Pebble Chaser thinks they drive fast out west:
You Know You’re From Montana When… You get passed when you are driving seventy five.
Spacebunny and I were driving back from Verona one Sunday morning, which is a pleasant little place billed as the city of Shakespearean love, but actually has a history of appallingly brutal violence dating back to Roman days. The Venice-Milan autostrada was empty, so we were moving along at a pretty good clip, about 130 MPH, when I happened to look back in the mirror. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
A car was not only gaining on me, it was gaining fast. I quickly moved into the right lane and watched with appreciative awe as a silver Ferrari 456 roared past. A moment later, a blue Porsche 911 twin turbo followed suit, they had to be going at least 170.
The Germans may have their autobahns, but the Italians have a charming take on the matter. There are speed limits, sometimes even posted, but they primarily viewed as suggestions for the lily-livered, and in the unlikely event you get a ticket of any sort, you are expected to throw it out as long as they haven’t already towed your car. Works for me.