No matter how fast you try to run, the other cars catch you, pass you,
sneer at your engineering inferiority. You press your foot down, harder. The
speedometer rises 140, 150, and yet they overcome you. You stomp down
harder, 160 (that's Km/Hr) and now you're the one doing the passing, but
yet...  Aw, hell a couple of cars zoom by as if you are doing the limit in a
school zone. That's it, back down to a comfortable cruising speed. I guess
I'll never be the fastest thing on the Autobahn.

     It  took 2 hours to reach our destination in Germany after we got on
the highway in Arlon, Belgium. We exited the Autobahn at Ramsteen, where the
US has a large Air Force base, found a bar and called Gerda. We told her
where we were, a country/western bar called Billy's, I'm not kidding, she
knew where it was and came to meet us. We had a couple of wheat beers, spoke
to the proprietors, a German couple who spoke pretty good English. It seems
they get a lot a US servicemen from the Air Force base and an Army base also
nearby. Gerda showed up with her daughter, Anya, and we had another round,
this time putting lemon in our wheat beer. "Billy" invited us back tomorrow
night when they had a country/western band playing. We thanked them for
their hospitality and headed to Gerda's house.

     In the parking lot Gerda asked if we had eaten lately. "No" we said, so
we followed them to a restaurant near their home in the small village of
Weilerbach. Passing by the outdoor tables as it was a little chilly we went
inside to a nice casual dining room upstairs and pigged out. Gerda and Anya
drank their beers half and half with cola, yuck, it's a popular thing over
there, go figure. There were some drunk people at the corner table who
spilled their beers. They were helped out by some good natured employees and
left with no fuss, where I could envision a shouting match and drunken melee
on our side of the pond. The Germans just don't seem to have the pent up
rage all to common in Americans. At least not since the 40's.

     Gerda insisted on picking up the tab. Then we followed her around the
corner, up the street and we arrived at her place. Went inside and had a few
beers, Bischoff, a light lager, the most popular beer style in the world.
They weren't bad, as good as most. So we talked for a little, she showed us
our rooms, one for each, and about 00:30 we crashed. I love these 24 hour
European clocks. No AM, no PM, no muss, no fuss.

     This time I got up late, 10:30, that's 10 hours of sleep, not on a foam
pad on a plywood bed, but on a real mattress. Far out. Gerda was making
breakfast when I went downstairs. She sent me to get Zeke and Tony and we
all feasted on sausages, ham and cheese omelets, biscuits and sweet rolls,
juice and coffee. Wow. After breakfast we explored the house inside and
out.  Her home is tastefully decorated with objects d'art in a rustic
setting, very comfortable. Three stories, two full baths, all the room she
needs for her and her two daughters and them some. Outside, the front of the
house is nothing remarkable. The back is another story.

Next time - the back of the house

     Only kidding. The back is a huge yard with a stream, a pond with a
fountain, Japanese stone lanterns and a formidable stone gate from Bali.
It's another world back there. I can just imagine the barbecues! After
taking a few pictures and just soaking in the ambiance, Gerda called for a
road trip. "Where do you want to go today?" she asked, Gateslike. "Uh, we
don't know," our inadequate reply. "How about wine country?" she queried.
"OK" we responded.

     So we all jumped into her car and headed back through the mountains
again. Destination, the Mosel River Valley in the Rhineland. The ride
through the mountains was reminiscent of our little trip through France the
other day, but the hills were a little steeper and the trees a little taller
and the motorcycle riders, well they're just nuts. They speed like crazy and
pass everything in their way with little regard for safety, theirs or yours.
The thrill of the open road and all that. After a while we left the forests
behind and spread before us was a landscape covered with vineyards, and I
mean covered. Every inch of space that wasn't being used for roads or homes
had a grapevine growing out of it. Miles and miles and miles, nothing but
grapevines. After a ride to the top of a hill to check out the view,
grapevines, lots of them, we drove looking for the place Gerda usually goes
to buy her wine. She couldn't find it this time though as she usually drives
into the valley by a different route, so we settled on the scenic little
village of St. Michael.

Next time - St. Michael

Pictures - Gerda's place