Wildwood, NJ: America’s Greatest Boardwalk
The morning before driving away for the weekend, I slip over to Cafe Cravings. Sitting outside in the morning sun, an old geezer sits at the table next to me. Silence, then:
“Have you ever been to Wildwood, New Jersey?"
“Yeah, but it’s been awhile. Last time I was there, it was pretty wild.”
The vague comment intrigues me, but I hold back; I’ll find out for myself in a matter of hours
A week earlier I thought I’d be heading to Philly – that trip fell through, so I tag along with Bryce to his soccer tournament in Wildwood, NJ. Instead of the “City of Brotherly Love,” I’m headed for “America’s Greatest Boardwalk.”
Wildwood
Driving over the bay bridge, my Dad says Wildwood is known for its ‘50s and ‘60s retro motels; fortunately, we’re staying at the Daytona Inn & Suites. The NASCAR car-shaped fluorescent light shines from the corner of a busy intersection, and dark blue globe lights line the walkway to our room around the small pool.
Once settled in, we hear screaming from two blocks away; we stroll towards the (in)famous boardwalk and witness a towering slingshot launching cages of people up into the night sky. The whole rambunctious scene stretches two and a half miles long:
Candy, ice cream, cheese fries, fudge, snow-cones, milkshakes, smoothies, lemonade
Deep fried anything – oreos, snickers, nutella, cannolis, funnel cakes, twinkies, cookie dough – all loaded with white powdered sugar
Carnival games, arcades, claw machines, skee ball, ring toss, water gun races, basketball shots, mini golf
Vendors and operators announcing “free samples,” “first basketball shot is free,” and corny one-liners from behind microphones
Unsupervised teenagers wearing provocative t-shirts and fresh body piercings, drawing concerned parents’ heads
A tram car running the length of the boardwalk and an automated woman asserting “watch the tram car, please” the whole way, down and back
But once curfew hits at 10pm, the boardwalk crowd halves, rides go dark, and shops begin closing up. I want to make the most of my short time here, so I head to bed, excited to ride my pennyboard tomorrow.
Skating, Coffee, & Yoga on the Beach
It’s been a few years since stepping on my small skateboard; I shake off the rust and cruise on down to Crest Coffee Company. I make it there (unscathed), write on their porch, and observe the locals in the less-touristy part of town – but already I’m pulled by the next activity.
I meet up with Bryce for Yoga on the Beach – neither of us has a mat or towel, but the sub-in instructor, Stella, gives us tapestries to use. She tells the class that the main instructor, Charla, recently broke her big toe and can’t make it.
As we close our eyes, breathe deeply, and relax our bodies, Stella’s gentle flow of stretches and mindful movements become a natural extension of our environment: the soft humid sand, the dull ocean roar, and the cool beach breeze blowing through our practice.
After class I’m called to the ocean – it’s dark, blue, and cold, and my internal engine revs up as I body surf chest-high waves. As I wade back to shore, a sea creature pinches my toe – a reminder I’m right here, right now.
All-American Boardwalk
I glide down the wood planks on my pennyboard with nothing to do – elated by this, I coast past some shops and float around the crowds, the entire boardwalk revealing itself in the cloudy, muted daylight.
I’m only drawn inside one store, What Goes On:
Scattered old books
Racks of thrifted vintage clothes
Retro, abstract, psychedelic posters layering the walls
I walk out with only two books – not bad.
After a few kicks I reach the end of the boardwalk – the smooth wood planks are way more fun than the rocky road! As I turn around to head back, a loudspeaker comes on, and they ask everyone to stop and remove their hats for the playing of the Star Spangled Banner.
LeAnn Rimes’s echoing voice fills the air with reverence, and I can’t help but sing along:
It's the weekend before July 4th – a week away from America’s 250th birthday – I stand there, grateful for the amazing land, opportunities, and privileges we have as Americans. Then another song comes on – God Bless America by Kate Smith.
I whistle the patriotic, nature-endearing song, remembering how great it is to live amongst “mountains, prairies, and oceans with white foam.” Its overwhelming beauty continues to outshine man-made blemishes, and I remember how lucky we are to live in a land so diverse, expansive, and forgiving.
Endless Beach, Endless Speech
At the peak of the day my family and I lounge on the vast beach – it’s a shorter walk from our motel to the boardwalk than from the boardwalk to the ocean! I dive through more waves and my dad spies grey bottlenose dolphins jumping out beyond the shallow surf.
I step on something hard, bony, and big; a few ideas flash by, none stopping me from digging – it’s a conch shell! But this large crusty shell isn’t just a house, it’s a home. Bryce and a few others are witnesses before I chuck him back out to sea.
It’s lunch time by now, so Bryce and I go for pizza on the boardwalk. We sit on a bench, eat slices as big as our heads, and listen to the vendors heckle people as they walk by – the power of a microphone!
One vendor is a live commercial behind squirt gun races and stuffed animals – he’ll say anything (PG) to get kids and families to stop, look, listen and play. But if the patrons keep walking, he digresses into a careless trail of words and stories; an internal monologue of hardships and experiences spoken aloud for anyone to hear. When new people approach, he perks up and exclaims a few key words – but if no luck, it all happens again.
