And she shall be called 'Citronnade'

After reading the last post, a friend of mine who shall be known here only as Dr. Strangelove weighed in with an email suggesting that I might want to consider getting her towed to Amsterdam and fixed there. That would get both of us in Amsterdam and presents the possibility of driving a fixed motorcycle back to Paris.

I'm still liable for the repairs if I ship her ship back to Paris, so there's some merit in that idea.

But shipping the bike (or getting it towed) outside of Belgium seems to be an alien concept here. Everyone I asked that question today reacted as if that would run counter to Belgian physics. A representative of the Belgian equivalent of CAA looked at me like I had just grown green antennae when I asked how much it would cost to tow it to Paris.

At first, Wim, my helpful gentleman translator, said the man said it was impossible. Then, the fellow clarified that by saying the cost would be too prohibitive to consider.

But he felt so sorry for me -- and was so impressed with how hard Wim was working to help me (as was I) that he didn't charge me for coming to look at the bike. Thereby sending me three angels today, including Wim and his wife Bernadette.

But people must have to get bikes from point A to point B in Europe all the time without driving them. I can't see how it's possible no one tows long distance here. There must be a way. The trick will be in finding the person who can speak English who knows.

The Flemish work in mysterious ways. Tonight, for example, I tried to find out how to call VISA collect (to find out if VISA's platimum insurance covers bikes like it does cars -- apparently it doesn't) and no one could tell me how to make a collect call in Belgium. I must have asked everyone in the Bauhaus hostel bar and everyone said they simply don't do that here. Granted, about half the folks in the hostel bar are from elsewhere, because it *IS* a hostel, but locals hang out here, too -- and they thought it a strange question.

Then I asked how to call an operator. The hostel bartender gave me a number that my Rogers cell phone won't access. He said it was the help number for one of the three separate telephone networks they have here.

But Rogers doesn't seem to be connected to any of them. In fact, Brugge seems to be in some kind of intermittent Twilight Zone when it comes to Rogers. I can make local calls in Brugge with my Rogers cell phone plan. I can call Toronto. But when I try to phone Amsterdam, I'm told I don't have access to that network. I've had to make all my calls to Mara and the hostel where I planned to stay in Amsterdam at a Call Shop on Langestraat here in Brugge.

Dr. Strangelove was also helpful in reminding me that I'm having new adventures and new experiences, and I have to agree: Yes, I certainly am. That's one of the things I like about the Doc: he has a knack for making lemonade from lemons.

I was actually thinking exactly the same thing. If this (or its equivalent) had happened to me in Toronto, I'd be upset and in Toronto. Here, I'm upset and in Brugge! That is much more interesting.

If I were home, I'd be throwing a temper tantrum and stamping my feet and having a hissy fit about my biking adventure being interrupted. Here, I'm just gonna go to the hostel bar and cry into a beer. I have very low tolerance for alcohol, so two beers ought to make me very silly.

In fact, something the Doc said, combined with a question from my daughter-in-law, planted a seed of an idea in my brain that cheered me up so much I don't think I'm going to be able to squeeze a single tear into my beer. Victoria, who married my son Shawn in 2000 and made all of us very happy by doing so because she's smart, compassionate and an incredibly cool gal, asked me if I'd made a police report.

As far as I know, no crime was committed. I didn't see anyone trying to steal the bike, so that was my speculation. A drunk may have knocked her over, poor thing. There are a couple of pubs on Langestraat where she was parked. But that probably doesn't even qualify as vandalism.

In any case, a police report wouldn't help from the perspective of Business-bikes.com, since they told me that the only way their insurance will cover any damage is if I have the name and insurance policy number of the other party at fault.

So a thought came to me as I emailed Victoria to tell her that a police report might not help because Business.com said that I was responsible for repairs up to and including the total cost of the bike if we had no responsible second party.

*IF* in a worst-case scenario Business-bikes.com wants to charge me for the entire cost of the bike, why should that money disappear into a black hole?

There might be a way to make lemonade from this.

OK, so maybe I can't tuck her into the overhead bin on the plane. But if I could get her to a Honda dealer in Belgium (if I can make sure that doesn't violate any laws of Belgian physics) and get her some first aid, maybe they could ship her, recuperated, to me in Canada. I'd be spending a few thousand more, but at least would have a bike at the end of the deal, which is better being out a little more than $6,000 (plus) CDN with nothing to show for it.

So I searched the Web tonight while having a beer in the Bauhas hostel bar and came up with three businesses that claim to deal with Hondas in Belgium and emailed 'em all, asking how to get it towed to them and how much it would cost to ship it to me in Canada.

It's at least worth asking the question. And I *DID* fall in love with her. It would be terrible to leave her wounded and alone in Belgium.

If this idea turns out to be feasible, I think I'm gonna name her Citronnade.