Roaring Back to Life pt 1
The Appia near Castel Gandolfo was a biker's dream, straight as an arrow and cutting through the scenery, the first rays of the sun caressing the Roman ruins and the patrician villas dotting the hills.
The Appia near Castel Gandolfo was a biker's dream, straight as an arrow and cutting through the scenery, the first rays of the sun caressing the Roman ruins and the patrician villas dotting the hills.
So early in the morning, it was empty, save for a single Harley Davidson speeding through: the man riding it was a bit old perharps, at almost sixty years, but he didn't care about it, for as Marinetti used to say, a man is all about his energy,
and Ettore Muti still had enough energy to last him a century. His bike was just like him, almost thirty years old and yet still fast and loyal, more than any woman could be.
One of the advantage of knowing the road like the palm of his hands was that
One of the advantage of knowing the road like the palm of his hands was that
Ettore could simply forget about everything and think, his wheels knowing everything they needed to do. Many times he had though about his career, his old deed, and sometimes women; now, he couldn't stop reminiscing about the old days, when he was barely at Fiume,
when he and a maniple of heroes had taken what was rightfully Italian, It had been the dawn of a new era for the young Ettore and the proclamation of Sansepolcro the true path for all to follow. What had become of that dream?
As he asked himself that fateful question, he felt rage filling his veins, and pushed his bike faster. It had been betrayed, by people like Galeazzo Ciano, who preferred the placid safety of mediocrity to the blinding beauty of risk, of progress, of speed.
the roar of the engines, the passion that makes everything melt, from steel to flesh: that was what Ettore stood for, not decadence and stagnation! Mussolini had been forced to compromise, to forget, to bow: Ettore knew that no one could have done any different,
but times had changed, and a new apporach was needed.
Fascism was more than a man, it was an idea, and as long as a singl nab remebered it, it was not dead. As he reached the last turn, Ettore Muti knew that he was that man, and that he would do what he had to do for Italy.
Fascism was more than a man, it was an idea, and as long as a singl nab remebered it, it was not dead. As he reached the last turn, Ettore Muti knew that he was that man, and that he would do what he had to do for Italy.
Avanti!
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