The soft, inebriated gents took us a couple hours, as far as the old East-West German border, and dropped us at a gas station. I was halfway across Germany, at the dividing line between the east of my youth and the west of my future, to borrow a line from Kerouac. As anyone who's even taken to the road will tell you, gas stations are a smorgasbord of ride-sharing opportunities, and it didn’t take long for us to find our next ride.
Our next lift came from a Latvian businessman in a blacked-out Mercedes with leather seats -- a far cry from how the day had started out. The young driver, it seemed, was doing very well for himself in the logging industry but, friendly as our new ride was, there was a touch less geniality than we’d experienced with our previous carpooling comrades. Departing in Hamburg, we wandered around the port city, had a beer, and briefly cast our eyes around the Reeperbahn. From the other side of the city, we took another ride up to Flensburg, and eventually on to Aarhus as the sun set.