Epic Bike Ride / Climbing Onto the Roof of MEMs

Epic Bike Rides

In the last post I mentioned how Logan enjoys biking across Manalapan. Well today, he, along with Greg, Josh, and myself, took biking rides to a whole new level. 

Usually, we bike for a purpose, with a destination in mind. And usually, we come up with pretty reasonable excuses, like a tasty place to eat, or something we need to get from Walmart  to drive us the distance, make us sweat, and risk our lives dodging speeding cars, rabid animals, and inclement weather. 

There was no such incentive this time. We left Greg and Logan's with no destination in mind. And as we flew past the street lights and mailboxes in the fading light of the dying August day, things were looking pretty good. We flew through Meadow Creek and crossed Woodward Road onto the narrow road I had taken in the post entitled "Scenic Bike Rides and Golf Course Ponds". The air was cool as the last bits of the Sun's rays began to dip beyond the backdrop of rolling farmland. We passed big cows and old farm houses. It was like being in another place, I swear. You'd never believe you were in Manalapan. 

We detoured into a little baseball field park. Now, it's imperative that you understand that this was Josh's last real night of summer. With soccer and other activities keeping him occupied until school starts, his days of freedom had effectively come to an end. So on his last day, Josh was craving adventure. This led to a series of sporadic spurts of action, and when logan decided to use the porta potty by the snack building, Josh scaled the nearby building, and jumped ontop of Logan's little man fortress. It was hilarious to watch. But we soon grew tired of the park, and left to continue on the narrow rural road. 

By the time we had reached the extent of where I had previously traveled, the Sun was completely gone, and we switched on our bike lights as we ventured on into unknown territory. The Western sky's glow slowly faded into a thin yellow/grey before disappearing completely and leaving us with a murky purple, star filled sky. 

The landscape had changed from rolling pastures into huge fields of corn. I felt like I was in the movie Signs, and feelings of eerieness began creeping into my head as we continued into increasingly more rural settings. I kept expecting to see some rednecks with shotguns standing in the street, or someone playing a banjo on their porch. Luckily the only person we encountered was a man checking his mail. 

We had traveled maybe 11 miles when we first saw lights in the distance. Someone screamed out "Civilization!" and we all cheered as we peddled towards the intersection. We were in a town called Concordia, and the lights we saw turned out to be a big Stop and Shop. We chained our bikes to the rack and bought some drinks and a few bananas and snacks before starting back. Thats when the real fun began.

The road had grown wider and slightly more trafficked the closer it came to the Stop and Shop plaza, and more cars began to pass us as we left to begin our journey home. As we cut through the pitch blackness of the once again rural road, one car full of unruly teenagers unloaded a few high volume f-bombs on us as they passed us by. A few of us retaliated, but we mostly thought nothing of the event. It was when they came around a second time, that we shut off our lights and quickened our pace. We were on edge and very scared as we frantically sped through the darkness. The first sighting of headlights behind us sent us flying into a stranger's driveway. We took shelter for a second or two until the motion activated flood lights flicked on and we scampered away and back onto the road. Thankfully, they didn't make a third pass at us. When we reached Iron Ore Road, we detoured left, towards our next destination, Manalapan English Town Middle School. Which brings us to the next title.

Climbing Onto the Roof of MEMs

I love roofs. Maybe you find it strange, or maybe you agree with me completely, theres something about being up above everything else, seeing beyond the trees, and looking down at the far away ground that I just find thrilling. Mountain Climbers probably feel the same about mountain climbing. But with no mountains in Manalapan, the next best thing we have would be our old middle school. 

When MEMs came into view I made a promise with myself. I wouldnt leave till I found a way up. A moving truck stood alone in the empty parking lot. It was quiet. Everything looked so serene, and pangs of nostalgia hit when I saw my old school. Little had changed since the days we used to walk its hallways. We canvased the entire building for a way up. And as we came around the last corner back to the front, I found it. 

A small blue drain pipe bolted to the side of the building provided an object to cling to as I shimmied up to the ledge beneath the second entrance's outdoor roof. You can see the pipe in middle of the picture before this one. It wasn't easy going, and I struggled to flop myself onto the little platform. I found a stable place to plant myself, and reached down to help Josh up. Greg and Logan elected to stay on the ground, which in reality was the much better decision, as the next few moves Josh and I would make would prove to be extremely life threatening, and pretty stupid on our part. 

