Posting Bales

Baled winter straw.  A sure sign that summer is in full swing.  This

was taken just outside of Allentown, NJ.  One of the many

 small hamlets we drive through on our way to the boat on rt. 539.

  A Revolutionary War-era town,  Allentown was apparently

 the birthplace of Molly Pitcher, (Mary Ludwig Hays McCauley)

 a legend, or maybe a myth,

  who carried pitchers of water to fighting soldiers during the

 battle of Monmouth,  just down the road apiece from here.

I've been told, however, that you can't get there from here.

By the time I got to the boat and out on the bay,

I was feeling all sleepy and stuff.  I contemplated shutting

down the engine, drifting, and catching a few winks.

But after being strafed by the center-console, twin 250

HP dopey-ass wake machine, "Lost Boy's", I decided

to go to Tice's shoal and anchor.  Lost boy's what?,

I wondered.  By the way, this is what I would have seen

if my eyes were open from 1:30 to 3:00 today.  I dozed

off and on, and off again, being lulled by the waves of

passing shoal-goers.  I've never done that before in my life.

For those of you who sail with the luxury of having

deep water all of the time, this is what we frequently

see on Barnegat Bay.  No complaints however.

There's a certain sense of comfort I get knowing that

the soft, sandy bottom is often less than the

length of my body away.  

Off and running.

Windward telltale dancing, too high.

Leeward telltale dancing, too low.

Both streaming backward, Proper Course.

No explanation needed.

This boulder is on the Rt. 539 roadside, south of Rt. 70,

the great East-West road that connects Philadelphians

with the Jersey Shore.  For years, locals painted

it many colors and things, including a frog, a ladybug,

 a rock, many different psychedelic colors,

a turtle....you get the picture.  But since 9/11,

it has remained an American flag, and as far as I 

know, the vandals who often ruined the paint jobs

of the local artists have abstained from doing so.

Nice for a change. 

   The classic New Jersey Pine Barrens.

Rt. 539 going north, south of the great Rt. 70 divide.

I hear crickets, but not for long.  The guy you will see

 riding by on the bike will be a skeleton tomorrow,

 straddling the bike frame with tumbleweed stuck

 in the gears, about 5 miles down the road.  If the 

Jersey Devil didn't get to him first.  This IS the Devil's 

back yard, for sure.  Future post no doubt.  

Just through the light at Rt. 70, continuing northward.

The shorebound holiday weekend traffic is in full swing. 

I felt like yelling out the window, "Suckers!!!!!".

But they are probably not working tomorrow.

I am.  Who's the sucker?

I came home with Jonah Crab claws and

Atlantic City sea scallops.  My wife bought

mint and made a pitcher of Mojitos.

New Jersey seafood is sooo fresh and good, and

often so reasonably priced, especially at Ahearn's

fish market in Waretown.  I almost feel like I'm getting

over on them when I leave.  I exit and want to scream,

"start the car!!!  start the car!!!!!!".