Go check them out

Sometimes when I jump into bed, instead of falling asleep, my mind just starts rattling off all the crazy random stuff it’s been turning over all day. Or week. Tonight is one of those nights, and I figured I’d let it out, since it’s more of a pondering point than a thought. It’s a little musing in the arena of statistics (hey, I loved Discrete Mathematics in college!). Here’s the story.

Background

I took my little GPS receiver with me to Europe, and as a result, I got some pretty nifty logs. All over the places I went, I’ve got an overlay for a Google map that shows me exactly where I was and when. I suppose to some, that’s kind of creepy, but moving on.

Because GPS was developed by the military for, um, military purposes, it’s actually quite an incredible system. Wikipedia has a lengthy article on the technical workings of GPS, but the key thing is this: most civilian GPS receivers in the last few years are accurate to a few meters - about 16ft. If you’re really geek, the Wikipedia article also explains in depth why civilian GPS measurements are inherently inaccurate.

The GPS receiver then generally knows exactly where it is at any given moment in time - you just have to ask it. So along with the receiver, I brought a logger. The logger’s job was to record where the GPS says it was at any given moment, and this is where we get to the statistics. Since it would be very technically challenging to record absolutely every positional data point the receiver can produce, we have to sample it, much like a digital audio recording is actually a sampling of an analog signal.

The Experiment

I setup my logger to poll the receiver at regular intervals. Depending on where we were going and what we were doing, I varied that poll rate from one second to five minutes. Obviously the more frequent polling times produce more accurate logs, but they also result in significantly more data. The flight from Atlanta to Zürich, for example, at a one-second poll rate would have produced over 34,200 data points! But since we were traveling in a relatively predictable manner, I scaled it back to just a few hundred data points.

Okay, I’m getting to the point, I promise.

Generally, this means that a GPS receiver can report its current location with an error of up to 16 feet. And that 16 feet could be in any direction, as if the receiver were in the center of a 32-foot diameter Bubble Boy hamster ball. But the reverse of that statement is also true: a receiver may report its location with an error as little as zero feet - it could be dead on the money. I observed this effect in practice by looking at my GPS logs superimposed on a map. Sometimes the log point was exactly where I remember standing, and sometimes it was a ways off.

I used my GPS sometimes to measure how far I had traveled that day as well, sometimes walking as much as six or seven miles in one day. But the idea that the GPS is often inaccurate by a meter or more got me to thinking. With all that information in mind, consider this:

The Question

While on an excursion, would the GPS location samples, over time, average out to a spot-on measurement of distance traveled? Would the accuracy of the GPS samples increase with more frequent samplings or less frequent samplings? Would the samplings average more accurately over time, grow infinitely more exaggerated, or would the error level off in time, reaching a point of diminishing inaccuracy? Finally, what impact would my route have on the GPS’s measurements? Would a straight line path (such as an overseas flight) produce more or less accurate averages than a route that randomly meanders through the streets of an open market?

My comments after the break, but please, leave yours!

The Hypothesis

My theory is that there are quite a number of factors involved. I think we can safely agree that GPS receivers have what I will call a Range of Error (ROE). A receiver can have at most a 0% margin of error, therefore the ROE varies from zero at one end to some known value at the other (16 ft.). This gives us a number line to plot sample points on, using their known margin of error as the value (0-16). If we assume a standard deviation and distribution, we can expect the mean to fall around eight feet of error, with about 50% of the points in the middle two inner two quartiles (4-12 ft. error range). So we will assume for the next bit that each GPS location is off by eight feet.

The next bit of assumption depends on the path we take. If our trip is a purely linear, straight line progression from point A to point B, then we can conjecture that the longer our trip is, the more inaccurate the distance measured by the GPS. This is because in a linear path, there are exactly two positions that the GPS can err to that are either a location we have already passed through or a location we will soon reach. These two points can be negated since they effectively cancel each other out (in theory, in a large enough sample size). We can probably assume that the majority of samplings, however, will not result in one of those two points. For every sample that does not fall dead on our true path, the sampled location is then “out of the way” - our path’s distance must be increased to be routed through that point. Much like the two short sides of a triangle together are always longer than the longs side by itself, our total distance measured for the trip is likely to increasingly deviate by a small amount from the actual distance. On a short route, this might amount to a few inches at best. On a longer route, however, this could add up to a much larger amount, possibly reaching a statistically significant error.

