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I see by my letter that we walked in the rain. I remember seeing her walking by with brother and friend, and apparently we got to talking. She was nice looking, five-seven give or take, good body, in her late teens and darker hair and complexion than I would have thought for a German, but then maybe it was just in contrast to the Norwegian fairness I was seeing every day. She spoke English like most educated Europeans. She wanted me to take her to a movie in Bergen. I took her and it was the most god-awful movie I had ever seen. It was about a grubby, road-hoggy, fat and mean biker gang. It could not have been worse, and she enjoyed and loved it. After the catastrophe was over, she called me her biker-boy on the way out, and continued the approbation on the scooter ride back to camp.
I made no connection at all between a scooter and motorcycle, especially Harleys of the American biker cults. Of course these movie bikers being Europeans, did not drive Harleys, but some lesser pedigree, like the gang in the Marlin Brando movie, "The Wild One". Personally I had a hard time associating motor-midgets like Triumphs or BMWs with biker gangs, let alone a scooter. But I was starting to get the idea and it was a first; and so I thought I would just play along with it and see what would happen. She wanted to join me in my sleeping bag under the plastic and she did. I did enjoy that, and didn't have to play any part, that I would have no inkling how to play. I just gave her what she wanted. I may have left the next day by the looks of the letter.
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