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“I was fooled enough by the sun and gulls to roll down my window” |
Sunday I drove down the Jersey Shore from an NYC suburb. About an hour or two into the drive, I saw a sign for Freehold. Now this is when I felt freedom. I have itinerary but nowhere in particular to be or get to, and here I am at the birthplace of the guy who got me through high school, as Anju would say- Springsteen! So I took the exit. And put in Born in the U.S.A. to the cd player. Because there's no one in the passenger seat to ask, and there's nothing I'm going to miss, and I've always wondered whether it would be this run-down factory town where all love is tragic and lives are nothin' but a way to survive. Hehe, oh I love Springsteen. But alas, it wasn't. Thankfully there were no Bruce Springsteen museums that I could find, no attempts at tourism, but it appears that the factories were up and booming again because life didn't look so bad from the road. But I was there. And then I turned around.
After arguing quite a bit with the lady, on account of her not recognizing "most scenic" as a possible route option, and wanting me to get back on 95 or the Garden State Parkway, whichever was closer, every few minutes, I figured out how to shut her up. Then the drive was leisurely and picturesque. At first, and my travel companion book "Road Trip USA" was completely right about this, the drive was not quite so scenic. On my map the roads looked like they were in view of the shore, but not so, real estate had taken over. So after Atlantic City (which I drove straight through), the drive became the scenic route I had hoped for- in fact, because the day was so clear and sunny, and there was no snow on the dunes, it looked like June. Which created an eerie effect- there was no one around. I drove over bridges from island to island, past million-dollar homes and estates and tacky restaurants, and saw a very small handful (child-size) of year-round cars, and maybe three people. No cops, no people, no drivers. Just me and the one guy operating a toll bridge, who I didn't look in the eye. This brought to mind The Stand, perhaps mixed with The Twilight Zone. Ooh, and just an echo of Stepford. Abandoned. I started wondering if the ferry I was hoping for shut down like these towns. Even if I wanted to eat, there was nothing open for business. At one point I was fooled enough by the sun and gulls to roll down my window, thinking I had already reached my temperate destination. Not so! Very cold.
I shot a couple dangerous pictures while driving of the beaches when they were in view. This is beautiful country, and if I were a nicer person I would not comment on how the lack of native New Jerseyans most likely improved my experience. The stories I've heard about the Jersey Shore in the summer prompts images of MTV spring break with girls in sweat-minis holding red cups of beer on the street and talking to guys adorned with American Eagle from top to Old Navy flip flops. I could almost see them lining the streets..... But enough with my stereotyping imagination, I was supposed to be enjoying this particular slice of America. I switched my iPod playing Jack Johnson to Don Henley's The Boys of Summer, followed by The Cure, and got myself into the beach groove. The towns were quiet (obviously) and just beautiful. I had a huge strip of island all to myself. Around Cape May I hopped back onto the road that the ferry is techincally 'on' and crossed my fingers that I wouldn't get stranded.
Serious Titanic moment. Once on the ferry I went to the railing and watched us embark from shore. The bay was full of ice! Sheets had invariably been broken up from the previous ferries and the bow crunched into the smaller 'bergs much to my delight. A wave moved the ice about and smashed the pieces back into the side of the ship, while everything glowed from the deep orange sunset ahead of me. Ooh I was so excited. My first car ferry all by myself, on this most romantic of winter evenings. As my own lover, I do well for myself. Does that make sense? After I took in the Titanic moment, I thought of Shackleton's Endurance - the great Antarctic adventures of old wooden ships breaking apart awesome ice shelfs and surviving off of whale blubber. I may have to work on staying in the moment a little more, my imagination should not be getting the best of me. But oh what an adventure it was!
The bay air whirled about me and I got back into my car. After organizing my stuff I made many phone calls and checked out my travel companion books. Although I am not yet lonely (a secondary goal of this journey) I find myself curiously referring to my precious things with names. The Lady of course is a dear friend, but I think my books will soon simply be "my travel companions." I read about approaching Lewes and Rehoboth Beach, and lo and behold, I am near the home of Dogfish Head Brewery! Rehoboth has a number of B&B's and guest houses, and with the Dogfish Head Pub in town, I decided it would be a perfect stop. Until I can camp, I've determined to stay at such establishments. The few extra dollars over a motel six is certainly warranted given the safety, the company, and the culture. My lonely planet recommended a particular guesthouse, and urged reservations, so I prayed that the offseason would grant me vacancy.
previous travel blog entry
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