The names have been changed to protect the guilty

  Without any actual dramas happening, the ride to the villa was inexplicably eventful. The only thing that's remarkable enough to mention was one of the bikes having a hissy fit and spitting out its sump plug, (metaphorically, fortunately.) As luck would have it, there was a major motorcycle dealer less than an hour from the villa so fears could be allayed, but we'd have to wait till the morning.

  Even with one of the bikes limping along, we still had a superb blat to our accommodation following stunning roads that hugged the contours of the hills like a desperately clingy girlfriend. The villa is great, lots of wood like an alpine chalet with a lovely cosy feeling and, most importantly, a very well equipped kitchen. I made myself right at home.

Breakfast first, ride later.

 As it had been a long day, we headed out to the local town to get dinner. The first place that caught our eye was a very busy pizza restaurant. We used the short wait for our table to soak up the vibe which was unmistakably motor racing themed, both with the decoration and the clientele. It turned out that we are even closer to the Spa racetrack than we imagined and though this crowd wasn't as glamorous as the F1 mob, they were just as enthusiastic (and way more down to earth). However, the prices were definitely motor racing inspired. The pizzas were wood fired, well sized and some were an eye watering eighteen pounds! I went for the grilled salmon and wasn't disappointed.

  Up at the crack and off to get the limping bike fixed which meant going back along the same thirty miles of twisty that finished off our journey yesterday. No complaints there then. It was a stupendous way to start the day and left us scratching our heads as to why we hadn't moved out here just so we could do a similar commute every day.

  The fella in charge couldn't have been more sympathetic to our plight and took the bike straight to the workshop to hook it up to the diagnostic system. As this process was going to take a while, we zapped off to a local bakery to get some breakfast. The place we found was a proper bakery with some chairs and tables outside. It was a real treat to get proper gear, straight out of the oven. Fast broken, we headed back to find out how serious the problem was and this was where we discovered there wasn't much to worry about. The short version is that the ABS sensor next to the rear wheel had been displaced by the mechanic who had changed the rear tyre before the trip. The boss rolled his eyes at the thought of the rookie mechanic clumsily messing with the tiny sensor that would eventually send the bikes warning systems into overdrive. We were assured that the sensor had been replaced and all the bike's systems had been thoroughly reset. Problem over. As we left the shop, the rider, (who shall remain nameless), admitted it was he who had fitted the rear wheel and the damage was self inflicted. Oops!

Kirk out

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