Cheesequake, New Jersey to Assateague, Delaware

Up at dawn, too early as it turned out, I drove south through heavy morning traffic on Hwy 34, past Scobeyville, turning east on 70 traffic finally thinning past Lakehurst, into flat pine woods, the emptiest place on the crowded map of New jersey.

 South on 72 then 563 through Chatsworth passing cranberry farms and an Ocean Spray plant and scattered gun clubs (“bears, bucks and ducks”).  Looking for a place to walk in the woods, I sipped past a signboard off behind a gate, turning around I found Franklin Parker Preserve, almost 10,000 acres of former cranberry bogs and upland purchased in 2003 by the New Jersey conservation Foundation and being restored to a wild state with dikes breached and roads reverting back to the wild.  I walked for several hours on sandy roads through woods and along lakes and marshes completely alone with the birds, deer, frogs, turtles and the last wild flowers on a sunny October morning.

Thoroughly refreshed, I drove to Greenbank, passing more cranberry farms and gun clubs, also a large kayak and canoe rental store.  I crossed the Mulllica River on a funky old bridge, the river broad and slow, small houses and boats along the shore, looks like a lot of good kayaking water up and down the river.

Into the pretty little town of Egg Harbor (not sure why Harbor, it isn't close to either a river or the ocean)

then down the inevitable strip of hotels and stores twenty miles to Atlantic City.  An unexpected skyline, the south end of the island has wind turbines in the marsh just in front of the newest glass towers.  Green powered slot machines, perhaps.

Plenty of new or at least newer looking gambling buildings – who wouldn't want to drop a bundle at the Taj Mahal?

But surprisingly old  churches scattered around, older building backing up to casinos, and an old retail strip along Atlantic Avenue.

Fun on the Boardwalk!  I joined tourists and locals in the too bright early afternoon sun scouting the shops for pizza, tshirts, geegaws, palm and tarot reading, maybe a massage (20 minutes for $20),  carnival on a pier,

and if you turn around, there is a broad sandy beach and the Atlantic Ocean to soothe the senses.

Leaving the pleasures of Atlantic City, I drove through the Boardwalk streets then south down Ventnor Avenue, a long stretch of blocks on both sides with very nice, very large, well tended older houses (the traffic all yard guys).

Passing salt marshes and marinas full of big boats,

 I made my way down the Parkway to Cape May with its downtown all tourist shops (how many nut stores does one town need?)

But the town has fine well-tended old houses along the  sea, many turned into bed and breakfasts for folks from the cities to the west.

After a couple hour wait, I boarded the Cape May ferry to Delaware, crossing in a stiff breeze, the decks mostly empty but good light for the hour and twenty minute sail across the mouth of the Delaware River.

Off the ferry and through miles of malls to Rehobeth Beach and Dogfish Head brewpub, known for tasty, often exotic beers. I had several, all good, and a meal with all ingredients locally sourced, including a delicious crab and corn chowder.

Driving south in the dark looking for a campground,I passed over a bridge with cool lighting

through miles of hotel towers of Ocean City, beach playground for Washington DC, Baltimore, Philadelphia, then off in the dark through marshland to Assateague Island and a campsite behind the dunes where I could hear the ocean.