Brian and I, who can probably speak 4 words of French between us, pull into this little village to try and find some lunch. We pull up to the first place in town, and with no discernable signs other than "Ouvert" (open?), we walk straight into a biker bar.
Helmets hung from the ceiling as lamps, clock made out of a Honda crankcase, and MotoGP posters all over the walls.
See... this entire trip is fate I tell you, fate.
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