills that afford you to be so prayerful and fit.

+Side note: Going back up the mountain, especially in the dark, is just as exciting. Just, you know, flash your brights before taking that hairpin turn . . . or maybe give a little honk. That’ll save your life if anyone else is in the ‘careening down the mountain’ position that you executed earlier.