The Rain in Spain

We agreed to have our final lunch in Brugge, which is a convenient and popular stop between Europe and the Eurotunnel. It's probably popular because it has the most chilled out parking rules for bikes I've ever met.
Well, that and the beer. It wasn't a warm day, so I was determined by the time we arrived that I wanted frites. Nice, hot, carb-loaded frites. And a coffee. And possibly a waffle, if fresh and hot.
We were meeting Steve there, after we'd got split up on the way due to his bike having a mechanical issue, which had developed after he dropped it on the Grossglockner pass.
He'd been parking it up on deceptively dodgy camber, and it just toppled, right into Lynn's bike, which I caught, while she helped Steve up with his. I was still on mine, and hadn't even put my stand on yet. I wasn't in neutral, and almost lurched down the mountain-side in my haste to get parked and catch the bike next to me.
Brugge produced very nice hot frites, and then forgot to charge us for them. I do like Brugge. But the clouds decided they were fascinated by this strange biker bunch and rolled in for a closer look.
Then the rain started. And didn't let up until we'd got to Calais.
The rain in Spain may fall mainly on the plain, but the rain in Flanders falls on any bike it can find. It never fails, either.