From here on things began to look a little too treacherous. The blue roof above the ledge hung out precariously about a foot beyond the ledge we were on, and climbing up from there would require superhuman upper body strength, and some serious guts. Stumped and a little disappointed, we sat down and momentarily gave up our dream. The ledge was pretty cool, and almost satisfying to top off our adventurous night. Josh wasn't as complacent as I was. His enthusiasm drove me to action, and I found a way up to the next level. 

Between the building and roof structure above the ledge was a small gap. I grasped the top of the roof, and slowly pulled myself up onto the dangerously smooth blue metal roof. A nice 30 foot drop onto solid concrete awaited our slightest errors at the end of the extremely tapered roof. It was so slanted that standing, and walking up, was completely out of the question. I gripped the metal edge and snaked my way up a few inches at a time, my body pressed against the metal, until I reached the top. 

There was no ledge here, and I was shaking as I straddled the top of the entrance roof. I stood up, using the brick building for balance, and peered over the edge onto the roof of MEMs. It was barely do-able. However, A gripping fear held me back. If we were somehow able to fling ourselves the next 4 or so feet from the tip of the entrance roof, over the ledge, and onto the roof of the building itself, getting down back onto the ledgeless entrance roof would mean certain death. With no place to land on the way back down it would be all too easy to slip, and slide down the metal to be crushed on the concrete, now some 4o feet below us. 

I got down on my stomach and once again gripped the metal, ready to give up and shimmy down. I wanted out. I had had enough adventure. Greg and Logan wanted us to come down. I agreed with them. Right then, Josh made a very profound statement to as we both clung to the cold metal on our bellies. We were both shaking with fear when he  reminded me it was his last night of freedom. He wanted to make it memorable. Going on the roof was something he had to do. After a brief moment of indecisiveness, I agreed to follow him if he made the climb first. We yelled our decision to Greg and Logan, who left for fear of being caught with us, and I watched in horror as Josh threw his arms over the building's ledge, and pulled him self over and onto the roof. 

Still shaking, I stood up on the tip of the entrance roof and paused for a second as I weighed the risks one last time. "The hell with it." I thought. My feet left their footing as I dangled over the edge, before once again flopping over onto stable footing. I hugged the pebbles with my whole body as the fear drained out. It was replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief. I was alive.

We were brusied, still shaking, and without our shoes as we hugged each other, but we had done it. I felt like I had just slain a dragon. To be honest I had doubted that we would actually ever make it to the roof. But there we were. Damaged, but there. 

We explored the vast expanses of the several roofs ontop of MEMs. Each level of roof was connected by ladder. It was like being on the moon, grey and desolate. We could make out the air conditioning vents strewn across the dimly moonlit landscape. A brilliant display of stars hung over us, as we made our way to the far side by the parking lot. Our mobility was severely cut down by the gravel, which was quite painful to walk on. 

Although the roof itself was pretty awesome alone, it was the idea of being on the roof that was to most thrilling. We had found a place that no one else, but those who could do so legally, had explored. Of course, it goes with out saying that what we did was illegal. But perhaps thats why we did it. Theres a rush we all get from breaking the rules. And when you get away with doing so you can't help but come back for more. 

When we reached the far edge we sat down to rest. We tried to snap some pictures with my camera phone (Joshes was with Greg) but were extremely unsatisfied with the results. Being a photographer is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you have the ability to take awesome pictures, but when you're without your camera, you see alot of interesting pictures you could have taken, should you have brought your camera with you. And that feeling sucks. The inablity feeling. 

I called a few friends to see if they could get me my camera. After a few tries with other people, I called Shari Hewes to ask for Rachel Berman's number, Shari's currently at college in Missouri. She texted me and I called Rachel, who was amazing enough to drive out to my house, pick up my camera (which my mom had left on the porch as per my request), and bring it to MEMs, where her friend [who's name is also] Rachel, climbed onto a shed and handed to me as I reached down to grab it. She also managed to throw us our shoes, which was a HUGE relief. We could run around and explore much faster. 

Now armed with a camera, we set about documenting our adventure. We continued to Explore for about an hour before jumping onto the shed, and back down to earth. I felt accomplished. We had done the impossible. I still can't believe we actually got up there. But I'm glad we did. It was an experience I won't soon forget. 

