ridden past , but with no more of a connection than a brief moment .
A spare I usually carry but had forgotten this time , was a clutch cable . I wasn ’ t sure how I ’ d managed to get this so wrong , but I was quite philosophical about it . I ’ d blundered and as a result a new and unexpected adventure was beginning . A local Vespa scooter mechanic made me a new one and while Pietro did so , Birgit and I chatted in sign language with his curious customers . Pietro called his wife to come and meet us and she fitted perfectly with the image I had in my mind about how a middle age Italian housewife would look . I suspected that as a teenager she ’ d been a head turner , now she was rounder , paid less attention to fashion and more on sharing a warm smile with the dusty strangers who were making her husband late for lunch .
The cable he made stayed on my bike for over a year , along with a collection of other handcrafted parts from various parts of the world . But the delay with getting this sorted out had eaten a chunk of valuable daylight riding time . I laughed at myself when I first thought that because normally our travel style is really laid back . Interruptions are usually fun or fascinating , but on this trip , we were conscious that moments of distraction along the way meant less time to spend exploring the Balkans .
To make back a bit of time but expecting that as usual they would be no more than a fast way to get from A to B without seeing anything , we took to the toll roads . In fact , the rolling farm dotted countryside , with mountains as a backdrop for much of the way , was beautiful . With no speed cameras to worry about we scooted along the uncluttered asphalt , rubber necking as everyone on an adventure should do .
Located just before the border with Slovenia the elegant city of
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