Three days and a zillion phone calls later....

The Honda bike shop Frederick from Business-bikes.com referred me to wasn't answering their phone today, and Stan (the talented motorcycle mechanic who is the weekend chef at the Bauhaus hostel) never showed up to come have a look at the bike. Using Skype over a WiFi connection on my iPAQ, I called two of the numbers that Wim Vyncke managed to find for me and they weren't answering their phones, either. I kept calling and calling and calling... and thought it extremely odd that NONE of them were answering their phone.

Then again, the first time I called the Auto 5 gas/station garage today where they let me leave the bike no one answered the phone, but they did answer later. Maybe people don't believe in voice mail here in Brugge.

I hated to intrude on him at work, but I was getting desperate so I called Wim, who came to my rescue again and found a number for another place that repairs Hondas that isn't too far from Brugge. They're called Joris Sport and when I called them they ANSWERED THEIR PHONE! They said they could come pick the bike tomorrow. Now I just have to make arrangements to get the keys to the Auto 5 people or arrange to be there when Joris Sport shows up.

Here's hoping Joris Sport can get the bike back on the road...

About half an hour after I talked to Joris Sport I got an email from Erwin, who said his friend in Loppen could fix the bike. So if Joris Sport doesn't come through, I have a solid backup plan. It was so nice of Erwin to keep trying, too. Belgians are really kind people.

Meanwhile, I managed to upload some photos in the previous entries below about the Belfry and the Baslica of the Holy Blood, plus I put a photo of me with Citronnade in the entry where I said I fell in love with her. Isn't she a pretty bike?

The moon must be in klutz. Technology just isn't cooperating this week. Although I managed to get Skype working on my iPAQ this morning and used it most of the day, it stopped working at around 4 this afternoon. I rebooted the iPAQ twice and logged out of Skype and back in, but all of the phone icons remained greyed out and non-functional. Tres weird.

But after three days of waiting and trying to find someone who can look at her, I'm happy someone will be able to give me an educated opinion on what's wrong with Citronnade at last.

Looking for Honda dealers in Brugge

Talked to Frederick at business-bikes.com this morning and he found a Honda repair shop for me here in Brugge. He's emailing the address to me. Frederick thinks it may not be the gear box but the shifter that got jammed when the bike fell.

Meanwhile, the bartender at the Bauhaus hostel told me that the hostel's weekend chef is a gifted motorcycle mechanic, so he's supposed to be meeting me at the hostel bar at 2 pm and go have a look at the bike and give me an opinion.

I still haven't heard from Erwin at the Honda shop in Belsele about whether he's contacted his friend near Brugge.

This morning I checked out Transport Canada's rules and fees for importing vehicles into Canada that weren't made in Canada or the USA and the cost of bringing this bike to Canada may be prohibitive. Transport Canada fees for importing the vehicle may be as much as the shipping.

It's starting to look like I may have to just do the best I can to get Citronnade healthy again and then kiss her goodbye in Paris. Sigh. But I am keeping my options open. Erwin (at the motorcycle shop in Belsele) said he could still help me ship her if I need to do that.

Meanwhile, I finally managed to figure out how to connect my iPAQ to the WiFi connection here at the hostel so I can use it to make Skype calls. The signal sometimes drops and the WiFi connection drains the battery at an alarming rate, but at least it's an alternative to walking to the Call Shop. Twenty minutes of Skype calls drained the battery from a 100 per cent charge to 67 per cent, though, which means that for almost every hour of Skype calls I'll have to charge the battery again.

Calling from Skype also requires dropping the international code you normally use before the phone number, it seems.

One of the most confusing parts of travelling in Europe is trying to figure out which numbers to use when calling people. When I use the phone's roaming function I have to start calls with the international code followed by the country code and drop the 0 before the first two numbers of a European number. You use that zero when calling locally, however.

And when using Skype I have to dial 00 then the country code instead of the 011 international code and the country code. It's a lot to remember and I'm constantly dialling the wrong intial sequence of numbers.

I'm going to try to call the garage that was kind enough to store the bike over the weekend now to tell them I have someone coming to look at it this afternoon. That means I need to find someone here at the hostel who speaks Flemish who can translate for me.

Sleepy in Brugge

I had hoped to spend part of today at the Call Shop, which has Internet access with USB ports (unlike the web access at the Bauhaus hostel bar) but they're closed on Sunday, as is everyone else in Brugge. At least the pubs and the hostel bar are open, so I won't starve.


