1x 1x 1x transformer 6v6gt
Now is the time to show my little amp, as the container I used a tin box for biscuits And that is why I called it "The biscottoamplificatore"
Bicycle Anyone have any vivid memories of his first bike, no doubt.
And, mind you, not necessarily of the first bike which may have apprresi the basics of going by bike, with the wheels first and then finally without (and bike to school, if any, rented or borrowed ), but the first bike that was "ours" in the most total time limit, that for the first time made us feel a bit 'more mature and more independent, the one with which we have finally begun to "dare" and groped some companies' most daring (commensurate with age, of course: and then also around the block a bit 'longer or crossing an asphalt road with vehicular traffic).
The first bicycle, the one already for the biggest, a 24 or 26 (the first, the children are not little children gave a bike as they do now, because it would be a needless waste) was an important thing, a little 'the recognition of having achieved an adult in its early days.
My first bike was a 26 (brand unknown), which had as Christmas gifts for employees of the Sicilian Regional, when I was 12.
My father taught me to go with this on paved roads with some certainty: the opportunity He also bought one for himself (a Legnano, remember) and began to take long walks together, after I was impratichitito enough in a short street behind the house, little frequented by cars.
I, no change, lagging behind him.
My father, however, was a severe maiestro: not softened at all, if he saw that I struggled to keep up with below. Taken
drunkenness speed and I trudged behind him.
The bike made him look younger and sends it back to a time when - before the war - had he used his bicycle as a means of transport to travel over long distances. He told me
than once that was down to breakneck speed from Alton, holding a bag full of olives between the teeth, noting that he never imagined such suffering would cost to continue to hold the weight with his teeth, between shock and continuous oscillations.
Mai who was running to see if I was in distress.
I was so I learned to fend for himself and to be fearless, avoiding fatigue by the prosecution.
With him there was no dicks (sorry if I use a phrase that now was not in my language then, but that fully expresses the concept).
We stopped only when he reached the goal.
And there you had to complain of fatigue.
My father did not like this type of event: childish, in its view.
And he had gone to war and had been in captivity.
I also teach a number of fundamental things, including: never stop with the front brake.
was a teacher who was wrong, though, and you do not ever beaten half to be "perfect." Once, he who had always advised not to use alone (and abruptly) the front brake alone, just braked sharply with that, by reversing the bike and ending up sprawled on the floor (it was to avoid a bus). Getting up with sore wrists for the blow, he said, "What did I tell ? Never stop with the front brake! Did you see what happens "? .
short, it was able to transform his own error in teaching. This is not a trivial matter.
Despite the long raids with my father for a long time, for me there was the explicit prohibition to use the bike itself: I was only allowed to go on the sidewalk. means: on the sidewalk in front of the house.
What I, trained in the wide-ranging long walks with my father, I lived as an injustice. recalcitrant towards impostami limitation, I found a brilliant sleight of hand: to go round the block.
only that the isolate of the street where we lived then was really huge.
Then, A few months later, I found another system.
I told my mother that I was going to the newsstand to buy the latest magazines out of those collections and, instead, I ventured on long tours and adventurous.
Once summer came, even in San Martino delle Scale, retracing paths already traveled with my father while I had left, preferring the company for its rides of my older cousin with whom he often went on long revolutions out of town during the week, in the morning, just when I was in school (among its goals the airport at Punta Raisi, for example).
Then the bike was sold a few smaller cousin, my father bought Bianchi itself a chrome frame with electric blue and gave me his wood.
With the old wood, for my new friend, undertaken other beautiful adventures, finally without the constraint of proximity to home.
But often betraying the old wood for the Bianchi brand new I took my father to use to go to school, until one day they stole me.
And my father? Thunder, lightning and thunderbolts.
But then he bought a new one.
yet that Bianchi was irreplaceable ...
was really beautiful.