Newark to Philly

Highlights Sunday Sept 8th and 9th, 2013.

Well, the next leg of the journey was pretty, um, adventurous. Or crazy. 

I had no idea how in the heck I was going to get out to Hwy 1 on the far side of the Newark Airport, as it was basically only the interstate between the motel and the airport--or my only way out of Newark.  I needed to escape the madness.

I got up early, packed up HD, and went to the front desk of the Howard Johnson Motel. The gentleman said there was no way out of the motel grounds on my trike as I was surrounded by ONLY interstate! I asked if any of the hotel shuttle buses could drop down any of the back seats and fit in my trike. He said, no, they didn’t have any drop down seats. So, I asked if there was a bus or van taxi service he could call that could get me out of there. He said, no, they had no taxis that could do what I needed. I looked at him with, well, surprise!  This was definitely not the Hilton Inn!

So, I said, “Alright then. I will have to get on the interstate and risk death at worst--or maybe only a ticket”. I went out to the parking lot, asked a shuttle bus driver if the seats in his van dropped down at all and he said no. So, I started to cycle out of the lot and made eye contact with Anthony, a friendly-appearing shuttle driver. I pulled aside his bus and told him my situation. He said that the empty, parked shuttle bus behind him had rear drop down seats and that particular van could handle the job. I told him I would be happy to give a driver $25 to get me to the other side of the airport. He said that he was assigned to his current bus, but to give him just a minute. He flagged down a fellow driver coming off duty. Melvin, the other driver, said that, sure, he would be happy to help me. In minutes, the seats were dropped, HD was loaded, and we were on our way. 

Thank God. And thank Melvin and Anthony!

While helping me execute my escape from Newark, Melvin entertained me with cheerful conversation about his family and beloved young grandchildren. He has grown up in the Newark area and knows each and every road, intersection, alley, and byway. Melvin has never missed getting a person to the airport in time for their flight, no matter what the traffic may be. He loves to drive: shuttle, car, truck---it doesn’t matter. He is a Driving Man! He makes his customers feel welcome and people that go to and from the Newark airport often choose the HJ motel just so they can see Melvin again and ask for his driving services. Melvin was my highway savior of the day. He dropped me off at the McDonalds south of the airport and there I had morning coffee and a chance to find my next destination.

I tried Highway 1 but it was a nightmare of traffic and no shoulders, so I took side roads and country highways, fairly paralleling Hwy 1, all the way to Princeton Junction. It was a nice ride through Elizabeth, Edison, and New Brunswick, before reaching Princeton---old, quaint New Jersey towns and cities. 

I fully enjoyed driving through Princeton, NJ on a Sunday in early September. It was beautiful, with stately old homes, a fantastic downtown section, and people out everywhere. Princeton students were out in great numbers and the bicycles were in grand evidence. The scents wafting from the bistros and cool little restaurants assailed my senses. Sometimes, that is all I need---just the scent of really good food. Then I eat my fruit and nuts and chips or trail mix and am just fine. A good cup of coffee from a decent gas station is also enough. I have found some chain convenience stores that serve really good coffee with real half and half. Mellow, creamy coffee. Yes!!

After Princeton and Princeton Junction, I cycled through a shopping mall parking lot and had to re-enter Hwy 1 to get to the motel. Yikes. It was only 1/4 mile, but it was terrible on the hwy so I drug or cycled Henry David through grass, dirt, and rocks, till my faithful trike and I reached the Red Roof Inn. Wow---twice in New Jersey, I had, perhaps mistakenly, chosen motels that I could only reach on the restricted highway--no side roads or frontage roads to get me there. All along Hwy 1 from Newark to Trenton is a cement barrier separating one side of the hwy from another. You could not cross the highway, even in a car, unless you hit an offramp or a traffic light. 

I checked into the motel and discussed road options with a few employees in front of the motel. They shook their head, not knowing how in the heck I was going to get across the highway to the next side street. I could see the street light from the road in front of the motel--maybe 1/4 mile away. Perhaps not even that far. But I had to cross the confluence of the interstate and the restricted highway. And the traffic was fast and busy. No shoulder or space for HD and I. 

Hmmmmm.

I moved HD into my room and walked in the grass and bushes back to the shopping center and purchased groceries. That night, I went to bed early and set my alarm for 5 am. But I couldn’t sleep, listening to the traffic outside. It seemed to slow down around 1 am and I thought, “Great! I will be fine!” 