Music That I'm Listening to Right Now:

GIGABASS / Bike Rides with Logan

GIGABASS

It was a cloudy Wednesday on Carnegie Lake. Cloudy usually means good fishing, so as we unloaded the gear onto the boat launch dock, I had a good feeling about the day. The air was cool, and the usual summer heat had subsided under the cloud choked sky. Kurt and I left Dan on the dock to drive over to the canoe rental place a little under a mile upstream. Dan has recently become obsessed with catching carp, and though he hasn't been successful yet, he'll keep trying till he dies of pneumonia on some desolate fishing dock, on some lake that probably doesnt even have carp in it. It's a commendable undertaking I'll give him that. So anyway, Kurt and I rented the canoe, and we paddled back to the dock where Dan was. We loaded up the gear, strapped on the motor, and started fishing the left bank.

A few hours in, we were without fish and admittedly extremely bored. As we were crusing along towards the dam on the far side of the lake, Dan spotted a bright yellow object sticking out of the lake, near a small peninsula on the left bank. There was a short debate on whether or not to motor over and check it out, or to continue towards the dam. The fishing would supposedly be better there. I swung the motor around, and turned the canoe towards the yellow thing.

We came to a stop on the little peninsula, and to our surprise, a few feet from the bank in the

 shallow water lay a sunken sailboat! We decided to pull it out of the water and try to float it again. It took us a good 20 minutes, but we finally pulled the water logged boat out of the water. It was a mess, and some small fish had even been caught inside it. The rigging was in shambles and there was a big plant growing from where the rudder had once been. After sitting around and waiting for it to drain, we plugged up the only hole with a stick, and launched it back into the water. There wasn't much wind that day so we opted to tow the boat behind the canoe, Dan climbed aboard the salvaged vessel, and we continued to the dam. We must have looked hilarious. I was in my boxers because my shorts had been soaked in the rescue process, and dan had a circular floaty around his neck on the rotting sailboat. Kurt and I threw things at him and played pirate on the way to the dam. It was fun. Really.

We spent an hour or two at the dam. Not really fishing, but messing around catching crayfish and just collectively doing nothing. Idleness lead to boredom and soon we left to go fishing for real again. I caught a little bass on the right bank, which that greatly improved the mood, which was good, since the light rain that had started was dulling things. It instilled hope in is again. Whenever a fish gets pulled into the boat, it renews everyones drive to catch. Which was good, because soon that drive would finally pay off.

We left the right bank and crossed the big lake over to the left again. I don't remember exactly what I was saying when it happened. It caught me off guard. All of a sudden I felt weight on the line. It didnt feel like much but I could tell it was a fish. I didnt yell, but just said out loud 'fish on', as is our custom when we hook one. Then it happened. 

The bass exploded through the surface, and leapt into the air. Time slowed down and our jaws hung open as the image of the huge fish jumping etched itself into our heads. The fish was BIG. It was swimming towards the boat, thats why I didnt feel much. Instantly, we all scrambled into action, and the boat came to life again. He went under the boat, and I could feel the full force of his weight. Just as I though the rod, or the line, or my arms would break, I got the line under and free of the propeller, allowing me to fight the beast without of obstruction. We got him beside the boat. I was shaking the fish was so huge. I had never in my life seen a bass so gigantic. I kept screaming at Dan, who was trying to pull it into the boat "KHOMENKO IF YOU DONT LAND THIS FISH I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" over and over again. His teeth made him to sharp to grab at first, and in one final effort Dan reached in with both arms and hugged the fish into the boat. Then all hell broke loose.

I was still shaking as we all went crazy, screaming in celebration. It took us a while to calm down. We took lots of pictures and I put him in the livewell. But then I was torn with conflict. I couldn't decided whether to keep the colossal fish, or turn him loose to live. I fought an intense mental battle with myself. I really wanted to bring it home and show it off. But I felt really bad killing such an old and experienced fish. The marks around his mouth revealed that he had been caught and released before. Although he would have made a tasty meal, I decided to put him back. It felt good to watch him swim away back into the murky depths. Maybe someone else would catch him again. Maybe I would. Who knows. I guess thats why we go fishing anyways.

Bike Rides with Logan

Logan likes to ride his bike. He likes to go on long journeys across Manalapan. I dont know or understand why, but he does. So I go along with him occasionally. It's almost always an adventure. From watching Alex Villafane fall off and nearly die on a dark rural road, to almost getting run over by a blue chevy S1o, our bike rides are rarely boring. They just suck when you get tired of peddling. 

