Russell and I left Memory Lane when we exited Wrightstown. I had quick flashes of memories or nostalgia at a few other places, but the wholesale wallowing in the past was done.
From Wrightstown we headed into Bordentown. Russell continued his running monologue of sights as we passed by, which was very entertaining. Without me really even noticing we were suddenly at Mastoris restaurant, previously agreed upon for lunch. Mastoris was in business in the 70's and it was a favorite dining spot for my family when we were in the area. Although, I didn't remember the name of the restaurant in advance of seeing Russell, my family all did. I tried to surprise my parents when I later told them about the day, but my Mom jumped the gun and asked directly if we had eaten at Mastoris!
Mastoris grew out of a diner and now hosts quite elegant dining. We asked to be seated in the old section of the restaurant, however. nothing is quite as much fun in a restaurant as opening up the menu and finding anything and everything you could want. It reminds me a lot of the west coast's Jerry's Famous Deli. But, where Jerry's tries to recreate the east coast diner experience, Mastoris is the real thing.
Full, we headed north, through Bordentown into Trenton. Trenton, along with cities like Newark and Camden, is urban New Jersey. The traffic was awful, with streets being one lane in each direction. We had to make several detours in order to get to the places Russell wanted show off, which included the house where he spent his first few years. We also visited a large beautiful park, the site of Russell's first attempts at running. (A joke about learning to run in Trenton is easy and natural to drop in here!)
Our itinerary beyond this point was unknown to me, and I had a great time just riding and looking out the window. From Trenton proper we headed to Washington's Crossing. First, however, we had to cross the most marvelous bridge, and I regret that I have no picture of it. It is a flat bridge, crossing the Delaware river very near the site of Washington's famous crossing of the Delaware. The bridge is metal. There are no superstructure supports above the level of the road. Instead, there is a metal fencing on each side of the bridge, designed, it seems, to keep cars from plummeting off the sides. I say that because the bridge is one lane in each direction and there is very nearly no extra room beyond the width of a single car to each lane. Passage is slow as every car maintains an absolutely straight path down its lane. My Mom, a hater of bridges, was sure to ask if we had crossed this bridge after I told her where we had been. Apparently, it is a bridge to remain long in the minds of those who are uncomfortable on bridges!
The park at Washington's Crossing was only an hour from closing for the day so we were spared an in-depth history lesson. I say 'spared' somewhat mockingly because I'm not a fan of American history. Don't get me wrong— I certainly appreciate the efforts and deeds of my country's forefathers— but, to me, history only gets interesting a thousand or two years ago. American history is too new to hold my interest long.
We sat and watched a small video about the events of the night of Washington's crossing of the Delaware. Surprisingly (to me) it was entertaining and informative. It was not the educational movie of my youth! Russell particularly enjoyed the video as all the actors had strong New Jersey accents, adding a layer or unintended irony. After the video, we then went to view the famous painting. That is, we viewed a new replica of the painting, as the original was moved from this location some few years back.
We then headed north (?) along the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware until we got to a little artistic community named New Hope. I had listened to a debate earlier in the day between Russell and his mother about which side of the Delaware held the better experience here. On the New Jersey side of the river was the town of Lambertville, also artistic, and apparently formerly the more tourist-y of the two. It seems now, however, that New Hope has succumbed more to tourists. We crossed back over the Delaware here into Lambertville and enjoyed a cup of coffee in a non-Starbucks cafe. The towns, as far as I could tell, were both quaint and full of little interesting shops.
Russell's wandering foot on the accelerator next took us to Princeton. To two men of liberal mindset and varying degrees of new Jersey in their blood, there are fewer more respected places than Princeton. Princeton was one of the colleges to which I had been accepted, and the choice to go elsewhere is one of the few regrets I allow myself. I can only console myself that the perceived sting of New Jersey was still relatively fresh in my mind at the time, and I didn't distinguish myself as having a liberal bent at the time. I still remember my parents cautioning me against a few of the schools to which I had been accepted— although, I do not in any way hold their counsel against them. (Princeton was too liberal for their comfort, and the university of Wisconsin, Madison, was still too recently radical.)
To say Princeton is beautiful is to overload the word 'beautiful.' It is stately and gracious, with stone and brick buildings rising everywhere up from the ground. We drove twice around the campus in admiration. If I were Russell, I could add a lot more at this point, but most of the details have left me. My head holds more memories of impressions than facts. As it was late in the day, we weren't able to stay long; although, we did park once and set out on foot. We immediately found a Lindt chocolate store, at which I purchased some dark chocolates for my sister-in-law. From there we walked into a famous bar/pub and admired the pictures of Princeton alumni on the wall. Michelle Obama has recently been added to the wall. As you can imagine, her picture really stands out.
Since I had promised to take the family out to dinner as a way of saying "Thanks" to their adoption of a stranger for a few days, we then pointed the car towards home. It was full night by this time. Fortunately, dinner was only across the street from Russell's parents' house. Literally, we had only to step ff the front porch, look both ways, step carefully across the slush and snow, and we were there. The house— for it had assuredly started as a house quite a long time ago— had housed a small market and meat counter during Russell's youth. (It was Applegate's Market then.) Now, however, it is a pleasant upscale Italian restaurant. We all had a great-tasting meal, followed by Mozart chocolates that Russell had picked up earlier. I encourage you to visit the hyper link and see for yourself what these treats are like.
Needless to say, after a second long day, I crashed hard again that night, this time enjoying a full night's sleep.
Part 7 should begin tomorrow.
Until next time!
"The CIA is made up of boys whose families sent them to Princeton but wouldn't let them into the family brokerage business."— Lyndon B. Johnson
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