Starting point: Bologna, Italy is home to both delicious lunch meat and one of our favorite new faces. “My mother saw a magazine ad for a modeling agency competition and sent in pictures of me. I got called in, then I went to Paris, then to New York.” Milestone markers: Gretha has graced advertisements for Giorgio Armani and a top brand of—hiccup—cognac. Highway to heaven: “Old boyfriends in high school were always trying to give me driving lessons in some strange part of town. I think it was just a good excuse to take me somewhere quiet.” Trippin’ tunes: “I like ’70s rock’n’roll, bands like Led Zeppelin—music that you can really sing along to with the windows rolled down as you drive.” Bikinis or bust: “We do topless in Italy. It’s more free, and I like not having tan lines. But at shoots I like to cover up. Sometimes a bikini top is a necessary burden.” Ranch hand: Leave the driving to us guys and we’ll barrel down the highway without sleep on a strict diet of Mountain Dew and Slim Jims just to shave 20 minutes off our best Cincinnati-to-Albuquerque time. But gorgeous Gretha taught us that there’s more to the road than mileage markers and grungy gas station bathrooms. Sometimes it’s better to take an unexpected turn off the paved path, follow the back roads to a comfortably rustic oasis, and spray off the dust under an outdoor hose. Afterward, we pull up a seat on the back porch and try to divert our eyes from Gretha’s swimsuited form long enough to watch the sun set over prairie scrub. (Then again, we can see the sun set anytime.) Tomorrow we’ll be back to form, judging our manliness by how many state lines we can roar past before noon. But for now—hey, is that a bunkhouse over there?
Please send this to my buddy—he’ll flip!
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