A Sicilian, a Maltese and a Calabrian drive *into* a Bar

Almost daily, while cycling in Sicily and Calabria – less so in Basilicata, in southeastern Italy, but still pretty regularly – something would happen that would make me think Fuck Italian Drivers. Some days many times. Maybe one would brush past me going round a sharp bend on a high mountain road or on a single lane past roadworks, not actually touching me but no …