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About Bologna

Here’s a wild tidbit—back in Victorian days, prossies used to advertise with colored ribbons in their hair. Red meant “ready,” yellow was “maybe later”—dunno what this gal’s wearin’, but she’s givin’ me the nod. I’m chuffed, yeah, happy as a pig in mud, but then—bam!—some greasy git tries to jack her earnings. Made me furious, I tell ya! I slam my staff down, roar, “You shall not pass!” and he bolts like a scared mutt. She laughs, calls me “old man”—cheeky cow, I love it.

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I’m makin’ my way to the arena, which is just off Piazza della Libertà. That place is always packed with folks. Tourists, locals, you name it. I’m feelin’ pumped, ready to show off my skills. But then I see this dude, Marco, the town’s biggest jerk. He’s strutting around like he owns the place. Ugh, I can’t stand him. He’s always got something to say, and today was no different.

New 2020 Italian Enduro Championship calendar announced