SUMMER SWAN SONG

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (10-26-23)

 

     I love the summer, but now it's fall and my friends who detest the hot weather and can't wait for the fever to break are basking in my misery. A chill starts to inhabit the evening air and I start to panic because school is starting. Even though I haven't been to school in decades it still induces a visceral dread. I tried to put autumn off by traveling south to Ocean City, Maryland a few weeks ago. 

     On the way down the Jersey Turnpike we were terrorized by a motorcycle gang. By terrorized, I mean that I couldn't hear the radio over that cacophony. I'm an avid motorcycle rider myself, when I can locate it in my garage, which is like a Superfund site these days. In New York, the noise level for a motorcycle is supposed to be below 82 decibels, measured at a distance of 50 feet. For the sake of comparison, a Harrier jet taking off is about 125dB; the average kiddie pool in August is about 129dB; and "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC clocks in at an average of 140 decibels, if your Mom's not home. The reason I mention this is because I myself recently was the envy of the outlaw clubs when my bike's noise output hit about a million decibels on Route 35 on the way back from the gym, because my muffler fell off and landed on the side of the road. The rest of the ride home it was so ear-splitting that I couldn't hear myself think, which I don't do very loudly to begin with. 

     Anyway, the trip south takes about five hours, and sometimes the GPS will offer an alternative route that takes less time but costs more in tolls. I look over at my wife, who is smirking because she can tell that I'm trying to divide the number of minutes saved by the amount of money in tolls. "No," I volunteer, "we're not going that way, it's like three bucks a minute. That's more than a 900 phone chat line, only without the friendship. So I've heard, at least." 

     When we got there the weather was not great for the beach but good for strolling the boardwalk. We passed a kid of about 11 or so who was strumming a guitar with the case open, busking for tips. I assumed he was putting himself through elementary school until his voice changes and he has to update his entire repertoire. It was tough to find a table for lunch. There was a huge music festival going on at the end of the boardwalk, and it was a seller's market for food. We ended up at a Hooters, and the waitresses there still have to wear hot pants even when it's cold. Being a Hooters waitress is more of a concept than an actual job. Ours spent quite a bit of time taking selfies and generally hooting, and we did most of the waiting. When the chicken tenders arrived, they hardly seemed to have been tended at all.

     There were a lot of great acts appearing at the music festival, which was held right on the beach. Access to the boardwalk and the amusement park next door were a unique touch for an event that size. I guess it was a good thing that it wasn't 90 degrees and sunny, because at a beach, alcohol, candied apples, the Tidal Wave roller coaster, riptides and an Alanis Morissette-fueled rage is a compromising health combination that no amount of lifeguard training can prepare you for.

     We didn't have tickets to the concert, but live music is plentiful on the island, and we checked out a selection of bands over the long weekend. On the way into the bar they checked my ID, which was at once flattering and disturbing. Was I not young enough to get in? I guess they run your license to see if you have any felony warrants against you or anything. I'm guessing they'd find a few more if they checked on the way out. 

     The band was good, but sometimes a bad band is an even better conversation piece. This one had a female lead singer with a very good voice and a tambourine. Oddly enough, she did not play the instrument, which makes noise when you shake it a couple times then bang it against your thigh. Maybe she never watched "The Partridge Family," or maybe someone in the band threatened her never to make any more noise with it, but she simply brandished it in the general direction of the bass player.

     On the way home, the weight of reality set in, and so too the demands of football season on my job, the impending holidays, the raking of leaves.... But if a 90-degree day should break out in the middle of December, I'm available for a beach day.