Cycling Italy's Legal Landscape: a streetwise ride

Let's start with:

An anecdote

Sunday morning, and a dozen mountain bikers roll onto the central Piazza, wrong way down a one-way street. The Polizia Locale, Italy's scruffiest cops down at the bottom of the food chain, waves at the offending cyclists and starts pointing vigorously.....

I sidle over to see how this scene will play out.

The group have stopped for coffee in the centre of town. There's a fashion for Sunday morning mountain bikers riding spotless B'Twin monsters, so their noisy appearance in the calm of a sleepy square raises no surprise. But will they get a bollocking for ignoring the one-way? My curiosity is raised - but there's no trouble this time. The policeman is directing them to a cycle rack across the road from the bar. The lycra lads (and they are all lads, no lasses) swamp the parking; they'll take more time to play Tetris with the exaggerated handlebars than they'll be needing to down their espressos.

Bull's Head, 1942: Picasso

I feel a little sad that no comedy develops out of the scene; sad that the lone traffic cop doesn't even try booking a whole fleet of Sunday morning riders. But the Local Police here know their limits (I'll tell you later about the time I bawled them out by the side of a busy road). They also know how to flout inconvenient law themselves; I've overtaken the polizia locale before, both of us on bikes, both against a one-way.

Basically, nobody cares less if a cyclist runs a one-way against the flow. Actually, you can get away with it here in a car - the locals do!

The basics

Gino Bartali, legendary cyclist and Resistance hero

Italy's asphalt is famous for having produced some great cyclists and cycle races. For us foreign riders, however, there are some things worth knowing before pedalling off on a daily commute to work, or a cycle touring trip.

The very basics you can find elsewhere. Yes, Italy drives - and rides - on the right...

...unless it's more convenient to ride on the left!

Urban riders will sneak a little improvised contraflow into the mix. This might elicit a honk or two - but if there's a reason for cutting left and doing it English style, respectable Italian cyclists will improvise. And they don't expect any trouble. I've elicited a sarcastic, "Siamo inglese oggi? = English today, are we?" from a passer-by and (of course) couldn't turn down his gift. "English every day."

You are - rightly - expected to treat pedestrians with respect. Be aware that they might not expect to meet you coming the wrong way. Pedestrians, like cyclists, are listening and watching primarily for motorised threats. Whether you're riding or merely crossing the road, Italian tarmac is a place to remain switched on.

Getting the horn

Where I come from, to honk is a last resort - a sign of frustration. Not so for Italian drivers:

Clip from Quo Vado.

Much-adored actor Checco Zalone lets off steam at the wheel!

As we can see, in Italy a honk can mean any of:

• Ciao, my friend! How are you?
• Get the f*uck out of my way!
• I'm here, I've seen you, don't worry.
• The lights have just changed - why aren't we moving already?

But how are we cyclists meant to tell the difference? I'm never sure. All we hear is the same MEEP, MEEEEEP. But as a tricky London cyclist suggests, miming "Call me!" with a massive grin is an excellent way of confusing aggressive honkers in the Big Smoke.

In places where a driver might boast more social connections than neurons, I find this works a treat. Better in Italy than in London, actually - the culture here's big on hand talk. With a clear "phone me!" gesture from the saddle, you can bluff your way through many a tooting encounter, neutralising aggression (real or imagined) as you go...


Or, if that fails, learn:
"Vai a suonare tra le gambe della tua mamma, dove c'è più traffico!"
"Go honk between your mum's legs, where there's more traffic!"
(Trust me, it's more effective in Italian than in English)


Anyway, time for...

Another anecdote!

The Carabinieri are the butt of a lot of jokes, mainly because they aren't meant to be the brightest. But they DO take themselves seriously - no matter how ridiculous your situation might seem.

More heavily armed than the Polizia Statale, they're effectively a paramilitary law enforcement agency. These are the people who get up at dawn and go raid the mafia...

... but not only that. They'll often stand at the roadside wielding a submachine gun for light traffic duties.

Personally they make me nervous but, hey, this is a country where private security guards waddle around with pistols.

Now for years I assumed these ultra police would consider themselves far above stopping a pair of cyclists for riding two abreast. Particularly on a two-lane road in the middle of nowhere. Clearly I'd been taken in by the image - the slick darkest blue of their cars with red go-faster stripes. The flaming cap badge. The hot Italian uniforms! I mean, whatever gets said about the Carabinieri, and however violently they behave, anyone should admit they get by far the sexiest dress uniforms:

So, the occasional toot-toot being expected, I was accompanying a nervous and inexperienced cyclist - so I placed myself out by his side while he hugged the verge. A pair of grumpy Carabinieri pulled level with us to share a little love, and we all stopped for a spot of friendly banter.

