Paul E. Fallon's Blog, page 49
July 27, 2016
Trip Log – Day 262 – Milford, DE to Dover DE
July 24, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees
Miles Today: 24
Miles to Date: 13,510
States to Date: 35
After spending the morning with my high school friend Gary Ralph and his husband Bill Robbins and attending a joyous service at their church, Epworth UMC in Rehoboth, I didn’t get on the road until after two; a short ride on a hot day through Delaware countryside. The First State is in the midst of a development boom. Subdivisions are popping up everywhere. Ryan Homes may be the state’s second largest employer (DuPont is the still king here). Delaware is a very low tax state, and apparently there is a big market in retirees who like the benign climate and easy access to the beach. Every development, from trailer park to McMansion enclave, has an official ‘Welcome’ sign that gives suburban sprawl authenticity.
My host in Dover, Sara, is one of the most inquisitive and wide-thinkers I’ve met. We talked for a full two hours before I even got out of my cycling gear. We hauled ourselves over to the Flavor of India buffet, a most inauspicious looking place in front of a Super 8. Inside, the walls are covered with ‘Best of Delaware’ posters and the buffet included some of the best Indian food of my life. It was a feast!
July 26, 2016
Trip Log – Day 261 – Cape May NJ to Milford, DE
July 23, 2016 – Sun, 100 degrees
Miles Today: 38
Miles to Date: 13,486
States to Date: 35
Yoga on the beach! My Cape May host is a yoga teacher who runs a beach class every morning for the posh Congress Hotel. He invited me to participate. I had not taken a full yoga class since my accident. I am so far from the flexibility of my salad days, but managed pretty well. As far as doing yoga on the beach – the romanticism is much greater than the reality of sand, sand everywhere.
I pedaled through Cape May, a bucolic historic seaside town. The place was packed on this sweltering hot July Saturday. Shopkeepers smiled; waitresses stuffed their pockets with tips.
I caught a midafternoon ferry to Lewes, DE, and a welcome hour and half in the shade, then pedaled to Milford to spend the night with a friend from Oklahoma I hadn’t seen since high school. At times, this journey seems like a string of remarkable reunions.
July 23, 2016 – Sun, 100 degrees
Miles Today: 38
Miles to...
July 23, 2016 – Sun, 100 degrees
Miles Today: 38
Miles to Date: 13,486
States to Date: 35
Yoga on the beach! My Cape May host is a yoga teacher who runs a beach class every morning for the posh Congress Hotel. He invited me to participate. I had not taken a full yoga class since my accident. I am so far from the flexibility of my salad days, but managed pretty well. As far as doing yoga on the beach – the romanticism is much greater than the reality of sand, sand everywhere.
I pedaled through Cape May, a bucolic historic seaside town. The place was packed on this sweltering hot July Saturday. Shopkeepers smiled; waitresses stuffed their pockets with tips.
I caught a midafternoon ferry to Lewes, DE, and a welcome hour and half in the shade, then pedaled to Milford to spend the night with a friend from Oklahoma I hadn’t seen since high school. At times, this journey seems like a string of remarkable reunions.
July 25, 2016
Trip Log – Day 260 – Toms River NJ to Cape May, NJ
July 22, 2016 – Sun, 95 degrees
Miles Today: 104
Miles to Date: 13,448
States to Date: 34
Some days you just have to pedal. After so much nostalgia and lots to ruminate upon, I looked forward to the fifth century of my adventure, pedaling through the Jersey Pines to historic Cape May. Five miles outside of Toms River, I entered the Pinelands, a land of scrub pine and package stores. I was never far from either the rest of the day.
Mishaps are an essential part of a long cycling day. When I missed a turn and wound up on a dirt road, GPS showed the highway I wanted was only two or three miles beyond. I thought I could handle that. Unfortunately, dirt roads in South Jersey aren’t dirt. They’re sand. In a few spots I had to push Tom through the soft white stuff.
