Not rocket man Wednesday, October 4, 2023

 



In my head this morning, I hear Elton John’s voice on the radio: “Packed my bags, pre-flight, zero hour, 9 a.m.” and I contemplate this weekend’s trip to Cape May – only we’re not taking a rocket ship, we’re driving, down the NJ Turnpike to the NJ Parkway, then all the way to Exit Zero, the harbor bridge, Pittsburgh Avenue to Beach Drive, then all the way to the end where the road ends, a funky motel sitting on a section of beach where the surfers surf, and people gather each night to watch the sun set.

We’ve been going to Cape May since 1990, although for the first decade or more, we rented a very expensive place up Beach Avenue, then later, found another motel in Pittsburgh Avenue. This place we found last year and liked it because it was cheap, and it was located right at the observation deck where the nature preserve part of the beach starts. It as a small restaurant next door that is only open for Breakfast and lunch.

This year, we anticipate seeking out music again, and fortunately both Friday and Saturday, the near by Rusty Nail club will fill that need for us.

I always anticipate these trips since we almost always come either the first weekend of Victorian Week or, as we did last year, the second.

It is a kind of year end ritual for us, rather than the January 1 year end traditionally celebrated, partly because it comes about the time when the leaves start turning.

The weather can be unpredictable. One year, we suffered through a hurricane. Other years it was so cold we had to bundle up, while other years – such as our first year – the temperature exceeded 90 degrees.

This year, we expect it to be moderate, around 70 for Friday and Saturday, slightly lower on Sunday. We do not plan to stay into the holiday itself.

I did not know it on our first trip in 1990, but my grandparents had their honeymoon there in Cape May in 1927, and we stopped off to see my grandmother in Toms River on our way south, just prior to her passing away a few months later.

Our rituals are simple – a walk down the promenade when we first arrive, which I’m told will feature arches over a portion of it for the first time, then a stroll through the Washington Street Mall, a tour of local historic houses, dinner – on the mall or perhaps at Carney’s on Beach Avenue, then perhaps a trolly tour of some sort before catching sunset, and then wandering around again before finding live music.

For years, we went to George’s on Beach Avenue for breakfast. But when George retired, his sons created a posh new age kind of place we no longer felt comfortable in. Fortunately, the eatery next to our motel is so funky, we enjoy breakfast there, a new tradition we don’t expect to last long since the owners mumbled something about selling when we ate there last year.

Saturday, we expect to have breakfast, take a stroll down the mall again, then a tour of houses, before making our way to the bird sanctuary, and Sunset Beach, where if we have the energy, we might look for Cape May Diamonds among the dunes.

After dinner, we go to several of the shops – including two funking places that sell religious and magical imports, as well as incense, various essential oils, odd jewelry and such.

We sometimes go on ghost tours. But since Craig, a local medium with whom I attended writing classes in college, won’t hold his event until the following weekend, we might just take a short historic ride instead.

We expect to go back to the Rusty Nail or another club further up Beach Avenue for music before retiring.

On both Saturday and Sunday mornings, I go out onto the beach to film the sunrise. I’m not alone. Scores of people gather there to watch the daily ritual which always ends with the arrival of surfers and fishermen.

Sometimes, on these long weekends we take a trip on a whale watch boat, but since we expect rain on Saturday, we most likely will skip this.

But I always wander around the harbor to look at the fleet of tour and fishing boats, recalling my childhood working for my grandfather, who was a boat builder. We also visit the massive antique shop across from where the boats are docked, a place also full of childhood memories and memorabilia.

How much of this we will actually achieve, I’ve no clue. But it’s fun looking forward to it, knowing there may be some surprises, people from up north I know who suddenly pop out of nowhere to wish us well.

We shall see.


email to Al Sullivan

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