Today we rode to Baco's pizzeria. We had gone a few days ago and I got this slice of pizza with shrimp and corn and all this other stuff and it was DELICIOUS. I was very sad to find it not there anymore. The main Italian pizza guy said it was a special creation that he had only made that day. It was amazing. I settled for a Chicken/Peppers/Fresh Mozzarell. It was alright, but deffinitely not as tasty as the shrimp and corn slice. 

We rode over to Walmart, and as I crossed 537, a big highwayish road, the light went green, and several cars lurched forward. There was much honking and embarrasment. The blue S1o a lane down didnt stop. And We almost collided, my wet brakes were very unresponsive. I scurried off to walmart, where we walked around and I saw Richard Hinton. He works there. We talked briefly and I asked if they had any flare guns. They didnt. I was unhappy. 

Then we biked over to Dick's Sporting Goods. I bought some fishing stuff and we went home. Now I'm writing this blog. But I'm going to stop now cause theres Chinese food downstairs. Peace fool.

-Chris

Music I'm listening to right now:

Surfing, Dying, and Living. In LBI

LBI

Long Beach Island is just a place apart. We make day trips to the shore, and the sands of familiar beaches like Belmar and Avon grace our bare feet all too frequently. But shore towns like those just dont match the distant, slow paced and exciting world apart that is Long Beach Island, New Jersey. I'm so thankful for Sami, and the Saunders family for having us over every year. Its my only real vacation. I love it. Its such an escape from everything back in Manalapan, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those "Oh I hate Manalapan, the people suck and everyone sucks and the world sucks and vaccumes suck...etc. etc. I can wait to get the eff out of this town!" people. I happen to like Manalapan, however, in the words of the great Tanqueray spokesman, Tony Sinclair "always in moderation"

So an escape from the dulldrums of everyday Manalapan life once in a while always comes as a welcome experience. The clean, uncrowded beaches, and the adventure and excitement that awaits within the towns all add to the magnificence and seperation from reality that I can only find here, amidst the still waters of the Barneget Bay, and the roaring surf of the mighty Atlantic, here, at LBI.

Surfing

I know I'm not the best surfer. It's my first year with my own board, and I've learned to take 4 foot waves without a problem and occasional 6 when things go my way. I love it. When everything falls into place, you're in just the right spot in the line up, and the wave breaks right where you need it to. You feel the board rush forward, as you strain and paddle with all your might, and that long anticiapted moment comes, you pop up, and ride that sucker into the sand. Its another one of those feelings I'll fight tooth and nail to obtain. And when I foolishly followed Danny Saunders, an experienced and exceptional surfer out into 13ft+ swells I found myself in scary and dangerous places, and good deal closer than I would like to have been from dying. So onto the next passage.

Dying

When I look back into the past, 2 distinct near death experiences come to mind. Falling out of a 2 story balcony in woodbridge at the ripe old age of 3, and falling through the ice at Lake Matawan, when I was about 8-10. Saturday, however, I added a third experience.

The talk was lively, as Danny and I made our way up the beach. We walked farther north to compensate for the strong southern current. I was in good spirits and eager to get out and catch some waves. Back from the beach the waves looked perfect, maxing out around 4-5ft. Perfect for me. As we walked our boards further our into the surf, the mood and relaxed banter slowly began to ebb with the receding tide.

The water became deeper, and at neck height, we were not even through the first set of whitewash. I swung myself onto the board and paddled vigoriously after Danny. Our progess was going well, when a larger wall of white water knocked me back 30 or so feet. Unphased I continued paddling. Then another hit me. And another. Danny was somehow getting past these, and I was getting swept back, making progress, but only to lose most of it to the surging waters. Danny grew smaller and smaller as the distance between us increased. I braced myself for another impact. The water hit, I felt myself tumbling, spray in my face, and the suck of water beneath me rushing me back towards shore. I looked up and saw a break in the waves, and a much needed rest from the constant bomabardment, without hesitation I seized the opportunity and paddled with all my might to try and seek refuge out past the breakers with the other surfers. After a long, draining journey, I was finally along side Danny.