Italian law, I found out later on, was on their side:

"I ciclisti devono procedere su unica fila in tutti i casi in cui le condizioni della circolazione lo richiedano e, comunque, mai affiancati in numero superiore a due; quando circolano fuori dai centri abitati devono sempre procedere su unica fila, salvo che uno di essi sia minore di anni dieci e proceda sulla destra dell’altro."(Decreto Legislativo N. 285 del 30/04/1992, articolo 182, 1.)
Roughly translated, point 1 of article 182 of legislative decree number 285 (30/04/1992) says:

"Cyclists should proceed in single file in all cases when traffic conditions necessitate it and, in any case, never more than two abreast; when riding outside urban centres they should always proceed in single file, unless one is less than eighteen years old and rides to the right of the other."

So, this would be illegal in Italy:

... the victim is out-of-town & two abreast.

My pal and I were out on a country road, adults (ish), and so legally should have been single file. For urban riders, there is the precedent of a judge cancelling a fine, so in town we'd have had some serious wiggle room. As it was, the machine-gun-toting good guys had us bang to rights.

But I didn't know that, did I? I told them they were being unpleasant. I told them to watch how they drive. They told me that no civilised country allows cyclists to ride two abreast, so I affected jollity and argued. 

Honestly, I had trouble believing the law might turn out in their favour - particularly because a lot of dubious "rules" for cyclists are doing the rounds on Italian facebook pages. The cops must've had trouble believing what they were facing. And so we danced our dignity away.

After a few minutes, another car arrived behind them, and its driver stopped, uncertain whether he should overtake this little scene or wait behind. I offered the police a beer if they fancied discussing things further. They told us the roads are a dangerous place, and ordered us to go on in single file. I told them they'd been unpleasant company, that I know already the roads are dangerous, and that's why they should drive carefully. And we rode on - dutifully - single file.

The weird truth is that, in Italy, cyclists are sanctioned as though they were drivers of motorised vehicles. FIAB, the Italian Cyclists' Federation, points out the absurdity. But that's the law, changing it here is notoriously slow, and fines can be very stiff. Here's Mussolini with his hand in his pocket; today he would be liable to a fine of 161€:

Mussolini pockets a hand on his Velocino

As with many cultures, the legal framework for out-and-out fascism is already in place; our only saving grace is that it is not - normally - applied. In Italy, there's still law on the books from the fascist era and, occasionally, it gets used.

Usually, however, it is possible to get away with being a pompous white middle-class foreigner acting a twat. Just don't say "positive discrimination," and it aaaaall makes sense.

The Mythical South

The consensus among English-speaking cyclists seems to be that Italy's road surfaces are pretty good.

Pothole filled by Ememem

There is a reason for this belief: sampling bias.

The vast majority of visitors who cycle in Italy are experiencing the wealthier north of the country. The lakes (Garda and Como), the Dolomites, the River Po (connecting Piemonte's mountains and rice fields with the mosquito-infested Veneto), the supposedly cycle-friendly city of Ravenna, Tuscan holidays... all north. Up there, the main problem is weight of traffic. I should know - I lived in Turin for a couple of years, a city built on car manufacture, before migrating south to Puglia. Down here, cycling trips are billed as "off-the-beaten-track" exploration of "well-kept secrets". And that is why the state of Italian roads is reported to be good.

The south - less gridlocked - has problems all of its own.

The famous one links with other apparently more minor ones; as ever in Italy, a quest to understand everyday problems leads back to some well-known themes. Here, the Mafia "wins" contracts for building roads...
"Parliamo di un settore enorme dove l’eccezione non è la ditta mafiosa, ma quella onesta!"
"We're talking about a huge sector, where Mafia-run businesses aren't the exception but honest business is!"

And not only do these contracts pay once, but they offer further opportunity. Because asphalt can be used to hide toxic waste, which is collected from uncaring and complicit businesses for "disposal" at cut prices.

Prisoners repair one of Rome's many potholes

Separating Italian politics from the Mafia is a fool's errand - at every level. Grubby everyday administration is enough to explain why potholes and faded road markings add "charm" to cycling in the South. Of course, they're a menace also for drivers - and because everyone here knows that a decent pothole can swallow a wheel, people generally show understanding. Remember, as you drift left to avoid the worst of the tatty asphalt: a horn honked in Italy is often not as aggressive as it might seem to northern Europeans.