The sun never really came up today, it was overcast and foggy for much of the day, so I took the opportunity to take a nap this afternoon and research some of the things I took pictures of on my walk to the central square in Brugge yesterday. The architecture in this town is amazing -- medieval and intact. Apparently the Basilica of the Holy Blood, which was built in the 12th century, has an ornate vial holding what the Basilica's name claims -- although the website I'm referencing concedes that the Bible never mentions any of Christ's blood being preserved. Wikipedia doesn't have an entry on it, unfortunately.

And there's this amazing 13th century bell tower called, oddly enough, the Belfry tower (Belfort). I have a picture of the view of it from my dorm room in the hostel, and took more when I went to it yesterday. Will post them here as soon as I find a Web connection with a USB port.

An update on Citronnade: Got a response from a very friendly and helpful fella named Erwin at a Honda shop in Belsele last night, who said he ships bikes from the U.S. all the time and could get me a quote and help me ship it to Canada. He confirmed today that he can't fix a Honda CBF600, though, because he works only on Goldwings. But he's going to try to get in touch with someone he knows near Brugge to find out if he can fix her, which is very kind of him.

If that doesn't work out, perhaps I'll hear back from the place I emailed in Brussels. It's farther than Belsele, though, and they probably won't even read my message until Monday morning. Time is ticking.

Everyone I've met in Belgium has been really nice, but people like Mara (the Ottawa native who's been helping me from Amsterdam) Erwin and Wim and Bernadette (my guardian angels from Saturday night) are extra special -- and would be special anywhere. If I were in charge of the karma dole, I'd make sure they get lots and lots of good luck. As it is, if they ever get to Toronto, dinner is on me. And I'll show 'em the CN tower. And the Hockey Hall of Fame. And anything else their hearts desire. I am *SO* in their debt. Dank uwel!

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.

Holy moley

OK, things took a turn downhill today.

First, I was late getting on the road because I spent an hour trying to find a cybercafe that would provide printouts of my route. Once I did, it took almost two hours plotting out my route from Brugge to Amsterdam on Mapquest and printing out the pages (at 30 euro cents per page).

Then when I went to go get the bike, I found her on her side. I think someone tried to steal her but couldn't move it because the steering was locked AND I had a chain through her wheels -- the rental place insisted on both.

When I started her, she started and changed gears just fine, but about half a mile later she got stuck in second gear and wouldn't go up or down. The fall must have done something to jam her gearbox.

So I tried to call the rental place, but they're closed until Monday now.

I'm not sure what they're going to tell me because they said that if she broke down outside of France I was on my own. So I essentially have two options: get her fixed here, at my expense, or have her towed to Paris, at my expense. I've been warned the latter could run €700 to €800 ($1,075 to $1,230 CDN, or $900 to $1,040).

I just spent three hours at a gas station where no one who worked there spoke anything but Flemish. Mara Miller tried to get some useful information from them about towing or bike repairs by phone from Amsterdam, but was frustrated that they weren't very helpful.

They did have a steady stream of customers demanding their attention and were trying to run a business, so I was grateful they did let me use their phone to call her in Amsterdam and to try to call Business-bikes.com in Paris (who were already closed for the day). I think they would have liked to help but were very busy and there was this language barrier.

A wonderful gentleman named Wim and his wife Bernadette, who overheard me trying to make myself understood, volunteered to become my official translators. And THEN they kindly spent an hour calling around to try to find a place that could fix her. But Brugge is a small place, so there's a dearth of bike shops. None of the ones Wim talked to had parts for this bike and would have to order them.

The rental place will charge me for the damage from the fall, but that's not the biggest issue. If I can't get her back to Paris, they will charge me the entire cost of the bike.

Seriously.

But I seem to have found some guardian angels. Wim and Bernadette not only insisted on acting as my translators, but talked the gas station into storing the bike inside overnight so it wouldn't get stolen. And then they insisted on driving me back to the hostel. And waited to make sure they had a room. AND gave me their phone number and told me to phone them if I needed any more help.

Seriously.

What amazingly nice people!

Looks like I'm moving into the Bauhaus hostel for the weekend. I'll call Business-bikes.com on Monday and find out what my options are.

Off to Amsterdam I go

Gloriously sunny in Belgium today! I took some photos in Brugge.

The picture here is of the town square, where you can see the medieval architecture found throughout this town.

Lots and lots of cobblestones here -- treacherous when on the bike, but old-country quaint. Couldn't upload the photos until I got to Dijon because there are no USB ports at the terminals in the hostel here. The photo to the left is one of the canals near Langestraat in Brugge.