Although conversely, you could argue that because the error increases linearly with the actual distance, the margin of error is than constant. We could then determine if the margin of error is statistically significant for any trip (assuming, for example, that an error of one mile on a 100 mile trip is no less acceptable than an error of one foot on a 100 foot trip).

However, if we are measuring the distance traveled for a non-linear path (a random, for example), then we can suggest that every possible error point has an equally opposite error point that would cancel it out, thus negating all error entirely. For example, assume a trip that followed an arc from point A to point B. The erroneous GPS location is just as likely to err 16 ft. to the inside of the arc as it is to the outside of the arc. Erring on the inside would result in a path that is marginally shorter than the actual path. Erring on the outside would produce a path that is marginally longer than the actual path. Hence, a random path will most likely reduce it’s margin of error in measuring distance traveled as the trip gets progressively longer!

The End

So that was a most ridiculous thought, and now that I’ve gotten it out, you too can wonder what the hell my brain runs on, because I doubt it’s running on sanity!

The concept is simple - you have a Goal Board, and you must meet or beat the board, every day, to earn points. You compete against others not on goals but on points. More points gets you ahead.

To pilot this, I’m starting with a simple Challenge Series - Starter’s Challenge. We’ll be competing for a free dinner, paid for by the losers.

So if you’re interested or you just want to try something fun, let me know, drop me a line, or leave a comment, and I’ll get you the information (which you can also read here).

I’ll have to agree - I haven’t woken before 11:00 the last three days and I feel fantastic!

http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/magazine/17-01/st_3st

Insanely drunk girl on MARTA. MARTA's pressin' charges.

New Year’s Eve. That special time of year when inhibitions are supposed to disappear. And any alcohol tolerance is out the door, too. On New Year’s Eve you drink like it’s your first time. Right?

Well, that was our plan. The four of us, Matt, Zach, Jesse and I, jumped on the MARTA and headed bound for Decatur to the Brick Store Pub. And then this happened.

Poor drunk girl was tossed onto the train by her wonderful friends. She was so drunk (at 22:00) that she couldn’t stand up. She literally fell onto the train, then crawled into a seat. Her head was never above her waist for more than about 10 seconds. She took her shoes off and curled up to sleep. We felt bad for her, and considered getting her off the train and into a cab (MARTA is no place for a girl, alone, too drunk to stand). But at the next stop, two police officers tried to get her up. She was oblivious, and the officers had to carry her off the train. I felt bad, but it was, admittedly, entertaining.

St. Bernie - the drink of choice!

Around midnight, the bar started handing out party favors for the big countdown. Suddenly everyone in the bar was eight years old and honking on those noise makers like you do when you’re eight. This annoyed the dickens out of Matt, which of course prompted me to strap four horns together and blast an unholy cacophony of noise in his face. Repetitively. Ha ha.

Eventually, we tired of the place and it was time to go home. After waiting for the train for what seemed like an eternity (maybe time moves slower when you’re drunk), the train arrived.

On the way home, with Matt still annoyed by the noise makers, I hatched a devilish plan. A pack of couples had just boarded the train, and the girls among them were also wildly drunk. So I handed the noise makers to girls, and they took over the task of blasting the noise makers in everyone’s face. Now, there was nothing Matt could do about it. Ha ha ha ha!

Finally, we finished the night with a few frozen pizzas and a game of Mario Party. When I woke in the morning, I was not hung over,  but the late night pizza and coke had my stomach feeling like I’d eaten a fence post. Ugh.

Here are some more pictures from the evening.

There’s also a ridiculously cute video I shot after the break.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Anyway, I still have to proof read the entries and get the associated photos loaded in. This will take some time, but hopefully it will be more enjoyable than just typing in the entries. I’ll try to start rolling them out at least one a day. Maybe more?

We got serious for two seconds and the camera accidentally captured the moment

Every year my mother insists that we do a “family photo”. This year was no exception.

I was delighted to take the photo, since I got to make good use of my new Canon digital camera and the super neat face-detect self timer. Basically when I start the shutter timer, it waits until a new face appears in the photo before it snaps the picture. And it automatically does three takes so you get it right. Of course, a few of our takes were less than brilliant, but some of them were just plain comic genius. Or maybe not.

Here also is my pick of the shoot for the photo. You can view all of them online on Picasa - Family Christmas Photo 2008.

Yesterday I finished reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials - the trilogy of The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass. I thoroughly enjoyed the series, especially the second and third installments, but I did have a few complaints. I’ll put up a proper review in a short while - after all, I’ve nothing else to do today!

