Woke, and scurried down to check the bike .... hmmm, the tyre still had the same pressure as when I left it the night before. OK pump her up to 40 psi, and go for breakfast.
An hour later, still at 40 psi. What to do ??
Now the "armchair experts" will say I should have changed the tube, but I recalled earlier days when I ran my notoriously un-maintained KDX200 for 3 years after this goey stuff has sealed a puncture, and in fairness, I thought it might even be an advantage to leave it in there ... heavily swayed by the fact I was too lazy to unpack the left pannier to find the spare tube.
So, all packed and ready to leave by 10am.
Stopped briefly by this display/monument to, I guess the military prowess of Bulgaria, but there were no signs to indicate why ... quick photo, check the tyre, and I'm off.
Well 70 km down the road, and I suspected the back end of the Trannie was weaving a little ... Yup, the bloody thing had suddenly decided to go down. Saw a village ahead, and turned off into its main square ... I figured if I was going to change the tube that's a good as place as any. Shade, and perhaps a kind villager.
Sure enough, within minutes of getting the tools out, two Bulgarian farmer types appeared. They spotted the problem, one ran off, and was right back with some tyre plugs. Now for those who don't know, these plugs work well on car tyres that don't use tubes, but won't work with spoked tyres and inner tubes. It almost became WW3 as I tried to stop them pushing one into the tyre ... they were so insistent, and finally I had to unpack just to show them a tube, in the vain hope they would understand.
Success, so then with some gesticulation, they communicated to me there was a "tyre repair man" about 2 km away ... one offers to lead me, so I pumped a bit more air into the tyre, then followed his belching 2-stoke moped to the aforementioned man.
Now communication was a bit of an issue, but I thought if I took the wheel out, he would take over from there. It worked, and within seconds (and the help of his machines) he had the tube out. The hole was too large for comfort so I gave him a new tube to fit. 10 mins later job, done and I'm ready to roll .... but No, he wanted to chat, introduce me to the family, and show me the farm.
Now my Bulgarian is zilch, but turns out he spent 7 years in Belgium and spoke French .... ha, I learned a bit of that at school. So with a "Je m'appelle Russ" and a lost of "c'est bons", the ice was broken. (For my native Thai readers, that translates to "My name is Russ", and "very good").
With time ticking, I'm now inside the house, and having drinks forced down me. One by one, more family members appear, including a wailing baby .... great ! Then Mama brings out food ... they had me cornered on the sofa, and escape looked futile. Oh, grin and bear it ... I was a little hungry by now.
So after a delicious bean soup, and something I'm going to call a hamburger, its all smiles hugs and handshakes, and I'm off. All attempts to pay for the service failed.
Cracked on down some wonderful scenic & twisty roads getting into Burgas at about 5.30 pm... pulled up on the pavement outside the hotel, and while just pulling out one bag to check-in, Bulgarian bitch from hell appears and says I cant park outside her office window. I try to point to the hotel sign that spans both her office and reception, but while her spoken English is good, her powers of reasoning simply dont exist.
After a heated exchange I lost my rag, and shouted "5 bloody minutes, thats all", and if that wasn't good enough then she could move the effing bike herself (she looked muscular enough to do it).
And then my welcoming man on reception clearly needs retraining in customer skills .... I asked where to leave the bike and all I got was a grunt and a shrug of the shoulders. Can't wait to write the review on this place. although perhaps he's the owner !
So that was it, welcome to Bulgaria.... and my first rest day tomorrow.
An hour later, still at 40 psi. What to do ??
Now the "armchair experts" will say I should have changed the tube, but I recalled earlier days when I ran my notoriously un-maintained KDX200 for 3 years after this goey stuff has sealed a puncture, and in fairness, I thought it might even be an advantage to leave it in there ... heavily swayed by the fact I was too lazy to unpack the left pannier to find the spare tube.
So, all packed and ready to leave by 10am.
Stopped briefly by this display/monument to, I guess the military prowess of Bulgaria, but there were no signs to indicate why ... quick photo, check the tyre, and I'm off.
Well 70 km down the road, and I suspected the back end of the Trannie was weaving a little ... Yup, the bloody thing had suddenly decided to go down. Saw a village ahead, and turned off into its main square ... I figured if I was going to change the tube that's a good as place as any. Shade, and perhaps a kind villager.
Sure enough, within minutes of getting the tools out, two Bulgarian farmer types appeared. They spotted the problem, one ran off, and was right back with some tyre plugs. Now for those who don't know, these plugs work well on car tyres that don't use tubes, but won't work with spoked tyres and inner tubes. It almost became WW3 as I tried to stop them pushing one into the tyre ... they were so insistent, and finally I had to unpack just to show them a tube, in the vain hope they would understand.
Now communication was a bit of an issue, but I thought if I took the wheel out, he would take over from there. It worked, and within seconds (and the help of his machines) he had the tube out. The hole was too large for comfort so I gave him a new tube to fit. 10 mins later job, done and I'm ready to roll .... but No, he wanted to chat, introduce me to the family, and show me the farm.
With time ticking, I'm now inside the house, and having drinks forced down me. One by one, more family members appear, including a wailing baby .... great ! Then Mama brings out food ... they had me cornered on the sofa, and escape looked futile. Oh, grin and bear it ... I was a little hungry by now.
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| More appeared after this. |
So after a delicious bean soup, and something I'm going to call a hamburger, its all smiles hugs and handshakes, and I'm off. All attempts to pay for the service failed.
Cracked on down some wonderful scenic & twisty roads getting into Burgas at about 5.30 pm... pulled up on the pavement outside the hotel, and while just pulling out one bag to check-in, Bulgarian bitch from hell appears and says I cant park outside her office window. I try to point to the hotel sign that spans both her office and reception, but while her spoken English is good, her powers of reasoning simply dont exist.
 |
| My room - above her office ! |
After a heated exchange I lost my rag, and shouted "5 bloody minutes, thats all", and if that wasn't good enough then she could move the effing bike herself (she looked muscular enough to do it).
And then my welcoming man on reception clearly needs retraining in customer skills .... I asked where to leave the bike and all I got was a grunt and a shrug of the shoulders. Can't wait to write the review on this place. although perhaps he's the owner !
So that was it, welcome to Bulgaria.... and my first rest day tomorrow.
 |
| Left the bike here in the end, padlocked to that tree on the left, and in view from my bed. |