Just another day on the rebound road...

Patrick and I have been on the road for nearly three weeks and I have yet to finish my entries about our NY/NJ adventures from before we left. This is a problem with me and my writing lately (and by "lately" I mean the last 5 or 6 years that I have attempted to re-start a daily journal) - when I get really behind, I find it hard to start up again because I feel like I have missed so much and it's almost a lost cause. I want to be able to record everything, every day, every place we go, everything we do. It's impossible - especially when I am a full month behind, blog-wise.

So I am sitting here in Dexter, Michigan, realizing I have put this off for far too long - and since yesterday was a perfect example of the kind of incredibly strange day I expect to have on the road, I knew I needed to sit down and write about it.

This is what I have skipped blogging, and what I hope to catch up on eventually: wandering around Manhattan, deciding suddenly that we needed to leave (and fast), figuring out precisely how to leave so fast, spending a week in upstate New York from the Hudson Valley to Niagara Falls, a few days in Pittsburgh, a few days in Ohio's Cuyahoga Valley National Park (which I definitely do have to write about; it was a mixed bag, but overall pretty cool), two days or so in Columbus, Ohio, and now Michigan.

So read about yesterday below the jump - which includes (but is not limited to) giant ears of corn, a house-sized fiberglass loaf of bread, Manchester, Michigan's world-famous chicken broil, and a bunch of Christians in a flooded basement.

Sandy Hook revisited

Much like Morristown National Historical Park, I have been visiting the Sandy Hook area of Gateway National Recreation Area since I was a kid, but never went there specifically for its role in the National Park System. My family used to go down there to swim all the time when my brother and I were kids - there were no gaudy boardwalks and piers to distract us from the ocean (which was probably very convenient, since I was - and perhaps still am - one of those kids who insisted their parents buy them something at every possible opportunity), and it's essentially the northernmost and thus closest expanse of beach along the Jersey shore.

Patrick and I went down on Monday, June 14 - it's generally a good idea to do all of one's shore-visiting on a weekday, because weekends get pretty ridiculous (Pat said that, when he came into New Jersey on June 12, it was the first time he'd ever heard a radio traffic report on a weekend - it was most likely for shore traffic).

Gateway National Recreation Area has sections both in New Jersey and New York; the Sandy Hook unit is the only one in New Jersey, and in New York it has areas on the southern shore of Staten Island and in Jamaica Bay in Brooklyn and Queens. I've never been to either of the New York areas, mostly because they're a pain in the ass to get to. Sorry, New York, but that's just the way it is.

The Value of History - Morristown, NJ

The second day of Patrick's visit - the first full day he spent in New Jersey - we decided to waste no time in starting our exploration of New Jersey's participation in the National Parks System. New Jersey only has four sites that are part of the NPS - five if you count the Statue of Liberty (which is considered in New York) - and two of them straddle state lines, so we had some looking around to do.

First on the lineup was Morristown National Historical Park, which I've visited a hundred times before but have never really appreciated as a part of the NPS. My town, Chatham, is right next to Morristown, so as kids we always went on field trips to the area - especially to Jockey Hollow, which is the area where Washington's troops spent their most horrid winter during the American Revolution. We visited the park on Sunday, June 13, which was a slightly cool and overcast day in the morning, but turned into a day of torrential downpour as time went on. But that's later.

Book excerpt: The Last Three Miles

In my last entry, I talked a bit about the roads in Northern New Jersey, in particular the Pulaski Skyway. It's not an easy road to drive—however, since I grew up driving these roads, I don't see them as such a big deal. While I had my learner's permit, even, I often had to navigate 13-lane toll plazas on the Turnpike in order to get to the mall. Ain't no thang. As a result, driving anywhere else in the country is downright simple. LA? You don't scare me none. Boston is downright user-friendly. Let's go tour around Oklahoma City, it's all good. See what I mean? Daaaamn right.


In that spirit, I'd like to present you with an excerpt from Steven Hart's book, The Last Three Miles: Politics, Murder, and the Construction of America's First Superhighway, a book about the Pulaski Skyway. I started reading it upon coming home, and admittedly I stalled (no pun intended) on page 100 of the 192-page book; it was a little dry for my taste and I couldn't really get into it. I'd be willing to give it another go, however, after rediscovering this passage, which is a truly evocative description of driving from the Holland Tunnel and across the Skyway. (The author is a born-and-bred New Jerseyan.)


Below is the excerpt, in bold.

Initiation By Tire

We're here, we're here. I didn't just forget about this blog, indeed no. We have simply been running around like complete and total maniacs, I haven't had time to update.

Patrick arrived here in New Jersey on June 12 (two Saturdays ago), and literally within a few hours of his arrival we started running around and seeing the sights all around New Jersey and New York - aaand we still haven't stopped (though, seeing as Pat pulled a muscle in his leg in Pennsylvania the other day, we are taking it easy at the moment). Patrick, who spent most of his life south of the Mason-Dixon, vowed to himself some time ago that there are two places on the planet he would never visit: New Jersey and New York City. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha!

But, I think I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. It's time to back up a little.

The reason I created this blog was so that people who, like I used to do, are wondering what it's like to hook up with a relative stranger and run away with said relative stranger, can know precisely what it is that happens amidst the flotsam and jetsam left over once these decisions are made. I think an important part of the story, then, is my relationship with Patrick - the ins and outs and terrifying moments and marvelous moments and the general struggle that you face when you're still coming out of one life and trying to force your way into another (in other words - hitting the Rebound Road).

Tentative Route, Tentatively

This is what I'm thinking right now. Right this second. This may change. This is not final. Have I mentioned this is tentative and subject to change? 'Cause it is. Tentative and subject to change. (Click that image at right to see a larger version; it is, however, a cell phone picture, so it's not good even when it's enlarged.)

This entry got EXTREMELY long, so I jumped it. Hope ya don't mind.

bring me that horizon

Last anyone knew, my road trip was canceled. Finito. Done. Off. Patrick went back to Tennessee and called everything off and I came home to convalesce and I didn't know what was coming next in my life.

But then everything changed.

And everything changed again.

And before it had a chance to change the second time, it changed a third time.

And then things stayed the same for a second, then changed back again to before the second change but after the first change. So they were still gonna change but a bunch of other changes were annulled.

And here I am now - 10:42 pm Eastern time on Tuesday, June 8, and right this second I will say this:

The trip is back on.

Now, I noted the precise date and time because who knows what will happen at 10:50 pm or even 11:37 pm and don't even ask about 8:02 am. But right now, all systems are go.

Below the jump, find out WTF happened.