I watched, humbled by the forces at work around me, as the huge swells lumbered westward, arcing and crashing down with size and force which I had never in my life seen before. As the current pulled us south, we had to constantly paddle against it, making 50 yard trips at a time, with maybe a minute or two of rest if I got lucky. Now please forgive me if this theory of mine is incorrect, but as to my current understanding of waves, and the workings of the ocean, the larger a wave is, the more powerful, and the father from shore it breaks.

As I struggled to tail Danny, I spotted a group of large waves heading my way. I paddled straight at them, to meet them before they broke and get over them safely. I barely made it over the first, and much to my horror, waiting for me on the other side, was a 15 foot wall of water, reaching its peak, and breaking into violent white water, not 30 yards before me. I didn't want another ruthles washing machine ride, and before I could scream, I bailed off my board, dove down, and clung to the ankle strap on my leash for dear life. Then it hit me. Not an Idea, not a brilliant thought, my board. I didnt dive far enough, and at full force, the wave carried the board towards me, and knocked me unconscious as I sank deep below the surf, pulled it past me, snapped the leash and carried it to the beach.

Google Images ^ (not actually me) If it was though, you wouldnt be reading this.

I awoke underwater, inside my eyelids. It was almost peaceful. The roar of the surf was gone, and the pounding waves couldn't touch me. I was tempted to stay. Bad idea. I let out a relieved breath of air, only to watched helpessly as the majority of my air supply bubbled to the surface. That was a mistake. I was maybe 20 feet down by the time I regained consciousness, and I swam with all my might for the surface. I didnt think I would make it. I began praying to God not to let me drown. I could feel myself getting light headed, and my brain was throbbing for air. Every muscle in my body was engaged in a epic struggle to save itself. I dreamt of all the things I would never do, have kids, grow old, love somebody. I wasn't ready to die. I had to live. And with this thought fresh in my mind I swam harder.

I could make out the shimmer of the surface. Just as my lungs were seemingly about to collapse, I broke through to the air, only to to draw in a half gulp of air and another half of water as another wave crashed down on me. I broke the surface again spitting up and gasping for air. I got myself stablized and calmned myself down. I began taking a mental inventory of my surroundings. I was still alive. I was still very far out. My board was gone and I would have to swim. Treading water, I spotted a kid on a longboard nearby. I shouted to him to inform Danny that my leash broke, and that I was going to try and swim for shore. With a look of deep concern, he wished me good luck.

I forced my aching arms to swim forward. I knew what I had to do. I pointed myself at the beach and swam for my life as the waves crashed over me, throwing me around like a ragdoll in the rinse cycle. After what seemed like an eternity, my feet hit the sand, and I waded over to Mrs. Saunders and Sami's Uncle Gary, holding the surfboard, and both very worried for me. Admitably I was very shaken up. I didnt want them to worry, and told them I was alright. I put on a brave face and assured them I was unharmed. I mean, physically I was fine, but I had been throttled quite thoroughly and my head was feeling the effects as I made my way onto sweet land.

The broken Leash

I was quiet for awhile. Thanking God and wondering what it would be like to not be able to have kids, grow old, and love somebody, and how very lucky I was to still have those opportunites. I was glad to breathe. The air honestly tasted sweeter. I sat there on the beach and chuckled to myself. A singluar word slipped past my lips. Under my breath and almost grinning I heard myself whisper "damn."

Living

We went to bay village to hang around and eat later that day. The food was amazing. Props to Alicia Crupi for picking the awesome restaurant. We sat down by the shops after dinner, and this guy came over and made a really loud bird noise at us and walked away. He was traveling with a flock of common NJ tools. He came back later and took his shirt off. Not wanting him to be self conscious I joined him. We walked around bay village, and went on the sea dragon, LBI's version of six flag's Bucaneer. (The ship thing that goes back and forth) Afterwards we sat down by the bay and relaxed. It was a fun way to end the day. As I sat looked out across the water it hit me again. Thankfully not a surfboard this time, but that summer feeling. You know about that if you read my last post, but yeah. LBI reeks of that feeling. Its everywhere. Maybe because its so far from my parents, work, and the everydayness of Manalapan, but its here. And I love it.

- Chris

Music I'm listening to right now:

Pomatomus Saltatrix / That Summer Feeling.

Pomatomus Saltatrix

I know what you're thinking. Pomato-whaa? Pomatomus Saltatrix is the latin name for our tasty friend, the bluefish. Much time has passed since my last fish story, and knowing that the nature of such stories frequently serve to bore the crap out of some of my readers, I will try to keep their frequency to a minimum, unless they're really good. 

