Our plan was to get to Starnberg, at the northern end of this long lake, and then maybe go a little farther, toward Munich, to shorten the final leg of our bike trip the next day. 
  We reached Starnberg around 5 p.m. Friday. It was crowded with pedestrians along the lake and cars streaming in off the highway, and motorists were testy. It was the first time we got honked at all week. With the hot weather and school just ending for the summer, all of Munich seemed to be emptying into Starnberg. This clinched our plan to get beyond this town. 
  We made it through the crowds around the tip of the lake and turned east. We breathed a sigh of relief to get back on quiet country roads, even though we had to go uphill. 
  The next village didn't seem to have any lodging, and a woman on her porch indicated we'd have to go back to the lake, rather than the next town east, to find a room. Some people speaking English at a biergarten said the same thing, and added that severe weather was on the way. So we turned back to Starnberg. 
  We didn't have a town map and took several bad guesses at which streets to take. The train station looked strangely deserted. The sky was darkening, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. We ducked into a cafe just as the clouds let loose. We had a snack and watched the rain pour down. By this time we were pretty worried that there would be no rooms left anywhere. 
  The rain let up around 6:30, and the waiter directed us to a pension a few blocks away, but it was full. So was a nearby hotel, where the receptionist told us that every place in town was booked. She suggested we go to the tourist office even though it was closed for the day, and she drew us a little map. She said the tourist office had a computer outside that would show any available rooms.
  The computer had a searchable lodging database. It listed exactly one place with a room still available, and we were just pondering how to try to find the address when a woman in a minivan, about to pull out of the driveway next to the building, asked if we needed help. 
  She phoned the guesthouse listed but got no answer. She said train service to Munich had been halted because of damage to the tracks. She said she knew of a pension, and when she started to describe where, we explained that we had been there already and the sign said it was full. But she said she knew the owner, a very old woman who was a patient of hers, and she marched down the street with orders to follow her. The doctor led us to the pension -- no answer at the door -- and then to a house on a secluded side street. She talked to the residents in German and they pointed to another house. 
  At that house the very old woman came to the door, and there was more negotiating in German. It was starting to rain again, and we stood there in our bright yellow jackets trying to look presentable yet pitiful. The doctor explained that the old woman normally didn't take guests anymore, but she was a good Christian. 
  Sixty euros, she said. 
  Agreed. 
  And the angel, glancing up at the rain clouds, excused herself and flew off. 
  The house was stunning, with a marble floor and staircase, and expensive-looking woodwork. It had an elevator to a third-floor apartment -- kitchen and all -- where we spent a very comfortable night.