Doo Wop Capital of the World
By now it feels like I’ve lived here for five days – but actually it’s only 5pm! After all my exploring, it’s only inevitable I stumble upon the Doo Wop Experience Museum and its rescued artifacts from old, demolished motels.
As more Americans started driving cars in the 1950s and ‘60s, beach vacations became more common, driving the construction of motels here – but not just any type of motels:
Oblong pools lit by spherical colored lights
Cantilevered roofs and decorative railings
Handmade signs highlighted with neon lines
I bathe in the ambiance of what America used to be; a time of tactile human experiences, subdued analog technology, and life-improving novelties brought by prosperity and new strains of thought.
Architecture represents of the people of the time; to me, the unique “populux” Doo Wop motels represent creative expression and optimism for tomorrow – a fun, imaginative attitude of jolly lightness and unforgiving authenticity. This unique character and creativity spread across the whole town – a sharp contrast to the dumb, heavy blandness that burdens today’s new constructions.
Wildwood is now privileged – or cursed – to represent this bygone tile in the mosaic of American history. The thankless effort against the unceasing march of “productivity” is led by Cathy, the older, passionate woman who runs the museum day-to-day. Her best attempts at the conservation of the mid-century, now-nostalgic era take me home to a place I wish I knew…
But the sun is going down now, and I find my way back to the boardwalk – I can’t miss the fireworks!
Sparkles & Sweets
As I walk across an empty soccer field on the beach, the performance is launched behind the Ferris wheel and wooden roller coasters. The colorful, exploding balls of fire burst high in the sky for all to see; the pyrotechnician’s creative expression on full display.
Concluding the show, before calling it a night, I walk down the boardwalk looking for a sweet treat nightcap. I stop at a shop split in two; on the right, fryers deep fry anything and everything, and on the left, a wide assortment of hard-scoop ice cream.
The display case on the right side shows a variety of heart-attacks-on-a-plate – but I notice a simple waffle topped with scoops of ice cream. I get nervous about it when it seems to cause confusion, since the cashier has to confirm with one of the fryer guys.
To my relief, the order transfers to the other side where the ice cream and waffle iron live. Meanwhile, I peer through the glass window and imagine what scoops would taste best bookended by fresh hot waffles.
It’s getting late, and as boardwalk shops start closing down, my dessert rears its beautiful face: three big scoops of moose tracks ice cream sandwiched between two fluffy waffles. I grab the flimsiest plastic fork money can buy – the David to my Goliath – and revel in my late-night sweet treat before walking back to bed.
Life in the Moments
The next morning I’m back at Yoga on the Beach; this time Charla’s here with us, broken toe and all. Her mindful practice awakens parts of our bodies sometimes forgotten about – like our toes! She has us wiggling our individual toes up, down and around – struggling to do this, I realize I‘ve got some work to do!
Before finishing, Charla has us try a technique for processing emotions locked inside muscles, mainly those in our hips, called Somatic Shaking. We enter a reclined butterfly pose, and keeping our feet together, slowly raise and lower our knees. Some leg muscles activate, others deactivate; the goal to relax and unwind stored tension.
As I sit with this, watching thoughts and emotions appear and disappear, Charla bathes us in a series of sounds and vibrations. An unknowable time passes, the class ends, and yogis disperse, but I’m content merging myself with Oneness.
More exploring leads me south of the boardwalk to look for more Doo-Wop motels; they’re few and far between, so I turn around to walk back barefoot on the beach. Along the shoreline, on a lighthearted whim, I strike up a conversation with a woman lounging at the lip of the water.
We walk and get slices from Mack’s Pizza, after which we stroll up and down the boardwalk to mosey around among a sea of people. Soon we retreat to the sandy-floored tiki bar of The Point, where I’m reminded how effortless, spontaneous, and unpredictable life can be.
Final Hours
Bryce’s soccer team is eliminated Sunday morning – cut loose from our obligations, we flock to the expansive beach to soak up the confident mid-morning sun.
As far as the eye can see, the ocean welcomes screaming bodies of all shapes and sizes; the packed beach scorches with an intensity unseen on this trip. But we’ve got a long drive looming over us, so with some redness on our shoulders and faces (and seagull poop on my dad’s head) we pack up to leave the beach.
Before leaving my seaside fantasy I glide barefoot on the boardwalk, a strawberry-banana waffle cone in hand, dreamily hunting for a symbolic souvenir sticker.
My trip to Wildwood, New Jersey was short but sweet, adventurous yet relaxed. A sandy beach was anticipated, but the wild boardwalk, the funky Doo-Wop Motels, and unexpected, immersive conversations were the icing on the cake.
Life throws you curve balls, but meeting each one with tempo and enthusiasm is the substance of life – what stories are made of! I breathe easy as layers of identity melt away with each new exploration; as time goes on, I find my days alive with a playful buoyancy that rises from the center of my being.
