On the morning of a very hot day I received a phone call from my bank telling me they had to cancel my debit card because my number may or may not have been compromised due to a security breach, as hackers in China and Russia have nothing better to do all day. They told me they were going to mail a new card within ten days, but in the meantime I was without access to take cash out of the ATM. I could always make a normal withdraw from the teller window, but when you do that they always give you that look like you're taking their money, even though its technically from your account. Plus, then they go through the routine of asking you why your signature doesn't look the same as when you opened the account a million years ago. Through a system of dirty looks and making you sign a piece of paper two to three times, the bank tellers try their hardest to not give you your money.
As I expected the roads were nice and empty to the point I was making record time getting out to Jones Beach. There were even some moments I wanted traffic just so it would feel like a normal beach day; when its hot and sweltering and cars are stacked up because they too are trying to get to the beach. The traffic never came and before I knew it I was at the Jones Beach toll entry. The fee was ten-dollars (this would be on top of the thirteen dollars for the bridge) and I can't remember if that's the same from last year or not. With Jones Beach parking there are six lots, each called a Field House. Once I saw that Jones Beach tower approaching I knew the Fields would be coming up, so I had to keep my eyes peeled to see which ones had open spots. For some reason the first few were had no parking available anymore, despite it being a weekday, and for some other reason I thought there were eight Field Houses. After I passed Field 6 I just kept on some long roadway that didn't have anymore signs for parking. Seeing that it stopped after the sixth one, I turned the car around at the next turnaround spot and headed back. Eventually I came upon Field 5, which I almost always end up with, and there was more than plenty of parking spots available. In fact, I had about ten thousand spots to choose from. It's the lot that actually overlooks the Nikon Theater which is used alot during the summer for outdoor concerts. Getting to the beach from this particular Field House requires a longer walk that goes under the roadway via an underground passage. Before hitting the sand there is a bathhouse and restroom area, plus a small gift shop and place to get food. I noticed a bike rack with a few bikes on it, but seeing there's no houses around the idea, I'm not really sure where those riders came from.
After checking out the rip tide warning sign that advises beach-goers to swim to the left or right of a current, instead of directly against it or with it, I began the long Jones Beach walk on the hot sand to find a place to settle on. The journey is similar to the story of Moses leading the Israelites out into the desert for forty-years to find their Promise Land. The long trek with the sun bearing down on you while looking for a place to put your chair and towel on is almost the same feeling. The beach didn't have that many people and I was able to get a good spot not too far from the water and not too far from the lifeguard mini-mountain, where they sit on their thrones. I unrolled my army green-camouflage beach blanket, unfolded my chair, and stood up my dinner tray. Before getting to my Chirpin' Chicken lunch, I briefly walked over to the shoreline and noticed the water was quite rough with broken shells and jagged rocks ready to cut your ankles once you set foot in. Not many were daring the waters, and those who did, weren't going out very far. While I ate I had to settle for some grandmother burying a small kid in the sand as entertainment, and I had to keep an eye out for pesky seagulls, who certainly by now had gotten word that I had food. I made sure to eat carefully and not let any small pieces of food end up on the sand which would draw them in later to rummage through my camp while I would be occupied in the rough waters. Thanks to my tray, I was able to maintain a clean station, except for one kernel of corn that fell into the sand.
Since it was a weekday and most people would be at work, I really wanted to take advantage of the foreseeable light traffic and head out to Jones Beach in Long Island for the first time this summer. The problem with Long Island is it would cost an extra thirteen dollars on toll back and forth, and due to the cash shortage I had to consider the more local Orchard Beach which would only cost me seven dollars in parking. Then it struck me that it had been a while since I had done a coin drop-off at the supermarket and it was very likely I had accumulated a healthy amount over the many months. My last haul (as mentioned in the December 2011 blog entry "A Hundred and One Dollars the Easy Way") came out to a hundred and one dollars. I packed up the mound of change that collected in a bowl on my bookcase as well in the armrest of my car and brought it over to a nearby supermarket with a Coinstar machine. The return wasn't as plentiful as it had been in December and my total came out to fifty-eight dollars. The cashier actually asked me to hand her two singles and then in return she gave me three twenty-dollar bills. I was more than satisfied because with sixty-bucks I would certainly have enough for back and forth to Jones Beach. Since I really didn't have breakfast, and the beach food options out there are limited to hotdogs and hamburgers mainly, I made a quick stop at Chirpin' Chicken to pick up a quarter-chicken meal that included two sides; mash potatoes and corn. They also give you half-a-slice of warm pita bread and some bbq sauce to dip with. With the lunch packed and a large bottle of water bought from another store, I was set to hit the road.
