Of Bears and Beets

There are some who would suggest that this post represents the bottom of the barrel, wedged in a deep, dark corner of the hold in a rotting 17th-century ship schooner the ocean floor, having been captained by a long-forgotten Finnish miser pirate, who’s only succesful heist before said ship took its leave to the remote depths of the Southern Indian Ocean (he was a sucker for curry) was the aforementioned barrel containing this post. But to them, I say poo poo. My sincerest concern, in fact, is that this idea is instead the pinnacle of my blogging career, and that it’s all down-current from here. Without further ado:

12. Route 18 over the South River/Bordentown Turnpike: This is actually my least favorite bridge in the county, but for reasons that bear mentioning. There are multiple locations along Route 18 in East Brunswick where the divided state highway, built in the ’50s, clearly breaks up what used to be a local road. But the saddest is on the Old Bridge border, where instead of simply splitting the Bordentown Turnpike in two, it rises to pass over it, as well as the rapidly widening South River as it spits its way north toward the Raritan. There are a small handful of aging-if-not-obsolete shops in the shadow of the overpass, and nothing represents the high toll the area has paid for the throroughfare, from the ghosts of Burnet Street in New Brunswick to the halved East Brunswick neighborhood near the swooping, offset overpasses of Cranbury and Milltown roads. (On a lighter note, this point is a stone’s throw from my apartment, and usually represents the first point my girlfriend even recognizes on drives home.)

11. Basilone Bridge: Carrying the Turnpike over the Raritan River, the Basilone is a bland, listless bridge that you’re bound to overlook if you cross it at night. Maybe its the abundance of lanes, maybe its the placement at that perfect spot on the river where New Brunswick is out of visual reach, and the only geographical markers are the faux skyline of the omnipresent Turnpike buildings and the nondescript lowlands of greater Sayreville off to the southeast. Unfortunately, the bridge is too efficient, too well-built, too seamlessly blended into either riverbank. That’s great if you’re the engineer who built it, but not so great if you’re a bridge afficianado.

Continue reading →