Returning from St Raph, I knowingly select the stupidest schedule to leave, but there are few or no alternatives. Needless to say, if I walked the stretch between Albenga and Savona I’d go faster, so there’s plenty of time to kill.

Driving a truck I have an unusual viewpoint: a Playboy writer would immediately find two beautiful college students in the car next to him dying to show him the color of their underwear, but I am no Playboy writer…

Pietra, then Finale, approaching Spotorno, the road goes in and out of tunnels; on the other side it’s practically deserted, and I can see clearly all the way to the next tunnel, maybe 1 km away; the tunnel must be amplifying sounds, because I swear I hear the noise way before I see the cars.

It’s like a whine which gets deeper and deeper, until the tunnel vomits a black Lambo spyder, perhaps a Murciélago; metres behind it a Ferrari I don’t recognize – it’s not an Enzo or a Scaglietti which have easily recognizable shapes, maybe a 430 (or the all-new 458?); all I can say is that this is also black, but a with a gorgeous matte finish. As they race out, sound explodes at full blast filling my (and everybody else’s) ears with the scream of the 12+8 cylinders.

The tunnel ahead is slightly higher than where I am, so the view is perfect. Always difficult to judge speeds, especially incoming, but I bet these two are not too worried about speed limits.

Oh well, let me take another sip of ice tea…

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