As I expected the roads were nice and empty to the point I was making record time getting out to Jones Beach. There were even some moments I wanted traffic just so it would feel like a normal beach day; when its hot and sweltering and cars are stacked up because they too are trying to get to the beach. The traffic never came and before I knew it I was at the Jones Beach toll entry. The fee was ten-dollars (this would be on top of the thirteen dollars for the bridge) and I can't remember if that's the same from last year or not. With Jones Beach parking there are six lots, each called a Field House. Once I saw that Jones Beach tower approaching I knew the Fields would be coming up, so I had to keep my eyes peeled to see which ones had open spots. For some reason the first few were had no parking available anymore, despite it being a weekday, and for some other reason I thought there were eight Field Houses. After I passed Field 6 I just kept on some long roadway that didn't have anymore signs for parking. Seeing that it stopped after the sixth one, I turned the car around at the next turnaround spot and headed back. Eventually I came upon Field 5, which I almost always end up with, and there was more than plenty of parking spots available. In fact, I had about ten thousand spots to choose from. It's the lot that actually overlooks the Nikon Theater which is used alot during the summer for outdoor concerts. Getting to the beach from this particular Field House requires a longer walk that goes under the roadway via an underground passage. Before hitting the sand there is a bathhouse and restroom area, plus a small gift shop and place to get food. I noticed a bike rack with a few bikes on it, but seeing there's no houses around the idea, I'm not really sure where those riders came from.
After checking out the rip tide warning sign that advises beach-goers to swim to the left or right of a current, instead of directly against it or with it, I began the long Jones Beach walk on the hot sand to find a place to settle on. The journey is similar to the story of Moses leading the Israelites out into the desert for forty-years to find their Promise Land. The long trek with the sun bearing down on you while looking for a place to put your chair and towel on is almost the same feeling. The beach didn't have that many people and I was able to get a good spot not too far from the water and not too far from the lifeguard mini-mountain, where they sit on their thrones. I unrolled my army green-camouflage beach blanket, unfolded my chair, and stood up my dinner tray. Before getting to my Chirpin' Chicken lunch, I briefly walked over to the shoreline and noticed the water was quite rough with broken shells and jagged rocks ready to cut your ankles once you set foot in. Not many were daring the waters, and those who did, weren't going out very far. While I ate I had to settle for some grandmother burying a small kid in the sand as entertainment, and I had to keep an eye out for pesky seagulls, who certainly by now had gotten word that I had food. I made sure to eat carefully and not let any small pieces of food end up on the sand which would draw them in later to rummage through my camp while I would be occupied in the rough waters. Thanks to my tray, I was able to maintain a clean station, except for one kernel of corn that fell into the sand.
The water was as rough as it looked and I don't think I went more than ten yards from the shoreline. Once I was out into the water a little the sharp broken shells and rocks were no longer nipping at my heels, but it was a challenge to stand straight with the waves crashing down every few seconds. I saw two swimmers, who I would assume were lifeguards based on they way they swam in formation and were wearing swimming caps, go out pretty far and then disappear. They cut a right, but then I didn't see them anymore. It was as if the ocean took them away. Usually I don't go to Jones Beach this early in the season because the ocean water doesn't warm up until late July and August. I spend the least amount of time swimming than any of my previous visits since the water temperature was numbingly cold. At first it would feel refreshing, then moments later a cold blast from a wave would knock me over and freeze my body. Without much swimming to be done and without a book on me, I needed to find other things to keep me busy. Alot of shells were washing up on the beach shore, so I decided to talk a long walk and pick out the best of the best that I could find. When I got back to my camp I saw that the kernel of corn was gone, but luckily my bag wasn't disturbed. I was able to see that tower again from where I was sitting, plus with the beach empty, I saw the hundreds and hundreds of empty garbage cans that massed all over the sand.
