Memories of the Jersey Shore

Part 1

When I was a kid, I remember what seemed like a long drive—but was in actuality not more than 50 minutes—to Seaside Heights, NJ. I remember the traffic. The slow line of cars working their way through the sweltering heat. The car window open because there was no air conditioning. I remember passing through the little beach towns. Some towns had cottages. But what was really memorable to me as a child was the “bump” “bump” “bump” of the tires on the local streets. It had been paved in such a way that it had little bumps at regular intervals—not speed bumps but the way the road was constructed—like a sidewalk.

I loved the seagulls and the sound of crashing waves. That is one thing that is special about the Jersey Shore. I have been to many other beaches and most don’t have the strong surf and sand. Even beaches within New Jersey each have their own individual sense of place.

I didn’t really explore other beaches in New Jersey until I got my driver’s license about a month before my 29th birthday. It was around the same time my dad asked if I wanted to go get a car of my own because I kept running over curbs in his big Crown Victoria.

I liked the feel of a smaller car. One that didn’t feel as if it extended its dimensions beyond my body too much.

As soon as I got the car, I would go for long drives on my day off. I was lucky in that I lived in relatively close proximity to the Shore and only five miles from Raritan Bay. Sometimes, I would go for a walk with my sister at Lawrence Harbor and walk through the park and then down the end of the fishing pier. What I enjoyed the most was standing at the end of the fishing pier on a windy day and hearing the wind play through the metal railing as if it were a musical instrument. It was kind of magical.

But then I have the not so great memories of visiting Point Pleasant. I didn’t realize there was a “wrong” way to park at the meters. I drove up, and three cars pulled up at meters behind me. By the time I left, all of our cars had parking tickets on them. Evidently, the only way to park the way we were parked was to cross over the double yellow lines. . . .Funny how they all had free will and chose to follow the leader who didn’t know what she was doing!

Stay tuned for more. . .

Cape May Beach, New Jersey