It really must be something you're born with. The drive for things like fishing, I mean. Or whatever your personal version may be. But for folks like Khomenko and I, there's just this thrill we get from the strike, or maybe its the fight. Possibly even holding up that trophy fish, and knowing that you were able to match wits with, and conquer such an intelligent beast. Whatever it is, we'll burn under the August sun on a party boat, stand in the pouring rain, and waste away on a sorched dock, praying and hoping for that bite, and otherwise devoting unreasonable amounts of time and idleness in pursuit of that feeling.

Even I find myself puzzled when I take a step back and wonder "Why am I standing in a 40 degree river, slogging through the mud, with water up to my waist, in waders that are starting to leak, all for a maybe 10 inch brown trout that I probably wont even catch?" But then I catch one, and remember. Oh. That's why.

But about our day on the Miss Belmar. Although I went home without landing a single blue. I was using 17lb test line, too stubborn to use a rental rod with heavier line, I was deadset on using my own gear. I hooked 5, lost two, and the other 3 broke my line. They were pretty big fish, and the 17 just wasn't cutting it that day. I spooled 40lb imediately after. I'd like to see those pomatomuses get away from me now! Dan landed 2 and Jason landed 3. We took them home, filleted and grilled them for whoever from the development came. It was quite a feast. 

The real story however, takes place a few days later. On trash day. As usual, I neglected my clean up duties and left the wagon in the woods. When trash day finally came around, what was left in the wagon was completely rotten, and had gone to the maggots and other big ugly bugs who had come to join in on a feast of their own. It was truely a horrible sight. The smell was. I have no words to describe such an rancid, putrid, disgusting smell. It penetrated straight through the wrag I held over my nose, and I scarecely breathed on the way to the curb. When I got there however, I could hold my breath no longer, and took in a deep breath. 

Then I threw up. It was that bad, I kid you not. I went to bed that night with less than fond memories of the whole ghastly ordeal, and the next morning when I heard the garbage truck's hydraulics screech to a halt, I could only help but wonder how the trash collector would fare against such a smelly quarry. Quickly, I rushed for my camera to document their misfortune.

The two men stood before the wagon, dreading their life choices, as well as every moment leading up to the horrible task they had at hand. After a lengthy pause, they mustered the strength to face the smell, and together, tossed the wagon into the truck and hurried back to the safety of the cabin. Poor saps.

That Summer Feeling

I'm not all too sure how to write this one. I've been wanting to cover this topic for awhile now, its something that I have trouble describing accurately, as it is heavily encased in a shell of romance and nostalgia, which at times can blurr my mortal preception of the things which I witness. 

I'll start with this. It hits me when Im at that late night bonfire, having accomplished a daring though-the-window escape, amongest friends, talking and laughing away as I stare out across the moonlit lake, my toes burried in the cool sand, and my mind elsewhere. Or when I'm lying down in the soft green of the golfcourse fairway, speechless in awe of the myriad of distant lights that form the night sky. Or when I'm in the passenger seat, driving home late at night with a friend, eyes fixed on the lines of white that seem to flash by one after the other on the surface of the road, as the stereo seranades us, and fights against the roar of the open windows, my mind fresh with recollections of an eventful night. Or when I'm leaning against the railings on the roof of Sami's beachhouse, watching quietly as the setting sun throws a multitude of brilliant colors across the western horizon. 

Its almost as if I'm taking a step back from myself, and absorbing every last bit of the grandeur from an observer's point of view. Yeah. Its like I'm taking a step back, and observer me is thinking to himself "Wow. This is your summer. Nice to see you making the most of it. Good job, Chris" It's an appreciation for these careless days, when I'm free from the ever present burden of worry, when theres no paper due, or test coming up, no constant nagging thought to hold me back. 

I have no idea as to how common this feeling is. After all, it could be a me specific thing. Let me know, post a comment, or talk to me on facebook. Maybe the summer feeling hits you too, maybe its a little different from how it hits me. Tell me, I'll listen.

Im completely aware of how gay I sound up there. Lets not heckle me about it now, sunshine : )

Music I'm listening to right now:

The Adventures of a Menu Deliverer / Asian Tour Buses

Firstly, I would like to apologize profusely, grovel on my stomach, and make soft whimpering noises to those of my readers who have frequently came back to this site and found no new writing for 2 weeks. A combination of laziness, writers block, a once again broken macbook (screen cracked while on asian tour bus, but its still under warranty so its all good), and a multitude of activities has kept me from my faithful keyboard, and much to my regret, has also kept you from the awe and excitement with which my life brims. That was sarcasm.