But, around 3:30 am, the sound of traffic started to increase again. So, I got up and packed the trike and went to the motel office. The office was open and there were 2 men behind the desk. Fantastic!  I asked if one of them could follow me in their car to the light for $10---it would take only about 5-10 minutes of their time. The security guard was getting off duty around 5 am, so he agreed to do it. 

While I waited, I chatted with the two men. The night manager was a young man, still in college, studying accounting. He was from Egypt but likes it here and plans to stay in the states. He goes back to Egypt to visit aunts, uncles, and cousins from time to time. The security guard was from the Dominican Republic. He lived several years in the Bronx, but his accent was more Caribbean in tone. He has a girlfriend who keeps him in line. When I arrived in the motel lobby, he had been talking to the young Egyptian about the balance of being faithful to your girlfriend while being surrounded by beautiful women. Apparently, that takes some resolve and dedication. And love.

So, the guard followed me down the street to the light. I hung out in front of Michael’s Diner until 6 am, when it opened. It was too dark to ride the roads. So, I drank coffee and ate a bran muffin in the diner while I waited for the morning light to increase. At 6:30 am, HD and I started our cycling trip for the day.

First, I crossed the highway at a light to reach the Delaware and Raritan Canal State Park Trail, as instructed by Google bike maps. This was a very nice trail-- for about 1/4 mile. Then, the smooth path turned into ruts, dirt, grass, bushes, and tree roots for the next 2 miles! I left the trail at the next opening and switched to iPhone map walking instructions to get thru Philly, hoping to reach Chester, south of Philadelphia. 

I cycled through Trenton, HD’s wheels bouncing through ruts and dips and cracks on the road. When you follow walking maps on the iPhone, you usually travel through the cities through side roads and neighborhoods. This was the stuff of TV land. Brick homes right up to the street without grass, lawn, or trees. Poverty and hunger and clothes hanging loosely on hungry residents. Inner city youth with heads held down. The older folks were more confident, waving and teasing and wishing me well, as they have done throughout the country. There was a poster scattered throughout Trenton whose plea had become the city mantra, I imagined, because I saw about 10 of them, every 5 or so streets I traveled. It was garish and grabbed my attention. 

“Bloodshed, Tears, Death. Trenton, help stop the Violence”. 

Wow. I looked up Trenton on the Internet that night and saw that the gangs here are in strong force, with the Trenton mayor struggling to find ways to reduce the crime rate. Parents and families had started movements asking for justice and for crimes to be solved. The stressed police were much more businesslike here: not smiling or waving as they had done in other cities.  Yet, the individuals I passed on the street waved or smiled or answered my hellos. Except for some of the young men--teens or college age by guess. 

My heart broke for Trenton.

When I first passed into Pennsylvania, back on Hwy 1 and Bristol Pike, the road widened. I met Dierdre on a street corner, a lovely lady about my age. She was out taking a walk, as she does every morning. She was very excited to see HD and had many questions as she was interested in cycling but wanted something perhaps more stable than a typical bicycle. Dierdre was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma a year ago or so. She was a home health nurse and a massage therapist. She underwent medical treatment of her inguinal lymph nodes, lost 40 lbs, and is now trying to work her way back to health by exercise and a raw vegan diet. She was slender and wearing baggy clothes, but her face was so lovely and vibrant, one would not suspect she was dealing with a major illness. Dierdre is no longer working as a nurse, but still gives massage a few days a week to handicapped children and adults. This blessed gift she gives to others is helping her own road back to recovery. 

As I approached Philadelphia, the streets narrowed and my maps again sent me through the neighborhoods. Just as in Trenton, the roads deteriorated and the inner city streets and buildings were drab and decaying. The trash in the streets and curbs increased and it became so thick that there was no way to avoid cycling over broken glass, metal, and rubbish of all kinds. In some of the open fields, where the dry soil was packed against chain link fence, the trash stood several inches thick, embedded in the dirt for years. Yet, people continued to wave, smile, and give me “shout outs”.  Some employees and business owners did their best to clean their space, by sweeping in front of their curbside and sidewalk frontage businesses.  I could imagine how this could become discouraging as it would need to be done daily---partly due to the sheer numbers of people living in the Philly area, and partly due to the fact that wind blows and moves rubbish around, despite our best efforts.

Philadelphia itself was big and beautiful and typical of most large cities in its magnitude and the services it offers. Like most large, very old cities, it has its area of decay and decline. I love the opportunity to see it all from the seat on my cycle. I get to see more, in some ways, than the typical visitors renting a car and zipping from the airport to their motel and then to the downtown nightlife or convention centers. That being said, sometimes I only see the ragged parts of towns as I try to stay out of the busiest downtown sections of large cities. However, I also see the beautiful estates and manicured lawns on the edge of town. 