Equally recent, Christmas has come and gone. I really enjoyed skipping town to avoid all the holiday madness around what is, after all, a culture of soccer moms and strip malls. Instead, I managed to get all but one or two gifts while abroad in Germany and Switzerland. That worked out quite well for me, and I think all the recipients of my gifts were thoroughly enthused as well. Where shall I go for holiday shopping next year, then?

Speaking of my travel, I’ve had a few people ask about pictures, stories, and the like. Okay, I’m getting to them. I’ve been competely uninspired to do anything for the last week or so since returning home, but I suppose it’s time to be productive again, so coming soon, the rest of my trip log and photos!

UPDATE: I’ve been working on typing up my journal entries, and I have quickly realize what a chore this is! I wrote significantly more than I had imagined, so bear with me. I’ll have to finish getting all the entires typed up, then load in some photos and tag the GPS data as well.

I’m about 1/3 to 1/2 of the way through the typing and it’s not 2:00am, so I have to stop. But maybe tomorrow I’ll switch gears and do the photos first so I can get some of the earlier posts out.

We say goodbye to Jan and Europe

Wake up. Take shower. Get dressed. Eat food. Pack shit. Say goodbye. Load car. Drive some. Refuel car. Return car. Check in. Clear customs. Clear security. Visit duty-free. Find gate. Make brown. Board plane. Sit down. Enjoy flight.

…nine endless hours pass…

There are still another few hours before we get off the plane at JFK! Then another two hours will pass until boarding the connecting flight to Atlanta. Then however long that flight is. Brian had slept nearly the entire trans-atlantic leg. Lucky bastard…

Of course I owe Philipp a great deal of gratitude, so I hope that if he’s reading this he takes no offense. But the floor was cold, and as Philipp left for work in the morning, I realized that I had spent more time in the night trying to stay warm than actually sleeping. And then I realized I was lying on - and not in - a sleeping bag Philipp had left out for me. Ha!

Well I still owe you many thanks, Philipp, for your hospitality.

Following an extra hour of sleep under the warmth of the other sleep sack, I got the day started at the early hour of 11:00. I felt guilty for having slept in the extra time, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be, so I just enjoyed it. I’m on vacation, after all.

I have to admit, though, that I was a bit stumped by the shower. Jessy’s shower had only one wall and no curtain, but at least the shower head was mounted high on the wall. Here, there were no walls, and the hand held sprayer only reached about shoulder height. So I guess I’ll be squatting for my shower? How do Germans usually do this?!?

My first order of business was to get things packed up and stowed away. In doing so, I discovered an extra set of.. “essentials” stashed in my back pack (in the event of lost luggage). Great! That would save me the trouble of washing clothes.

So on to my second task instead - the grocery. I needed some food stuffs to bring home to the states, and there was a REWE just across the street, and since Philipp had left me a key, I made for it. I picked up as much candy, chocolate, wine, and whatever else I thought I could carry home and pack into my luggage.

Next, I was hungry. I reasoned that this might be my last chance at a real, authentic Döner Kebab, and this was probably the best place to get it, so I headed for the international cuisines of the Hauptbahnhof. There I found “Max & Moritz” and had myself a Kebob. Sorry you missed that one, Brian, but I’m sure you’re enjoying your €70 company lunch in Göttingen, too.

I had read on wikitravel.org that Bornheim and especially Sachsenhausen were particularly interesting parts of town, especially for their medieval architecture. So when I finished eating, I decided to see if I could find out what the fuss was about.

On the way there, I made note of two things to myself. First, the public transit here was much more difficult that I had previously thought. Trams and trains do not runs in a particular direction, like north/south, but rather to a destination, via some intermediate location. So if you want to get somewhere, you just have to know where it is. Which I did not.

Naturally, the locations I wanted were not exactly “on the map,” so I had to do a bit of guess work to reason out the right path. I came up a hair shy of where I thought I wanted to be, but no matter, the extra three block walk would be good for me.

It was during that three block walk that I made my second note: it was cold. Although the temperature was actually one or two degrees higher than what it had been in Munich, this was a foggy, think, moist, penetrating cold. It had chilled me right to the bone, even through my down coat, sweater, button shirt and undershirt. This cold knew know barriers.

Then I found Sachsenhausen. Or at least what I figured it should be. What I’d actually found was Schweizerstraße - a fine shopping district, lined with small boutiques and specialty shops. The experience was nice, but like the shops in downtown Athens, this all looked terribly expensive. I decided to go search for my trinkets at the Christkindlmarkt. I had been to a market everyday since arriving in Europe, so why stop now? Besides, I had liked what I had seen the day before, and this was my last chance to do my trinket shopping.