Other than collecting shells, the only other activity I thought of was visiting the gift shop. Once I was inside I was surprised to see there was the entrance to a museum!! It's called the Castles in the Sand, and in all the years I had been parking at Field 5, I never realized it even existed. There's no fee to get in, and in a rare circumstance, visitors without shirts or shoes are welcomed. The museum is quite small and focuses on the history of Jones Beach as well as other state parks on Long Island. The beach is actually named after Major Thomas Jones who settled upon the area in the year 1692 and opened a whaling station. The main challenge of having the beach was finding a way to bring people from New York City out to Long Island. The solution came in the form of a parkway road system modeled after the Bronx River Parkway and was organized by longtime urban planning commissioner Robert Moses. In addition to building the parkways to get people to Jones Beach, Moses is also credited with the many bridges, highways, and tunnels which connect the five boroughs of New York City with the rest of the country. Whereas some think of Robert Moses as a hero, others might historically think of him as New York City's worst nightmare. It was Moses who forbade the Brooklyn Dodgers to have a new stadium built in Brooklyn and only offered them the area around Flushing in Queens, which eventually became Shea Stadium and the home of the New York Mets. The refusal of Brooklyn prompted the Dodgers organization to relocate the franchise out to Los Angeles and turned heartbroken Dodger fans into jealous Yankee-hating Mets fans. Some of Moses' highways, such as the Cross Bronx Expressway, designed to serve as an evaluation route in case of a nuclear attack, destroyed neighborhoods by literally spitting them in half and displaced their residents. These areas that where torn in half and left with no identity, helped ignite conditions of crime and decay which spread over parts of New York City from the late 60's through to the early 90's. He even wanted to create a roadway that gutted through the middle of Manhattan and would've given the city a whole different look, but thankfully he wasn't able to get the approval on that plan.
The conditions inside the museum weren't all that great as one could expect with something that is free. One of the ceiling tiles was busted out and the Pink Panther insulation was exposed, at least I think it was the Pink Panther brand. There were also gigantic mosquitoes flying around, some of the biggest I ever seen, and I used my towel to smash one that was on the wall. It fell down to the rug where I smashed it again with the rolled up towel. With the threat of a nasty bite gone for the time being, I focused back on the museum exhibits such as a New York Times article from 1993 which told the story of a lifeguard who was starting this fiftieth summer on the job. Speaking of that tower which can be seen when approaching the parking areas of Jones Beach, it doesn't officially have a name and is referred to as the Jones Beach Water Tower or even the Robert Moses Water Tower. The structure itself was designed after some tower that stood in Italy. There's a bust of Robert Moses encased in glass, likely to protect it from Brooklyn Dodgers fans that would like to smash it with a baseball bat. During the early days of Jones Beach the area served as a resort location with hotels and restaurants, and some of those old ads and menus where on display in the museum. There was much more to read concerning the other state parks in Long Island, but I wanted to get back to make sure the seagulls hadn't left any droppings on my chair or if someone came by to permanently borrow by sunblock spray-can. Once the humans packed it up for the afternoon and left the beach, more and more seagulls flocked in to pick up any treats left behind. There were about three different types of seagulls, and they all brazingly fought with each other over territory. I too had enough shells and sun for the day, and took down my camp for a return to my car.
One of the early exits to get back into New York (City) takes you onto the Sunrise Highway, which is only a couple of blocks away from Merrick Boulevard. With my Chirpin' Chicken lunch faded away already and dinner time approaching, I thought it would be a great idea to pass by a diner I used to frequent alot a few years ago called the USA Diner. It's located on Merrick Blvd. and there is a highway right next to it I could get on after I was done eating. Usually there's a hostess when entering that seats you, but she was busy elsewhere or in the bathroom. I recognized the manager and one of the waiters immediately. The front part of the restaurant smelled bad, like a nursing home, then I saw a couple who had an old man seated across from them, so I figured they took him out for the day and he was the source of the odor. The manager had a busboy mop the floor, but I think it was just an excuse to have some of the lemon-scented soap neutralize the nursing home smell in the air. It helped a little, but I wasn't taking chances sitting near them, so I just went over to the counter where there was still a trace of it. After looking at the menu (and perhaps due to the smell), I felt less hungry for a meal than the time I was leaving the beach, and was more interested in dessert. The USA Diner does have a wide variety of cakes and pies they display in a case near the entrance, so its not easy to choose. There was nothing dealing with red velvet, so I went back to basics and selected a slice of regular cheesecake. The waiter I recognized took my order and went into the display case to bring out the masterpiece. A whole fresh cheesecake, yet to be cut, was placed on the counter. I was to be the recipient of the very first slice of this proud cheesecake. It's an honor parallel to the Nobel Peace Prize, a Purple Heart, or the Congressional Metal of Honor. I remembered they make a good egg cream there, so I also ordered a vanilla one to supplement the slice of honor.
If the seagulls weren't too lazy to follow me from the beach, they could've ended up with much more than just a corn kernel....
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