I was faced with another bridge to get to the south side of Philadelphia. I decided to cross over the Schuyler River on Industrial Hwy/Penrose Avenue. It took quite some time to even get to the base of the bridge, due to the heavy traffic. As I started upward toward the bridge, I saw that the ongoing construction was narrowing the traffic to a single lane, obliterating the walking/cycling lane. Hmmmmm. The bridge was rather long and I knew I would be seriously blocking traffic. I have learned that city drivers stuck in traffic on roads that are supposed to move rapidly can often be a tad impatient with a slow recumbent. So, I turned around, went back to the traffic light and turned left---because that was the side I was on when I had turned around. 

My, this was nice. Two lanes, one way, wide road, with at least some hint of shoulder. I saw billboards advertising the wonders and pleasures of Philadelphia--museums, zoo, theatre, things for the kiddies. I saw a huge billboard stating that Philly is “bike friendly”. Great! I must be on the right road!  So, I cycled on merrily, for quite a distance without an intersection or side road interrupting the pleasure. 

Then a tow truck pulled behind me; the driver tooted his horn, and then stopped. I stopped as well in response to his waving me to come back to talk to him. He said he worked with the police department (by the way, I think it’s a smart idea to have a tow truck company that works directly with the police).  The PPD had received a call that I was headed for the interstate and they called him to check it out. He asked if I knew I was on a road with no outlet that was heading for the interstate. 

Oops! 

I asked what should I do: “Turn around and hug the edge of the road and go back to that intersection close to a mile back?”

 He said, “No”, but then pointed out a cement barrier up ahead.

“Do you see that cement barrier up ahead?” he asked, pointing to the block of cement.

“If you look, you will see that there is a dirt path to the right of it. Just go to the dirt path, follow it, and it will take you to Passyunk Avenue, which crosses the river.”

He decided to follow me to the barrier to give me space from any traffic. When I reached the barrier, I could see a small “lake”, right next to the barrier, about 15 feet wide and 50 feet long. I threw a large brick into the puddle and it disappeared entirely. It looked pretty deep. I couldn’t go around it because it had the cement barrier on one side and an embankment on the other. 

Then I saw a rocky path leading up the embankment before the “lake”. I pointed that out to the tow truck driver, asking where it leads? 

“I have no idea”, he answered. He said he didn’t care what road I took, either through the water or up the embankment, as long as I stayed off the road I had been riding. He then left me to my decision-making process, which often leaves something to be desired.

I decided to hedge my bets and try the embankment. So, I got off my trusty steed and pushed and pulled and coerced Henry David up the rocky and branch strewn path. It took several minutes of grunting and groaning and even a little cussing.  When I got him to the top, I realized that it was a railroad path. An old railroad was perched atop the hill and went through Philadelphia. You would never know it was there as the mesa was covered in brush and trees, shielding any residents from actually seeing the old rails. I noticed a small bulldozer parked at an angle in the brush. This was apparently a service road for the rails and the dozer was there to clear brush that was trying to encroach into the rails. 

First, I got back on HD and rode over rocky paths, getting off a few times to pull him through brambles and gravel and over tree roots. The path petered out, leaving me looking at forest. I could see that the interstate and fast paced highway roads were at the bottom of the railroad mesa---a good 50 feet straight down. I turned around, went back to the starting point at the top of the embankment that brought us here. Then, I got off Henry David and walked the other way---there was no end in sight.

Damn. 

HD and I went back down the embankment on the “lake” side. Once at the bottom of the embankment, back on the dirt path, I grabbed a plastic pipe section that was lying on the ground and walked on the narrow ledge connected to the cement barrier. Using the pipe to gauge the water depth directly adjacent to the ledge, I ascertained that it wasn’t too deep if I kept 2 wheels on the ledge and allowed the right rear wheel to go into the water. Back on HD, I entered the ditch as planned, holding onto the right tiller bar for steering with one hand and holding onto the cement barrier with the other. Perched at a precarious angle, and almost tipping a few times, we inched our way across the miniature lake and made it safely to the other side.

I definitely should have done that first!! Ah well, live and learn. 

I made it across the Schuykill River on the Passyunk Avenue bridge and gradually made my way to the Quality Inn past the Philadelphia Airport. 

What a day. 

Please, let the next leg of travel be a little easier, I prayed. But, for now, relax, and eat whatever was rolling around in Henry David’s cargo area.