I described the markets in a previous post, but the sensory overload in Frankfurt’s market was unbelievable. Smells on incense, bratwurst, Glühwein, powdered sugar on waffles, candies nuts, candles, chocolate, and everything else Christmas-esque filled the air and your nostrils. Lights and trees on three sides of you, shop keepers hocking their wares all vied for the eye’s attention. The sounds of popcorn popping, people chattering over many a mug of Glühwein and the dull roar of a huge crowd imposed endlessly on your ears. And the thousands of people packed into the market made every step a bump into someone else’s shoulder. This was certainly an experience unlike any that we have in the U.S.A. - except maybe tailgating in Athens on a warm fall afternoon… that would come close.

By the time I was ready to leave (which was not actually that long, given the cold), I had spent more money that I intended to and was carrying quite a large bag of stuff. The one thing I hadn’t picked up was a bag of candied nuts. Some Mandeln or something would be good, and I made an attempt. Sadly, negotiations with the sweet old ladies in the nut stand did not go well. She did not understand a lick of English, and I couldn’t understand her dialect of German, not could I find the right words to speak. So I moved on without getting any nuts.

By now, the cold was seriously getting to me. I was tired of walking (the GPS reported about 7.9 miles thus far) and I was tired of freezing. There was something else, too. Having been tossed into the culture, My German was slowly improving, and so some people I was able to understand. Others I could not. My brain was beginning to tire of the translating. Always thinking back about the meaning of words, processing on delay the things people around me had said. I was ready to speak English again.

Back at Philipp’s apartment, I re-packed my luggage with my new goods. I wasn’t flying yet, so perfect packing wasn’t necessary, but I wanted to be ready. It didn’t take long, and soon Philipp was home. By now, I’d heard from Brian as well. Work was running late (”well that’s not gone well…”) and he would not be leaving Göttingen until about 20:00. So Philipp and I went back one last time to the Christkindlmarkt. Yes, one last return.

Holy lord this place was packed! What I had previously thought of as “busy” was just incomparable! Our mission was simple: get in, get a Bratwurst and Glühwein, and get out. It took 90 minutes.

It was surprising to me that Philipp insisted on driving. I’d had no problems with the trams (when I knew where I was going), but he persisted. I didn’t argue, but as you might expect, we spent some time looking for a place to park.

Finally, at about 21:20, I left for Dreieich-Buchslag. Philipp dropped me off at the Hauptbahnhof, and I went searching for the right train. As a testament to the efficiency and effectiveness of the rail system, (although it took a few minutes to read the maps) I had to wait less than one minute for the S3 Darmstädt train to arrive. Twenty minutes later, I deboarded at Dreieich-Buchslag. There was nothing here. Absolutely nothing.

Having no idea when or where Brian would arrive, I made a guess at the bus loop on the far side of the station. No sooner that I’d reached it, I heard a diesel engine turn the corner and the unmistakable glow of Bimmer headlamps illuminated the road ahead of me. It was Brian, and our timing could not have been better! This was like the end of a great race in Top Gear with both competitors reaching their destinations spot on.

From there we drove to Jan Adler’s house, or his mother’s house, to be exact. Jan took us to a local Italian kitchen (where is apparently quite regular) and we feasted. Oh did we feast! I splurged and even went for the Tiramisu - which was especially good, I thought.

Finally, we had a few more drinks in Jan’s loft at home and called it a night. It would be an early morning, and I was truthfully looking forward to getting home to Atlanta.

KML log of last day in Frankfurt

Since it was about lunch time, I decided to find food, and proximity to the Hauptbahnhof should provide a multitude of options. So I just began walking in some non-particular direction. I should have a GPS log to look at later.

The search quickly made me realize how different Frankfurt is than other towns I’ve seen on this trip and in past trips.

For one, it’s an understatement that this is a commuter town. The population nearly doubles by day, from what I hear. This also, unfortunately, means it has one of the most complex public transportation systems imaginable. They have Regional and Regional Express trains, S-Bahn and S-Bahn Express trains, U-Bahn subway trains, tram cars on the street, buses, and even public taxis! The network map looked like a bowl of spaghetti, dropped carelessly on the floor.

And that is exactly what I found for lunch - Spaghetti alla Matriciana - but not dropped on the floor. It seemed to be a reasonably authentic Italian restaurant (who’s name I cannot remember). I believe it was just north west of the train station. It was delicious, but even better was the beer. A private label, I gathered, called Pfugstäder.

