Sprinting through a strawberry field

People were talking about a trip to Amsterdam.  I was listening intently.  At first a group of ten was reared and set to go.  Then it was 8.  My hope fell a bit with each cop out.  Then 6.  6 is still cool, it's a decent sized group to check out the city. By the time it got to two, I thought the trip was a bust. 

"Meet them at KFC in Hoptbahnhoff at 7pm. Don't be late." Justin, my roommate who decided to devote his weekend to a portfolio instead of a foreign city told me.  Great. Now I'm part of a drug deal. I might as well bring a gun and keep a blue bandana hanging out my rear left pocket.  

Curiosity got the best of me. I had to see what happened at KFC at 7pm.  KFC, the store hidden like a frog in pocket of camouflage pants at night.  I walked no less than a mile throughout the central train station where KFC was supposed to exist.  It wouldn't be so bad if the central station was gigantic, but it's not.  It's about 2oo meters by 500 meters with stores arranged like a major shopping mall. 

As I wandered about like a hospitalized Alzheimer's patient who broke out, a hand gripped my shoulder enthusiastically.  It was Aman. His dark mahogany brown eyes shone with anticipation as he told me he was "so pumped you made it!"

We loaded up on food for the road.  I'm going to take this moment to say I hate not having ice in Europe.  No-one believes in making ice. They prefer their carbonated beverages to be room temperature.  If I saw a man made out of ice, I would hack him up and store him in my freezer like a sub-zero version of Ed Gene.  Ed Gene meets Jack Frost.  I think we have a story there.

We were off in our luxurious carriage.  If you're going to experience the AutoBahn, do it in a Mercedes Benz.  You know it's the Autobahn when the speed limit is a white circle with a line through it.   

The now blurry country side reminds me of Wisconsin with the green pastures and dense agriculture. 

Giant windmills decorate the country side.  If I had to pick an ancestor for Optimus Prime, it would be a windmill.

Fast forward a few hours and we're lost in the German country. We pull over in a field and discover the field is for growing strawberries.  Why not do a line sprint?  Isn't this what anyone would think if they randomly found themselves plopped in a field of strawberries?

There I was, sprinting through a strawberry field.  Within my first 30 majestic skinny jean strides, a car flew off the road and powerslid to a stop next to our car.  Two women with the stature of NFL linebackers covered the 20 yards between them and the other two gentleman who chose not to sprint in five strides. 

Great.  We're going to be pummeled by German country girls.  They had muscles like The Incredible Hulk and features like Andre the Giant.  They spoke in voices deeper than our own and delivered a two minute long rant in pure, heavy German.  Once they saw our flip flops and cargo shorts, they knew we were American.  "You go. You go now.  This is our field and you can't run in it. Run somewhere else. Go now."

We were back in the car and made it roar to life before they said "field."

On to Amsterdam!