Route to Philadelphia

After doing some preparations, I rode over to New Jersey to get a photo inspection of my bike for the insurance company. Turns out, however, that the place was closed that day, notwithstanding what they wrote on the internet (nice detail: it was a deli that also does that on the side). So I had dinner next to it (see right), then went on towards Philadelphia. Or at least, I tried.

Oh boy, I have to get used to finding my way around American roads. It took me three or four tries and about one hour just to ENTER the New Jersey Turnpike. Road signs I needed to follow my Google Maps directions were missing (or maybe hidden very well), others were totally ambiguous in their meaning, still others contained just cryptic number systems without telling you where they actually lead. Sometimes I had to just optically memorize what the map looked like and then try to recognize the patterns in the roads actually in front of me. I think my two favorite parts where this:

and this:

And whenever you make a wrong turn, you can count on scores of "No left turns here" signs, "One way", "No turn around" etc. So you end up riding for ten minutes at highway speed in a direction you know to be wrong. Later you can leave the road, find a place to stop and finally look up the map again, start the engine, and sometimes after only two turns I knew "Man, wrong again." Ha!

Another thing I'm not used to are the many toll stations. In Europe, either we don't have tolls for private cars (Germany), or you pay once for a certain amount of time, get a sticker, and the whole country is covered (rest of Europe). Here, you pay cash for single roads, bridges etc. "You want to go over that bridge? Makes five dollars." In fact I paid more for tolls than for gas that day. Before finding my way onto the Turnpike, I filled up on gas (this on the other hand is ridiculously cheap here), and got going.

I was rumbling over the highway at between fifty and seventy miles per hour, it was already dark, and a thunderstorm was gathering. Lightning lit the clouds.

"I'm the ghost rider!" dududuh...

(Since there are exactly three people who will get this reference, let's see if we get three notes together in the comments section.)

At about ten in the evening I arrived at the hotel. Since my cell phone was rapidly running out of battery, I had been looking for directions rather quickly, however. I parked my bike in the garage, wanted to check in, then was told there is another hotel from the same brand. I was in the wrong hotel. Damn! Soaked in sweat, I packed up again and rode down to the other one. Sigh...things happen. I decided to park the bike at a separate garage because the lady at the toll booth told me about an incoming storm, and maybe I should park my bike somewhere protected. I did that and carried my luggage back to the hotel. When I finally got to the room, I stepped in and out of it several times, just to enjoy the contrast of an air conditioned room!

For now, I'll end this post with a piece of luck. After a day of sweat running down my face, I was dying for an ice-cold Fanta. And I mean exactly that! So I checked the vending machines on every floor of the hotel for Fanta. The first one didn't have it. The second one got better in its offers, but still no Fanta. The third one had some tropical orange stuff, which might me a substitute, but I pressed on. The fourth one had Fanta! But it was sold out... The fifth one had Fanta, and there were still bottles left! But the machine was out of order...Running out of choices, I resigned myself to the tropical stuff, and as I carried the bottle away, I realized what I was holding in my hand. The tropical selection actually spit out...a Fanta! Dude, getting some ice from the machine and back into the room, this was the best drink of my life!