With the thermometer flirting with 100 and a steady wind in my face, I drank over 300 ounces of water, Powerade and lemonade along the way. Twice, I stopped at Wawa, New Jersey’s preeminent convenience store, to camel up. They are the nicest quick road stops anywhere. The fresh made subs, ordered via computer, are better than anyone could expect at a convenience chain.
Along the way I had several stretches of excellent cycling. Ocean County 537 south to Tuckerton has smooth pavement and wide shoulders. Cape May County 661 is short but memorable; the trees create a full canopy over the road. My last twenty miles, along Highway 47 on the west side of Cape May, is a real treat. Besides being a good surface, the unspoiled area has many beautiful historic buildings, small farms and produce stands that offer the goodness of The Garden State to anyone willing to stop.
July 24, 2016
Trip Log – Day 259 – Toms River NJ
July 21, 2016 – Sun, 85 degrees
Miles Today: 19
Miles to Date: 13,344
States to Date: 34
Thomas Wolfe wrote, You Can’t Go Home Again. He was wrong. You can return. Just be prepared for home to be so much smaller than memory insists. It took me half and hour, max, to roll through the precinct of my youth, the house, neighborhood, school, and church that stretched so wide to a young boy on his first bicycle. My family moved to Toms River when I was a year old. We lived on a street of cookie cutter houses within cycling distance of everything a child might want. By the time we moved to Oklahoma, when I was sixteen in 1971, the town had tripled in size. Today, houses on quarter acre lots crawl out in every direction. The streets I inhabited are now quaintly referred to as ‘The Village’. It is remarkably the same.
The subsequent owners of our house have followed in my father’s ‘tinkering’ tradition. It is the most distinct on our indistinct block.
Bishop Memorial Library, the first building I ever sketched, is still the most gracious structure downtown. I used to crouch in the stacks and savor Dr. Seuss, who was banned from my Catholic home.
I puffed my one and only cigarette in the ally behind the movie theater, which has been turned into a mini-mall.
I have only one friend still living in Toms River, though Gus is much more than a friend. I spent the afternoon and evening with Gus and his wife, Robin, his children and grandchildren. His daughter Maggie is my only godchild. Seeing her after too many years gone was a reunion of the spirit.
July 23, 2016
Trip Log – Day 258 – Red Bank, NJ to Toms River NJ
July 20, 2016 – Sun, 80 degrees
Miles Today: 51
Miles to Date: 13,325
States to Date: 34
Sorry Cape Cod, sorry Miami, sorry Port Christian, sorry Malibu. The most beautiful beaches in the world are along the Jersey Shore. Over one hundred miles of pristine sand bar that include areas of natural preservation, fabulous mansions, and honky tonk boardwalks. I rode south along Ocean Blvd and Route 35 on a perfect beach day of crisp sunshine and steady breeze with the intoxicating scent of the salty sea, overburdened every so often by the smell of greasy fries and deep-fried Oreos. Forty-five years ago I moved away from this strip of sand where I was raised. I am surprised how little these places have changed, how familiar they still feel.
Mansions that rival the Hamptons line Ocean Blvd in Deal.
As a child, the Convention Center in Asbury Park was the swankiest place I’d ever seen. In 1965 we drove 25 miles to see the opening of The Sound of Music at the elegant Paramount Theater. Asbury Park nosedived just as Bruce Springsteen made it famous. By the 1990s it was a collection of halfway houses, going down, down, down. But as the locals relate, ‘the gays moved in,’ and saved the place. It’s not exactly South Beach, but it has an upbeat charm.
Immediately south, Ocean Grove was founded as a Methodist Chautauqua-style camp with a massive revival hall. People still vacation in the rows of tents and small houses with grand porches.
There is miniature golf, of course, and newer houses that still harken back to porch tradition.