The Adventures of a Menu Deliverer

Perhaps the most vital job at a Chinese Takeout/Delivery restaurant, Menu Delivering, or "flyers" as the task is simply referred to, has long since been a rite of passage for the men of the Chong family. It also sucks. But at times it can be interesting. Most of the time however its just down right hellish boredom the likes of which can be compared with activities such as staring at stationary objects for extended periods of time, licking cement, and math.

That's me in the side view on the way to a menu route.

The job of the menu deliverer is quite simple. After a small breakfast, you get into a rickety old 1980s delivery car, and drive to your route with your partner for the day. After which, you walk door to door, armed with a messenger bag and sneakers, and post a menu advertising the restaurant on the door knob of each house on the route. At times these routes can tread into areas and situations, which are not... "favorable" to the menu deliverer. Large animals such as dogs and bears are a constant threat. Not really bears, but I have had a few scrapes with man's best friend. I remember once I was walking along a fence in Woodbury. I neared a large gap in the fence, and as I walked past it, 5 large adult rottweilers on chains rushed forward to have a go at the tasty menu boy. Luckily, they were held back a few inches from me by their chains. No one on that street got a menu. I was half way down the block before the menu I was holding hit the ground. Who has the need for 5 rottweilers anyway? I feel bad for the burglar who tries to burgle that house.

That was quite a long time ago though, so let me regale you with some tales and pictures from my last few menu delivering experiences.

Unlike a typical menu delivering day, in this video I got EXTREMELY lucky, and landed a route inside Centra State Hospital. Instead of sweating it out door to door in the blazing sun, I got to walk down a nicely air conditioned hall way and give menus to the receptionists in the various medical centers. The Audio is missing for some reason. sorrys.




As I was going door to door, walking down Bar Harbor road in Freehold, I noticed a peculiar cluster of what I though to be garbage, resting against a telephone pole. I walked closer, and the pile of garbage turned out to be a memorial set up for two boys who had died on that very street corner 2 years ago. They would have been my age. Their names were Kevin and Graeme. They were killed skateboarding in the street, the evening of February 27th 2008, when both were struck by an oncoming minivan. Broken skateboards are were leaned against the telephone pole by friends, in remembrance of such a terrible and sobering accident. Tragic indeed.



Here we see a most curious event. Pictured in the very center, is a man of the Arabic persuasion, locked in a valiant battle to defend his home from the onslaught of a band of marauding savage wasps. Sporting a t shirt turned-turban, a light pink tank-top, and stunning, yet versatile brown slacks, he wages war against the winged beasts with a coke bottle coupled with a spritzer. What's in the coke bottle you ask? His own piss. I walked up to him and offered him a menu, he gladly accepted, and proceeded to explain the situation, and his strange repellent. I walked off and snapped this shot.

I see a lot of cement writing when I'm out delivering menus but this one really stuck out to me. I'd never before seen cement writing dated past 1996, and this one shatters the record. Cheers, McQuaid!





This cicada scared the hell out of me. For those of you that dont know what a cicada is, google it. Basically its this big ugly bug, that makes a horrible buzzing vibration when it feels threatened. This one was over turned and unable to move when I unknowingly stepped next to it. It started making the noise so loud that I jumped up and started hopping around from one foot to the other in terror. A group of Mexicans nearby laughed them selves silly.


Other than a run in with some lady about leaving my soda can on her curb the rest of the day was pretty typical menu delivering, and not much else exciting happened. I did try sonic for the first time though, that was pretty good.


Asian Tour Buses

Before I stepped aboard the Atlantic Express coach bus in the heart of Chinatown, I had little idea such a phenomenon as the Asian bus tour existed. Apparently very popular among the Asian community, these grueling bus journeys take you to the ends of the earth and back, with tours encompassing most of the continental United States. Ours however wasn't quite so painstaking. Don't get me wrong though, it was quite painstaking. Being shaken awake at the crack of dawn to get back into a cramped bus seat for 2-4 hours at a time and visit some obscure place I'd never heard of before wasn't all that much my idea of a vacation. Niagara falls, and The lake of a Thousand Isles, and the Air and Space Museum were pretty cool, but the Corning Museum of Glass? Really? Glass? Glass is a stop on our trip? Glass? Yes it was that lame. I didnt even take pictures.