That said, by riding wide around potholes I have earned myself the ire of a lorry driver who resented having to slow down. He got out of his cab at the next set of lights, and had a go - cursing my dead ancestors in the local dialect - before slapping me in the face.

Perhaps I should have watched an educational film before taking boldly to the road:

Anyhow. Missing those sexy Carabinieri and their uniforms? Must be anecdote time:

A blow to the law

This one's about jumping a red light. Always a risky subject - but if you've read this far, you really must care.

• In London, it gets naughtier every year
• Rome? Still a battle to survive; think 1990s London traffic
• Turin? I've cruised over a red behind a blue Alfa Romeo (I mean, what were they going to say?)

  

  Follow this over red lights with impunity

• Anywhere south of Genova? It goes something like this...

Coasting towards a junction, and it's already too late when two Carabinieri can see me rolling over the line with no intimation of slowing. I'm committed by the time I see them. Too late anyway, so I keep going. What, I wonder, is Italian idiom for "fair cop, guv'nor!"

One of the two bothers to wag a finger at me out of the car window as they pass. In a moment of reckless euphoria, I kiss my hand and blow it him with camp affectation, coasting on over the junction.

Safely across, I weigh up my chances. They're definitely going to turn around and make a fuss, right? Not for the flagrant broad daylight jumping of a red traffic signal. Rather for the "cherry on the cake", as the Italian saying goes, of my kiss.

No?

No. They didn't slow down. They didn't even try and shoot me in the head.

It's hard not to conclude something from this experience. Whatever your personal take on jumping reds on a bike - no matter how high your moral high ground - the experience speaks for itself. Nobody - but nobody - gives a damn what laws cyclists break in the south. If you wait at lights, that's fine. My girlfriend does it (usually). I do it (occasionally). Drivers do it (in the daytime). Even Polizia do it (except the coolest ones in Turin). The choice is wholly yours.

Class and transport

To understand why the roads here work as they do, it's worth remembering that cyclist and driver stereotypes are the opposite in Italy compared to northern Europe. In the UK, for example, cyclists are higher earners, while the poorest drive. I suppose that trend might apply in the wealthy Italian cities like Milan and Turin, but it is not yet the norm - particularly as you pedal south down the Italian peninsular.

In Salento, I listen to grandmothers telling childhood memories of rising at 4am to work the fields, picking tobacco. So it's hardly surprising that, with a clear cultural memory of serious poverty, people think it logical enough to drive everywhere - and I mean everywhere. Refridgerated air-con "comfort" and the biggest car you can afford are unquestionable logic. Sure, students and the odd hipster might disdain their parents' SUV, but the roads remain full nonetheless.

So, accept this, it will be easier to understand when your ride gets rudely interrupted by an over-wide car muscling past on a narrow country lane. It could offer a reason where good public transport seems to be used only by palid tourists and black migrants. It might explain why locals living in old town centres squeeze SUVs through medieval streets. And it might help explain why the non-recreational cyclists around south Italy are young Africans and aged Italian grandparents.

Oh, yes - and that time I bawled out the Polizia Locale?

One last anecdote

I turned right at a red light, hugging the kerbside around one of the largest and ugliest junctions in Turin. I broke the law - the light was red. Behind me was an unmarked car with two local police in it, and the next thing I knew the passenger of this car which was overtaking a little too close was waving a lollipop stick at me...

... and, for the first time in my life, I spoke Italian.

Really spoke Italian. With a fluency born of irritation, words came without doubt or inhibition. I told them, in blunt terms, how that junction was a daily horror for the few cyclists mad enough to try it - that a city-wide absence of advanced stop lines was good reason for me to protect my life turning at a red: that I might well be safer doing so - that five minutes at the same traffic light would reveal a string of vehicles committing exactly the same offence - oh, and that they might leave me a decent minimum of space when pulling past, next time.

Poor pair. I don't think they really knew how to respond. An incandescently irritated foreigner with strong views and a strong accent, frustrated enough to deliver a tirade despite the legal justification for my being stopped? They must have thought it odd, but when I ran out of steam some minutes later, they just said, "Well don't jump the red light next time..." and pulled back into the three lanes of weaving honking death where I played my daily game of chicken.

So, that grumpy morning's commute I learnt - at long last - that I could speak fluid Italian. And that - sometimes - simple indignation trumps the law.