When I arrived at Mantoloking, I began to see the effects of Hurricane Sandy. Along the ten miles to Seaside, bulldozers replenish beach sand, construction crews rebuild mega-houses, and house-lifting companies raise salvaged structures.
Several people told me the boardwalk at Seaside Heights wasn’t what it had been, but I found it exactly as I remembered, a titillating concoction of suntan lotion and cigarettes, sweet taffy and sausage with onions. I had a frozen custard cone from Kohr’s, creamier than any frozen treat on earth.
My hometown, Toms River, is famous for three things: the environmental/chemical damage that Ciba-Geigy inflicted, the epicenter of Hurricane Sandy, and Little League. I grew up in the abandoned gravel pits that the town deeded to Little League to create baseball fields for tiny boys. We spent hours trying to coax infield grass from the sandy earth. My father was a coach; I got hit by more balls than I caught. After two years, one hit, and dozens of errors, I retired to scorekeeping and running the concession stand. I proved talented at both tasks. I scored our way the Toms River’s first state championship and made enough money selling Twizzlers to buy my first guitar.
In 1998, Toms River won the Little League World Championship. Today, those snarly gravel pits contain seven beautiful baseball fields and a clubhouse that includes indoor batting and pitching stalls. I watched a practice in session. The coaches are so patient. The boys, and now girls, are so small. But in their minds, they are all major-league stars.
July 22, 2016
Trip Log – Day 257 – New York, NY to Red Bank, NJ
July 19, 2016 – Sun, 80 degrees
Miles Today: 21
Miles to Date: 13,274
States to Date: 34
My Irish bard, host and tour guide was flat out when I slipped out of his apartment after 8:00 a.m. As a rule, New Yorkers are not early risers. I stopped at a Chinatown bakery for one of my favorite breakfasts: an assortment of buns. Then I rolled towards the Battery to see the new Calatrava Path Station. Perhaps it’s not fair to judge the winged sculpture that sits atop a station whose entrances seem as ordinary as any before it is fully complete, but did New York really need a bigger version of what Milwaukee already has? It is gigantic and it is graceful, but it is also arbitrary. It will make for dramatic photos among the angular crowd.
The ferry to New Jersey is a delight. I was pleased that it churned up the East River for another stop at 34th street, so I got to see the Brooklyn Bridge and Frank Gehry’s apartment tower, which required a custom window washing machine to clean 84 floors of curved glass. New York is the epicenter of one vein of architecture I detest: random forms of technical wizardry. Just because we can do something – technically – doesn’t mean it’s always a good idea – humanly.
No matter. Within half an hour I was on the beach! Hooray for Sandy Hook National Park and the fabulous Jersey Shore. The beaches are so pristine.
Along Sea Bright, a huge stone wall separates the beach from the rest of the barrier island. I’m not sure how much it helps in a storm. Seems to me the water will come in from the marsh and bay on the other side. But people have built their private decks up on the top of the wall just the same.
The next three days will be ripe in nostalgia for me as I head to Toms River, where I grew up. First bit of memory: I got stuck at one of New Jersey’s raised bridge. They are quirky as ever. Two people in yellow safety vests scamper across the roadway and close gates by hand before raising the dual cantilevers that allow a pleasure fishing boat to motor up the Shrewsbury River while dozens of cars sit in the stifling heat.
I pedaled through the tony boroughs of Rumson and Fair Haven, singing Springsteen songs (he long ago left Asbury Park for these greener pastures). I’m hungering for some Glory Days.
July 21, 2016
Trip Log – Day 256 – New York, NY
July 18, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees
Miles Today: 11
Miles to Date: 13,253
States to Date: 33
New York City is packed with people, even in summer. People are polite, if not exactly friendly, but we develop a veneer here, quickly, to give each other space in a place where space is scarce. I don’t approach many people with my question. It seems intrusive.
Still, there is much to glean by rolling through the city at my pace. New York may well be the most diverse place on earth. All ages and identities appear to coexist with more ease than I’ve witnessed elsewhere. The extremes of rich and poor are great, but less glaring than say, San Francisco.
