The Honeymoon's Over

Ten days previously we had set out for New York and New England from sunny California, but now our East Coast adventure had come to an end and it was time to pack our bags and had back west.

I loved New England; a whole new world had been revealed to me and I wanted to know more.

On the long drive back to Newark I had lots to ponder on; I vowed to go on a quest to discover all I could about those brave Pilgrim Fathers, Martha’s Vineyard, the Kennedy’s, and the Native Americans whose story has almost been erased from America’s history books.

As we drove back through the lush green countryside I could almost imagine that famous, (albeit very Disneyfied) Native American Pocahontas running bare foot through the trees with the colours of the wind flying through her hair.

I was seriously starting to think I do rather like this county, but then the vagaries and absurdities of living in America struck yet again.

It wasn’t just my imaginary Pocahontas I could see with the wind in her hair as we drove back down those Connecticut freeways.  Hairy biker after hairy biker sped past our car and it soon became very apparent that this is a state where the crash helmet is not a legal neccessity. Yet when we pulled up in nearby New Jersey we discovered that we couldn’t even put gas in our own car.  Yes here the self service gas station is illegal - quite simply its considered too dangerous, only a highly trained gas station employee has the safety awareness and required knowledge to press that button and manhandle the pump.

Hop on your Harley Davidson in NJ and it’s considered too much of a health risk for you to unscrew your own fuel cap; travel a few miles east to the CT border and you can rip off your helmet and ride bareheaded to kingdom come.  Am I the only person in the world who thinks that’s just slightly mad?

The skytrain mono-rail at Newark Airport was on a go-slow, already delayed at the gas station waiting for a NASA trained fuel pump attendant, we were then literally trapped for 20 minutes on a ride that should have taken five.  

We made it to our departure gate with minutes to spare.

Pilgrim Fathers? Who gives a fig.  It was definitely time to splash out on a Continental Airlines alcoholic beverage.  Ice cold red wine?  Ooh my favourite!