And the photo below shows some detail of the fence along that same canal. I love how it looks like the lions are swallowing the posts.

I'll be heading to Amsterdam next, in about an hour after I get my route plotted out.

Lost, tired and in love

I landed in Paris at 6 a.m. and it took me until almost 9 to find an Internet connection. Couldn’t find a free WiFi spot at the airport and their Internet kiosks were broken (see photo below), so I had to lug what felt like 80 pounds of leathers, rain gear and the few items of clothing I brought with me hither and yon before I finally trekked down the road to a hotel. Internet access there was 15 euros for 45 minutes, which was fairly expensive. Especially considering it cost only 3 euros later today at a hostel in Brugge for an hour.

The Charles de Gaulle International Airport was a decidedly bare-bones operation compared to airports in big cities in North America. Terminal 3 where I landed had little but washrooms, car rental kiosks and places to pick up baggage. Even the departure level at Terminal 3 had only a couple of fast-food places, all with cafe de creme, cappucino and shots of expresso (see photo below).

Didn't check out Terminal 1, but Terminal 2 was more of the same. Very spare.
The Paris train/subway system is HUGE, though, with lineups to buy tickets. Didn't know you were supposed to retrieve your ticket and use it to exit on the other end, but a fella named Francois put his through twice so I could exit at Charles de Gaulle Etoile and then gallantly walked me the two blocks to Business-bikes.com so I wouldn't get lost. What a guy! Don't let anyone tell you Parisians aren't helpful and friendly.

I didn't get lost getting out of Paris, but not because of any brilliant navigating. Christopher, the mechanic at business-bikes.com, gave me an escort to the highway. It was on the recommendation of the owner, who didn't want me threading my way through any more Paris downtown traffic than I had to, but it was still very kind of him.

I did manage to make a wrong turn onto the A27 instead of the A22 just south of Lille, however, and got hopelessly lost until a young man named Munir on a scooter who couldn't have been more than 16 years old helped me get back on the right highway.

So, here I am in Brugge, three hours late, but where I'm supposed to be, largely due to the kindness of strangers, and in one piece. But TIRED.

Mara (Miller – the gal who set me up with a hostel room in Amsterdam for tomorrow night and recommended I stop in Brugge on the way there) was right, though. Trying to get to Amsterdam in one day from Paris would have been too much. By the time I got to Brugge, which is about half that distance, I was exhausted.


And, heaven help me, I * LOVE* this bike. The Honda CBF600. It's too tall for me (especially on these slippery cobblestones they seem to have everywhere here) but it's zippy -- I love the way it zooms. I've never been a speedy biker before, I ride mostly for the sheer kinetic pleasure of slaloming on curving roads, but now I'm in love.

This could be very bad. I confess opened it up almost as far as it would go when I got a stretch of the A1 where there wasn't any traffic to either side of me that could make sudden moves -- this puppy can do 180 klicks an hour EASY but I decided not to find out exactly how fast she'd go when the wind started buffeting my helmet around like a ping pong ball.

Stories about crazed French motorists are slightly exaggerated. Although Paris traffic was so insane I wondered if I was going to get out of the city alive, that's probably true of any large city. But I got cut off (squeezed sideways in my lane) only once on the highways between Paris and Brugge, and I’m pretty sure I had already crossed the border into Belgium just north of Lille when that happened. They do drive *fast* though -- had anyone been in the lanes beside me when I opened her up, they would have comfortably kept pace without an eyebrow raised.

I wish I could say the same for my fellow bikers. Lane-splitting (riding down the centre of lines of car traffic) is not only legal here but even the motorists seem to expect you to do it and get annoyed with you when you take up space in what they consider car lanes.

I tried following the other bikers down the centre of a line of cars for a couple of kilometers, -- but really couldn’t hack it. These bikers are insane. They zoom in and out and around the cars like they’re tired of living. And not one gave me the "biker wave" I love so much in North America. They were going so fast they didn't have time.

I thought the speed limit on the highway was 110, but found out later that was just for the slow truck lane -- the real speed limit was 130 kph. Which would explain why everyone was doing 140 and I felt like a slowpoke doing 120 to keep from getting run over.

But the drive to Brugge was a gas! Didn't need to turn on the Gerbing gear until after sundown north of the Belgian border, though -- it was 8C today. Perfect biking weather. Not cold enough to chill you, and not warm enough that you feel uncomfortable wearing full hide leathers.