I wandered disconsolately round the back of the factory , where I found the security guard in his little box who was now relishing telling me there was no way I could get in . At all . Ever . È tutto . I loitered about for a few minutes , took some sad and lonely photographic reminders of me and the bike in front of the shuttered factory gates , and prepared to ride away , bitterly disappointed .
I was gutted . My journey had taken me to as far north as you can ride in Europe , through countries like Latvia , Ukraine , Finland and even Hungary to get to Noale and my Tuono ’ s birthplace . The bike had been my friend , my constant and reliable companion through snow , communist detritus , and topless Croatians . It deserved a treat . But the security guard was one of those people who presumably loved crushing people ’ s expectations under a thin guise of Applying the
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