“Eeeny Meeny Miney Mo, Catch a Tiger by its Toe: The best one doesn’t have his seatbelt on!” - Brad Morbeck’s complimentary yet nagging refrain if I try to drive our vehicle more than one millimeter without an active safety restraint in place.
8/7/00- 93688- One good thing about living here in the future is that the vehicles are a bit better. By “93688” any of our American made family cars of the 60’s had long since rattled into a pile of loose bolts and broken welds.
“Where do our cars go when we trade them in?” I’d always ask.
“They fix them up and sell them Down South,” would be the reply. I always had a mental picture of buck toothed men with toothpicks in their mouths emptying round after round of ammunition into defenseless highway signs while a jug of moonshine set (sit or set? sit or set?) on the seat of our once very suburban family station wagon.
We had a leisurely morning taking Brad to swim lessons, mailing letters, and visiting Borough Hall to inquire about permits for our 3rd floor refenestration project. We stopped for take-out food at Wendy’s on the way out of town - disappointing “Kid’s Meals”: all three the same confusing “Snoopy” puzzle. Sally drove while I waited hand and foot on seat belted children.
We decided to avoid the drab So. Philadelphia/North-South Freeway route and opted instead for the more scenic Commo Barry Bridge/Two lane roads through the Pines route. Our check in time on the camping permit we purchased last July informs us that we wouldn’t be especially welcome too early so we purposely dawdle by stopping at Historic Batsto Village.
Batsto was the hub of the American iron industry in the 1700’s - It’s now Park Headquarters for all of the Wharton Tract. It’s nice and Summer-ry HOT outside our air conditioned van - We view some historical exhibits in the Visitor’s Center and then go out for a stroll around the restored village. A few girls say Hi to us (Mooooooooooo!) and we see what roosters do when they’re not busy waking everybody up. We decide not to buy the firewood they sell here - I’m not too sure about the fire regulations at the part of Bass River S.F. we’re going to this time.
We arrive at the Park Office at about 3PM, only to find out that they’ll really have nothing to do with us until official check-in time at 4PM. We tool over to the lake pavilion, jumping into the water for the first of many times this trip.
We finally check in and arrive at Shelter #4 - coincidentally the same number that the Ghost of Lou Gehrig wore last Halloween.
It’s a cute little quasi cabin with 2 sets of built in bunk beds and a front room equipped with a Franklin Stove which we certainly won’t need this week.
The windows are double screened with both a heavy AND a fine mesh, apropos to the Official State Flying Thing (and I’m not talking about the Eastern Goldfinch). We explore a bit and decide to split up - the four of us XY guys go canoeing while XX drives to the Tuckerton Acme to buy groceries. As we make our triumphant return to our own private lakeshore we are greeted by a vigorously waving Sally.
What are YOU doing out here?” Brad calls across a short expanse of H20.
“Watching YOU!” Sally eagerly replies.
“I guess there’s no television here, is there?” Excellent observation, BearBoy. Succinct and to the point.
We cook some burgers over the grill (it’s a stand-up grill suitable only for charcoal; I’m glad we didn’t buy that firewood.) After dinner we hop in the van and go down to Tuckerton for Ice Cream Cones. We choose the only place in Tuckerton to buy Ice Cream, an establishment known as “The Pine Cone”. If our kids ever get nightmares from eating ice cream, this place’s logo will play a prominent role. A large goofy looking pine cone holding a multicolored array of ice cream cones beckons us to come join the decadence. 1/2 man, 1/2 pine cone: A demonic looking tongue and eyes are enough to terrify any weary traveler through the pines.
Not only has the “non-neon’ salesman been here, but the chasing “non-neon” salesman has been here as well. The boys have a good time playing in an abandoned motor boat that the proprietors have left out for our amusement.
NEW JERSEY STATE PARK ORDINANCE 38072000MOMMY: No Person who has not attained the age of twelve (12) years is permitted to snooze in the top bunk.
We had a long, fruitless discussion with Brad about sleeping arrangements which was finally resolved when Sally decided we needed a little force of law behind us to win. We tried to put Ben and Gabe in a bottom bunk together while Sally and I took top bunks and Brad the other lower berth. We all changed positions about three times, with sleeping pads and bags on the floor finally being part of the solution.
It was beastly hot and the little boys woke up hysterical in the middle of the night at some point- I think they’re both getting the same bug Brad contracted last week. I took them out for a deep woods ride which seemed to calm them down enough so we could all go back to sleep.