After eating, I decided to tackle the transit system and go find the Christkindlmarkt - Frankfurt is supposed to have one of the biggest and best.

This long exposure of the market in Frankfurt pleases me

The market was (predictably) in the squares in and around Römer Platz - or just Dom. I walked through it a bit and was disappointed at how small it was, and filled only with food and drinks, which I did not want. I ventured down to the river and over the bridge to take some photos.

On my way back through the market, I realized my error. I should have gone left at Albuquerque. To the other side of the street was an incredibly expansive street market weaving in and down every side street for blocks! Wow! I had previously found only a small tributary of this enormous market. It was a kind of bendy, twisty, shopping mall, with tastes, smells, and sights everywhere. A man could spend hours visiting all the carts and examining all the wares for sale.

So that’s exactly what I did. But unfortunately, by this time, my phone was beginning to run low on power, so I couldn’t leave it on to track my whereabouts. Although I literally walked around the same three-block market for over three hours and almost never saw anything twice!

Beautiful sunset

As the sun began to set, the beautifully restored medieval architecture glowed with a bright orange light, caused by the city’s pollution - not entirely unlike suburban Atlanta. I helped myself to a few “artsy” photos.

Not long after the sun had set, I made back for the train station. It was time to meet up with Philipp, who would be offering me his floor for a free stay tonight. I took the S-Bahn train to Niederrad Bahnhof, where Philipp picked me up in his black Ford Focus “Caravan”, as he called it. I guess that’s the fancy German term for hatchback.

After reaching his place and dropping my bags, it was dinner time. Philipp suggested the Paulaner Haus am Dom, and I couldn’t refuse. This place was essentially the Hofbrauhaus, but for Paulaner. So that is where we went. I ordered a round of tall Paulaner Hefeweizen for the two of us and for myself the Wienerschnitzel. God it was tasty! Maybe it was all the walking around… Philipp ordered something resembling the entire hind leg of a pig - Schweinsaxen I think.

After dinner, it was time to retire. I made up my spot on the floor and settled in for a cold night - the heat had been off in Philipp’s apartment all weekend!

KML log of my walk around Frankfurt

I, meanwhile, decided to liberate myself from the group and jump a train to Frankfurt am Main. Even though I hardly speak German, the process could not have been simpler. I found my train, which arrived just moments after purchasing the ticket, and by 10:45, I was at Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof.

From here, I’ll spend the day on my own in the city, and Brian has arranged for me to meet up with a friend when he finishes work around 17:00. So another free night. I do have to admit that it’s awfully nice for Phillipp (the friend) to take in a total stranger, but it will be good - I can see some city, save some money, and so forth.

Since I am currently at a Starbucks by the Hauptbahnhof, I suppose I should go make something of the day, yeah?

By the powers invested in some higher authority, we woke up Sunday morning, not hung over. Though I may not have been hung over, I was not on stable ground. I had completely expected the morning to be painful, but it was not. The world was still spinning a bit when I looked far into the distance, but that was little price to pay for the evening we’d just brought to a close not six hours before. And soon we would be headed for Bad Kreuznach and I could sleep in the car.

In Karlsplatz we picked up what was supposed to be a Ford Mondeo or Volkswagon Jetta. Sixt, however, had given them all away and offered us instead a BMW 320i instead.

Thrilled, we made for the Autobahn. Once on the road, I setup my camera on the dash and we did a little Top Gear style review of the car. Brian seems pleased, but perhaps that was because he had the pleasure of driving. From the passenger seat, I quickly began to despise the car.

The seat was obnoxious. You could only raise the seat by getting out of it - hardly practical at 120 km/h. It was awkwardly angled as well, so I couldn’t get my bum comfortably positioned. And there was nowhere to put my arms.

Besides that, the ride was incredibly stiff. Every little bump in the road made my guts jolt about like James May in his high speed boat ride. My bottom was sore by the time we’d reached out destination. Thankfully, I’d been too tired to care and simply slept most of the journey.

Road Trip from München to Bad Kreuznach in a rented BMW 320i

There were, however, a few parts for which I was awake. Wide awake.

Being the Autobahn, there is no speed limit in certain sections. So when the opportunity presented itself, Brian gave it the beans, so to speak. I took some proper video of us dashing along at ~220 km/h (~128 mph). Not surprisingly, those bouts of high speed were pretty exciting.

