A car ride always had a mystical, transference like effect on me. We took the car from the driveway on Avenue of Two Rivers. At the time, there was no driveway on Blackpoint Road. That would be a later upgrade to the 6181 square foot corner lot with a small house and garage. After my dad became more successful, we added a second and parked it off to the side in the front yard. Show-offs.
Yard parked. Our property had no front driveway in the ’60s. Over time, stones and railroad ties outlined the channel for the car. The creosote on the ties smelled for a long time after they found their way into the ground. Today, it is the first place to park, provided you have a nice car. Oh, so Rumson.
The east end of Blackpoint Road was the most beautiful part of the street and still is. In that way, it is similar to the south end of Avenue of Two Rivers. Lovely homes on lots with oodles of acres of space to call your own only. We were on a kind of cross-section multiplex of 5 roads that cornered closer to the middle of both. We rested on the southwest edge, just far enough from the higher end places to make you envious, farther away from the low rent district so you felt like you made it out of somewhere, but close enough to nothing to call it home. This was good enough for my sister Karen, and I. The home at 93 Blackpoint Road was heaven on earth to our parents.
Once in a while, my dad would declare, “Let’s go for a ride.” So we did. The Ford Falcon station wagon was a transitional vehicle from my dad’s truck to a family car. He still had the truck, but with this car, he could work out of it and fit all four of us on our way to nowhere. Life was just starting, and so was good. Karen would sit with me in the back seat, mapping her plan to be the best at everything and not piss everyone off. She would succeed with her plan. I had my Etch-A-Sketch wondering what made it work. Time passed slowly, wobegone as it was.
For regular readers and followers, I think I will string together some number of days, see you tomorrow.