I think about The Green Metropolis, in which David Owen postulates that Manhattan is the most energy efficient place in the United States. That may be true on a per capita consumption basis, but it really doesn’t translate to a sustainable model we should emulate. Yes, New York is efficient because it’s so dense and there are so few cars. But the density pushes human limits and disconnects us from, rather than links us to, the natural world. When you consider all the external energy it takes to make New York work – including major portions of New Jersey and Connecticut – the argument is not convincing.
I spent a leisurely morning in a deli, eating the world’s best bagel and the largest black and white ever. Then I rode over to Riverside Church and had a conversation with Michael Neuss of Orpheus Orchestra, a chamber orchestra that has developed a collective process in which all forty members participate in selection and interpretation. They have no conductor. It is a fascinating example of truly participatory democracy in action.
I got stuck in a torrential downpour along the Hudson River bike path, but fortunately part of it is under the raised West Side Highway, so I just waited it out with other cyclists and then pedaled on to the sunshine, among them a fresh graduate of The Actor’s Studio on the way to his second rehearsal of a new play. Now that guy was excited!
I went by many of the new buildings near the High Line. Am I the only one who thinks the new Whitney is the 21st century version of brute force over elegance just as the original was in the 20th century? I find an unsettling correlation between the new metal monster and its concrete cousin.
And since when did Jersey City have a skyline?
When I reached my host’s in the Lower East Side I was treated to a night in a true tenement – a five floor walk-up with a WC closet and a bathtub in the kitchen. Patrick took me on a two-hour evening walk through his neighborhood. The streets pulsed on the summer’s night breeze.
July 20, 2016
Trip Log – Day 255 – New York, NY
July 17, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees
Miles Today: 22
Miles to Date: 13,242
States to Date: 33
In celebration of the initiatives that Mayor Michael Bloomberg did to encourage cycling in New York City, I rode the entire length of Broadway, from Washington Heights to Union Square, and photographed a slice of city life on a hot Sunday afternoon. Even without cars, Times Square is still claustrophobically dense.
Afterward, I pedaled through the Bowery, investigating sites that William Helmreich, a fellow adventurer at a slower pace and author of The New York Nobody Knows: Walking 6,000 Miles in the City, told me about when I asked him how will we live tomorrow.
I wrapped up Sunday afternoon in Central Park before proceeding to my evening’s host in Harlem.
A photo essay of my trek along Broadway:
July 19, 2016
Trip Log – Day 254 –Poughkeepsie, NY to New York, NY
July 16, 2016 – Sun, 90 degrees
Miles Today: 80
Miles to Date: 13,220
States to Date: 33
In the west, I counted how many times I crossed the Continental Divide (six total). In the East, I’m tallying how often I cross the Appalachian Trail (three times to date). Today I met up with a through hiker, trail name Shaggy, at a convenience store during a Gatorade stop. Shaggy was heading north, traveling solo and looking forward to entering Connecticut, while I continued south to The Big Apple.
The day was hot, but I had many miles of very nice rail trail. Unfortunately, I got off track at the snarly intersection of I-287 and I-87 (a bike path gets lost in all that spaghetti). So, I simply rode west until I hit the Hudson and came into the city on US 9 south, through lovely river towns along the Palisades.
When I reached The Bronx, I stopped for a well-deserved malt at the first old school luncheonette I came upon. My waitress, Rudi, was a great introduction to the city: a sassy immigrant grandmother with great stories about tomorrow.
I meandered through Riverdale to my host’s for the night. Hillary Brown is a fellow architect and Haiti enthusiast. Lucky me, Hilary has an apartment with a lovely garden, where we enjoyed appetizers, an outdoor pool, where we took a refreshing swim, and a balcony with phenomenal Hudson views, where we ate a leisurely supper and talked and talked until, all of sudden, it was late.
