Late last year I visited Italy with my wife, two daughters, brother and mother. While my brother went gallivanting around Rome the first few days,  the rest of us hung out in Lucca—a medieval city surrounded by a thick wall, so thick that cyclist and pedestrians can circumnavigate the city from atop this fortifying bulwark.

Even though she had not been on a bicycle for years, my mother wanted to ride rather than walk the 3.5 mile circuit.  So we hunted down one of a handful of rental shops inside the city and found one cropping out of a wall on one side of the flagstone street.

The old proprietor knew no English so in a concoction of hand gestures and phrase-book Italian, I was able to convey that we wanted cinque biciclette. The gentleman outfitted the family with five simple bicycles—nothing spectacular but adequate for a pleasant day of riding.

And for these rentals I did not:

• Pay in advance
• Secure a deposit
• Leave a credit card, driver’s license or passport as collateral
• Sign a disclaimer
• Document existing medical conditions
• Present proof of medical insurance
• Insist that I be made aware of my rights
• Circumcise all household males

I simply gave a verbal estimate how long I thought we would need the rentals (tre ore?) which was totally inaccurate anyhow. Then off we went.

So we rode around the city and then rode around again and finally decided we had enough. But all the while I kept thinking that I was going to be taken to the cleaners when I returned the bicycles. What’s the catch? You know these Italians…

When we returned to the shop the Italian proprietor parked the bicycles. Then we were charged a pro-rated amount for the time we indicated we used them and nothing more.  And that was that.

It turns out the “catch” was something I had forgotten about—undocumented trust…between people…that had never met ..and will never meet again.

How radical.