We were out of New York like a shot, speeding on the SeaStreak catamaran ferry to New Jersey.  It moves through the water so fast, the wind almost knocked us over when we went up on deck, and Manhattan was nearly gone by the time we got our cameras out.

It was a stunningly gorgeous day, with piercing blue skies and perfect temperatures. Labor Day weekend may still be the figurive end of summer, but I have heard from several people now that it is no longer the traditional end of summer. Due to earlier school starts, that date has been moved to a less-celebrated, earlier time.  And our experience bore that out.  There were people out and about,  but not nearly what there would have been 20 years ago, especially on such a beautiful day.

So the weather was just one of the things that made today one of the best first days I’ve had on a bike tour.  After the ferry, we leisurely explored the abandoned military installations at Sandy Hook, walked across the beach to put my hand in the Atlantic Ocean (I asked her to be kind to us for the rest of the trip), had lemonades on the Asbury Park boardwalk, rode 88 miles, much of it through the quiet and empty Pine Barrens, had a root beer at a roadside drink stand, and generally had an awesome time.

I had the useful experience of learning what Dennis has felt like on our previous rides together. Since I had always planned all my own routes, I basically have them memorized in my head and I pull them out as I go. But because Dennis planned this trip, there are times where I don’t even have a good idea which direction we’re headed, much less where we are. I think I already started getting used to it, but I wish I had had the experience before so I could have empathized better on our last trip.

Crazy moment of the day: sitting drinking Gatorades outside a grocery store in Whiting, literally seconds after I said “this is a really peaceful grocery store”: BAM!!!  An insane drug-addled old hag nearly uprooted a concrete post as she slammed the back of her SUV into it. Then, she floors the gas, squealing out of the parking spot, careering straight for us!   I was up and running,  but she veered away at the last second, with some help from a curb biting into her rim. What then?  Well, she slowly circled the lot, returned to her original spot, backed in successfully this time, and calmly hobbled into store, happily inhaling a cigarette stuffed in her toothless mouth, while leaving the engine running with her dog inside. Yeah. Insane.

The day proceeded without incident after that, and we stopped at a great campground Dennis booked in the pine forest, Pilgrim Lake.  It may cure me of my natural aversion to private campgrounds. It’s very quiet, intimate, and dark, the people are nice, the lake beautiful in the sunset, and the wood plentiful and quick to burn.  When they learned we were on bikes, they were kind enough to charge a reduced rate of $20, which is a great deal around here, but let me tell you, they would have to have brass balls to actually ask for the $100 they have listed on their price sheet.

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