My Favorite Drives - Germany
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Stumble It!My Favorite Drives
Germany
I'd like to share with you a series of my favorite drives. Ever since I was able to legally put my foot down on an accelerator I've been striking out on the road in an attempt to feel freedom and to gain knowledge of my surroundings. My first job was delivering flowers, and second one was pizza - later I would drive large trucks around California moving artwork for museums and private owners. I even managed to spend long a year in Richmond, VA hauling U.S. mail up and down the east coast.
Driving has always been part of who I am, especially during the lean, stupid years when I was performing as a professional musician, touring the U.S., Canada and Europe.
The first of the stories starts off with a youthful Jeff, pre-band days, alas, much more together, smarter, faster, taller - all the good things; innocence and gummy bears too. We fade in on our dear boy as he turns a borrowed VW Golf into a gas station, somewhere on the outskirts of Bonn (Bad Godesburg to be exact), West Germany as it was known then...
My friend's father said that I should just pull into the station and mention his name, Von Rosengentleman. Sounds simple enough, but my skills in German, despite two years of the stuff in high school, was akin to a newborn who'd learned how to ask for a glass of water just before going into a coma for 18 years. I walked into the station shop and grabbed a bag of gummy bears, Gonna need these, then moved to the counter, pointed at the Golf I'd parked at the pump and confidently told the woman, "Das Auto ist Herr Von Rosengentleman." Loosely translated, because it's the best I can do even now, I was telling the woman that the car was named Von Rosengentleman. Her response was what one would expect, a long stare and then a verbal denial the likes of which I'd never heard before. I insisted that the car went by that name. She insisted on speaking a foreign language. This continued for far too long, and seemed to typify my interactions with the local inhabitants of this fair country. It was downright depressing. I finally got the bright idea to pull out some cash, that's when everything was understood very quickly. All foreign relations should be this easy, but, alas, I sigh and repeat: Alas!
I should mention that the reason I was on the road was that my friend's father thought it was a wonderful idea for me to drive a couple hours away and see an ancient monastery. He wanted me to visit parts of Germany that were dear to him. I thought it was a good idea too, especially since I was reading The Name of The Rose at the time. I planned on reading the book on the monastery grounds - it seemed so very poetic. He handed me some maps, told me how to get fuel, ahem, and sent me off in his wife's car asking me not to drive over 75 mph because the winter tires were still on it.
Cut to me screaming down the open road pushing the Golf well over the 100 mph mark and loving it (sorry Mainhart). I hit the highway with a ferocity that belied my emotional state. Everything in Germany was so unfamiliar to me - the blood-sausages, the mullet/moustache combos, the little forks they gave you to eat your McDonald's fries with, and all the rest. It gave me a sense of being closed in, unable to breathe, but being behind the wheel of a car was like being right at home on the couch. Yes, that's right, my couch at home has a steering wheel attached to it.
I turned the dial on the radio for a while as outside the city gave way to the country. I was on a two lane piece of road that arched and turned through greener than green meadows. The day was somewhat gray but there were huge beams of sunlight punching through the clouds forming glowing islands of light here and there on the landscape that I shot past. I topped one hill and could see several distant, olden towns, each on their own knobs of hilly mass, each town built around a church whose steeples pointed their dark gothic fingers back at God. It was stunning, but, blast, I still hadn't found the right song to go with it all. German radio left much to be desired. There were mostly classical stations, no surprise I suppose. I did find the British Armed Forces radio station, but they were running a taped play of the sort only an egghead could get hot over (later I would watch quite a bit of British television and understand things better. I'd take that play over watching snooker or archery any ol' time).
For this jaunt I needed something more. I found it at, you bet, the American Armed Forces broadcast. It surprised me more than you might imagine - I flipped the tuner to an American voice saying something like: This one goes out to the guys over at the Americal Division sitting tight in Hamburg (okay, who could really recall the exact thing? Don't look to me for historical data when I'm trying to be all sensitive). That is when the opening chords came in with the sound we all know. It was Bruce Springsteen, a man I'd never, ever, never wanted to hear before. He was singing, "Born to Run," a brief ditty that has managed to land itself on my list of long detested songs.
Well, I whooped like the charging Confederate foot soldier my great grand pappy was, I punched the roof of the car, cranked up the radio and generally made the most if it. For about 11 minutes and 35 seconds (see note above regarding accuracy) I felt that I was home. I was saved, rejuvenated, born anew, I was in love with the world and with Bruce Springsteen (alas, this new found love for Mr. Springsteen had a very short lifespan). It was a stunning transformation that allowed me to find myself again in the energy of the moment, and this moment had momentum. This one instance carried me through another two weeks of misunderstandings and awkward moments with a certain grace as if I had finally found myself, and, I guess I had.
By the way, the monastery was pretty cool too. I saw a monk in sack cloth and sandals, some flying nun types wearing day-glo orange habits and the famously funny hats with wings, I read passages from my book to the holy cows who drifted about in the field beside the monastery and I got bit by a duck - what a day!