Secondly, our route (shown on my slick GPS map!) took us through the Black Forest, which was presently not black at all. In fact quite the opposite - all white and gray. Everything was glazed in snow, and the deeper we went, the denser the fog became. Soon, we were unable to see off the road at all, and in front of us, we could only see about 100m. Or less. The fog was in some patches so thick, it had became dark, like a thunderstorm cloud. Fog so thick the sun cannot shine through it. But it eventually gave way and we left the forest. And I returned to my dazing and drifting to and from sleep.

I'm not sure, but there seems to be something amiss with the privacy door in the hotel

We arrived, exhausted, at the Fürsthof Hotel. I don’t know how Brian managed to stay awake - perhaps he just liked driving. Nonetheless, we checked in and I showered. Doing so, I discovered a rather interesting feature to this hotel: the bathroom door was clear, and only partly frosted. You could see right through it! How bizarre…

We walked a few blocks east to a local restaurant for dinner, and by this time, Brian’s boss Hans had joined us. Smoking a small but potent cigar, the introduced himself. I politely replied “It’s good to meet you.”

“So… now we have to speak English, yes?” he commented, half jokingly. Clearly, Hans was a man of business, and he was all German! German! German!

The restaurant we dines at seemed to have about everything you could want, so because I hadn’t gotten enough of it at the club the night before, I ordered the Pizza Hawaii. It was overcooked and extra crisp.

Following the main course, though, Hans insisted on a round of espresso, which I normally wouldn’t mind. But this stuff was… black. So black, in fact, that is tasted burnt. I’m nearly positive that I’ve had espresso before and never like this. Gross. The burnt taste stayed an unwelcome length of time in my mouth and throat, and the mixture of it with Hans’ cigar was putrid. The after taste made for an evening-long unpleasantness and I guessed that a cigarette ash smoothie would taste about as delectable.

Our room at the hotel was hotter than blazes. After turning the heat off and opening a window to let in the 28-degree night air, the room settled to a tolerable level. But the sheets were crisp and loud, and I’m not sure either of us slept as well as we could have.

GPX Driving Log

Tonight was our last night in München, so we had to make it good!

We started with a few drinks at Jessy’s apartment, and some YouTube. From what I have gathered on this trip, these crazy Germans just like to get drunk and watch YouTube all night! And Mario Barth seems to be the video of choice. Sorry Nicole, Jessy.

Hello.

Once the YouTubing was complete, we made for town. First on our itinerary was a revisit to Tollwood. On a cold Saturday night, the big music tent (Tief-im-Wald) was absolutely packed. We once again managed to arrive at the end of the band’s set, but nonetheless we got a few pints of beer down before they finished with a polka rendition of “We Didn’t Start the Fire”. How great.

With us again were Jessy’s brother Patrick and entourage of ladies. I know they were all 19, but in some way, they looked much older. I have no idea what they thought, but I kept glancing up at the three of them - and sometimes catching at least one of them in particular glancing back. Her hair was beautifully sheen with all the colors of the tent lighting. I tried to tell her how sexy it was, but I guess it got lost in translation. Anyway, I snapped some photos and she gave me her email address so I could send her the photos.

While deciding what to do, the girls “borrowed” my camera, and I wound up with a few shots I don’t remember taking - because I didn’t take them. They turned into a good laugh anyway.

Once we departed Tollwood, we headed for a night club called Max und Moritz. This is what Ted would have wanted. Two (or three) huge rooms of face melting, heart pounding, blindingly loud music. Actually, I can’t remember the last time I was in a club with this much power in the audio system. The dance room absolutely throbbed with every thump of the kick drum into the depths of your chest, and even at high volumes, the music was clean and never distorted - it just got louder!

We danced here for an especially longs time, but like the stiff American I am, I never really quite got into it. I don’t think the Germans are really into that hideous close grinding we call “dance” anyway.

Many stupid pictures were taken, some still funny enough to post

I took a few pictures, but I guess bars and clubs are ultimately all the same. However, I did do, for the second time this trip, something stupid. I swore up and down when we left the club that I had lost my GPS receiver. Why did I have it with me in the first place? But second, where was it? After some frantic searching of all my pockets, I gave up. If it had fallen out at the club, or in the cab, then it was surely gone. I would not even know how to describe the little black gadget to someone in the hopes that they’d found it. So I began readying myself for bed when I remembered the secret pocket on my undershirt. A zippered pocket for runners. And there it was. Tucked safely into the secret pocket!

Finding the receiver was a relief, and so we resumed watching YouTube videos until Benny’s train was running again. At 04:30.