Day 1

A busy street in Chinatown:
Tonya and I knew we were going on a bus tour. We didn't know we would be going on an Asian bus tour. The street we were stranded on had been turned into a ghetto bus terminal, with tour guides brandishing sign holding umbrellas, and the most asian tourists I have ever seen rushing about to catch their rides. It was a hectic scene, and we were relieved to find our way to our bus and settle in.

The Lake of a Thousand Isles:
Our first real stop landed us in Alex Bay, alongside a gigantic lake, lined with green shorelines, and littered with estate sized islands, with mansion sized homes covering each. We boarded a 3 decked tour boat and set off to cruise the lake. Here's what we saw

The Lake

Flag in the water?

Flooding Hazard

Island with a Castle

After a nice hour on the water, we were back on the bus and off to Rochester for the night.

Day 2

Niagara Falls:

The last time I had been to Niagara Falls I was maybe 4 or 5. All that remains of that memory is sitting on a cannon after watching a reenactor demonstrate how to shoot a musket, and trying to discreetly tell the man giving out the rain coats for the boat my age so that I would get the right size rain coat. I thought they were made by age size.

Niagara was nothing like I remembered. The falls were amazing. The roar of the water flying over the rocky cliff down into the gorge produced this cloud of mist that rose high into the sky, creating a big rainbow that gave the near by bridge its name, Rainbow Bridge. I discovered the day before that Alexa Scotto was in Niagara City. However we couldn't meet up becauses she was on the Canadian side of the river and I was on the American Side, and my passport was at home. As we descended the elevator from the observation deck to the rivers edge, where the boat SS Maid of the Mist was waiting to take us to the falls, I found out that Alexa could see the river from her hotel room. I called her and learned that she was staying in the Sheraton Hilton directly across from where the boat launch was. I asked her if she could see a boat at dock from her window. She could. Then I told her to look at the top of the back deck for me waving and she saw me! That was pretty cool. Check out some pictures.

Taste the Rainbow?

The Falls

Rainbow Bridge

On the Boat

I'll edit this one when my macbook comes back

Some Amish people whose souls I stole by taking their picture. Take that Jedidiah!

Niagara was fun, but soon after a midday meal we were back on the tour bus, bound for places of lesser interest.

The Corning Museum of Glass:
Situated in the rolling hills of rural Corning, New York, the Glass Museum attracts tourists from far and near to marvel at the wonders of glass. Okay folks, try as I might, even my superior command of the english language cannot make this place sound interesting, exciting, or anything that does not fall into the category of dull and bland. A museum about glass? Really? 5 Rottweilers? Yeah.

Back into the bus and off to Maryland for the night.

Day 3:

Washington D.C. :
Deprived of sleep, and weary from travel, I stumbled out of bed, managed to shower, brush my teeth, steal a hotel pillow, and throw myself down in the bus seat. I was out before the bus started rolling. I woke up in Sunny D.C. Then imediately went back to sleep. Tonya and I skipped the first three stops that day, passed out and sprawled over our bus seats.

Madame Tussuad's Wax Museum:
Barely awake, I hung my camera on Winston Churchill, and used a near by mirrored wall to put my contacts in. Here's what I saw.

Old Winston himself

Some Black Guy... I hope Morgan sees this (we're friends on facebook)

Intense negotiations

We're Official

What really happened

The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum:
I was like a kid in a candy shop. I love airplanes. That's all I have to Say.

Bell P-59 Aircomet. Yes I knew that off hand hahahaha.

A Ford Tri-motor and a McDonnell Douglas DC-3

The Original Wright Flyer. The first Airplane to fly Under its own Power.

A Spad WW1 Fighter Plane

After the museum it was again back into the buses, and the journey to Philadelphia began.

Philly:
Tonya and I opted to skip the tour of Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, and instead went into a nearby food court which I recognized from a previous field trip with Mr. Falk. I got an amazing rocky road 2 scoop and a pop gun of all things and sat around till it was time to get back on the bus.

Home:
Thats where I am now.

Conculsion:
Asian Bus Tours have the potential to be fun. But then the Corning Museum of Glass just destroys that potential and the whole trip crashes and burns.

-Chris

Music I'm listening to right now: