We rode out of Philadelphia well rested and excited to get back on the open road. Out of Philly our ride was intermixed with bike lanes, bike paths, tow paths, and rail trails. We joined a funeral procession for the first few miles, and we learned that funeral processionals don't have to stop for red lights. So we enjoyed the escort and mourned the loss with the long line of motorists.
We got into New Jersey in the mid-afternoon and rode a disjointed, ill maintained tow path out of NJ's capitol city, Trenton. We stuck with the trail, hoping it would improve as we approached the affluent city of Princeton, and our presupposition was entirely correct. The tow path became a gorgeous dirt path that took us through woods and waterways.
We made it to Princeton around 5pm. We cycled through what looked like freshmen orientation and gawked at the old brick and stone buildings of the old university. We found a a local espresso cafe, Small World Coffee. The baristas asked about our trip and heavy bicycles. When we asked them for any advise on camping in the area, they encouraged us to bike to the old Princeton Battlefield, a Revolutionary War site, which is now a state park. We thanked them for the tip. And when we went to pay for our lemonade and iced coffee, they sent us out, emploring us not to pay. We gave a good tip and thanked them for their kindness.
They were about to close up shop, so when we felt a thunderstorm a'brewin, we made our way further downtown to find some shelter. We didn't find it in time. After a good drenchin' we eventually found some dinner at a local pub. One thing we learned in Princeton, is that things ain't cheap unless your baristas are footin the bill, and I don't imagine tuition to be much different.
Filled up, we cycled down the hill towards The Battlefield. It was misty as the sun set, making the field look a fitting, beautiful, somber place. We cycled down the path to the part where the field meets the woods, and where the slight hill and curvature of the field hid us from anyone's view.
The mist fooled me into thinking that we should sleep with our sleeping bags that night, something we have only needed to do once since Denver--it's been so hot. Bad call. We slept horribly, but in the laziness of sleep we didn't unzip the sleeping bags and rearrange our sleeping quarters. In an effort to get out of the field before the morning runners and rangers would find us, we were out by 6:30. We made our way back to the coffee house for breakfast. A bagel, a bowl of granola, and two cups of coffee later, we were on the road--this time, headed for New York City.
We only had 45 miles to go to catch our ferry boat to Manhattan, but we didn't want to miss it. The north eastern tip of New Jersey is covered in a labyrinth of bicycle paths. We connected a few and cycled toward
Sandy Hook , the large sand spit that juts out of New Jersey and stares at Manhattan and Coney Island. On one of our road stints we were "pulled over" by a cop--he simply wanted to know how far we had come.
It stormed midday, so we took cover at a nearby gas station. We sat on crates outside the quick mart, making peanut butter and jelly bagel sandwiches, huddled under the skimpy overhang. We quickly learned that the Indian woman running the show didn't like us there. We persevered and, instead, got to know the older Indian gas station attendant who, too, had to weather the storm outside. Turns out, New Jersey is like Oregon, and you can not pump your own gas. So we stood in the rain with this man. He told us about the beauty of India, and we told him how we hope to bike there too. He came to America, he said, to be with his family here, but has been back to India a few times. He was kind.
The storm decided it wasn't finished and didn't want to be, so we decided it was time to get wet and keep on pedaling.
The chill of the rain felt refreshing, and the rest of the day's ride was on an old rail trail. With no worry of cars in the rain, we pressed on carelessly. We splashed through so many puddle that when we approached a formidably large one we hesitated for only a moment and charged right down the middle of the monster. Half way in we were submerged to our knees and the water nearly swallowed our panniers. We hopped off our steads, laughing at the colossal puddle. We turned around and pushed our bikes out the way we came and found our way off the bike path. We got back on the path at the next block, and made our way to the ferry terminal--feet sloshing and squishing the whole time.
We confirmed our ferry time and went on a mission to find the beach. The rain finally stopped and the sun came out just as we greeted the great Atlantic Ocean. We had looked forward to this moment for weeks, dreaming of it as we dripped sweat in Kansas. And due of the earlier rainstorm, we had the beach to ourselves. We set up a little beach side resort, ate a snack, listened to music, and swam in the waves.
We only had an hour, and we pushed our time at the beach to the very last moment, almost sabotaging ourselves into having to catch a later ferry. Despite our tardiness, we were far more prompt than the ferry boat captain, and we made it just fine.
The boat ride was blissful, and full of excitement. I had never been to this world class city. So to pull up by boat, to float pass lady liberty, and to watch Manhattan get bigger and bigger in the foreground, made her seem entirely regal.
I had dreamed for many years or visiting this city; I didn't know I would see her by the view of my bicycle, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
We only had 45 miles to go to catch our ferry boat to Manhattan, but we didn't want to miss it. The north eastern tip of New Jersey is covered in a labyrinth of bicycle paths. We connected a few and cycled toward Sandy Hook , the large sand spit that juts out of New Jersey and stares at Manhattan and Coney Island. On one of our road stints we were "pulled over" by a cop--he simply wanted to know how far we had come. 
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