Trips Downstate

Have not yet left my home state of Delaware , one of America's smallest, on this year's day trips.  Its north-south dimension far exceeds its east-west dimension, but it only takes two hours to drive from the northern border where I live to the beach at the southeastern corner, which is what I did yesterday, a trans-state journey done about once a year for decades.  Between spring break from Osher Institute through summer's end, I ventured over much of Route 1 south four other times with four other destinations.  What differed this year are the routes calculated by a different GPS which directed me to places I've not yet seen.

My tenure in my home state predates the GPS and even it s current main thoroughfare by quite a lot of years.  Delaware has had a north-south road that essentially bisects the state since the early days of the automobile.  A parallel north-south road with slightly different route number came later, providing a second path for people headed to a different set of small towns, starting at about the state's midpoint.  Using maps from the gas stations, of blessed memory, when I wanted to go to my state's beaches I could follow our main traversing road, then south of our capital, veer eastward on another road to the resort towns.  If I wanted to continue on farther south on the eastern seaboard, I could take the parallel road through the rest of the state.  Either way, the road connected, maybe even created, small towns along the route.  From the car window there were farms, a few strip malls, some state facilities.

The GPS and the limited access highway each transformed the trip through my state in its own way.  The highway, with two nominal tolls, made the drive to the beach more direct and considerably faster.  The GPS, with algorithms that differ a bit between brands, or now apps, vary the paths once exiting from the main roads to reach the final destination.

This year I installed a new app to get me where I want to go, including downstate.  I've wanted to go fishing, to visit relatives from Florida who had rented a house for part of the summer in a historical though growing town, the State Fair which takes place at approximately my state's geographic center, and two beaches in two State Parks.  Five trips, predominantly highway or numbered state route until the final few miles.  This year my new GPS changed that final part of each route in a most gratifying way.

My intent this spring  had been to fish at the Indian River Inlet.  Usually other anglers cast their hopes in a small cluster.  I could not find them, nor could I see anyone to ask.  Instead, fishing plan B, the pier at Cape Henlopen State Park.  As it routed me back onto the Coastal Highway, I detoured into Rehoboth from the connecting road at Dewey Beach.  Past Silver Lake, surrounded by lovely homes, and apparently another fishing option that I could not access.  Driving along, I came to the town of Rehoboth where I've not been in some twenty years.  Still free parking in March.  Strolled along the sidewalks, sparsely populated but no longer truly seasonal.  Most stores open allowing a few chats with the salespeople about what had changed since my last visit.  Made it past the bandstand to the Boardwalk.  Beach treats available, Thrashers, Grotto, Candy Kitchen, though none on my agenda that morning.   Back to my parking spot, on to the fishing pier, shared with but a few anglers.  No bites for any of us.

Beach time in June.  Cape Henlopen State Park has a lot of different pathways once exiting Route 1.  GPS suggested one unfamiliar to me.  I stayed with the familiar.  However the following month, I had occasion to visit a relative from Florida, not seen in ten years.  She had rented a house within walking distance of Lewes' marina and downtown, across a drawbridge, scenic and interesting destinations in their own right.  It had been years since my last time there.  Exiting the Coastal Highway has several options.  The GPS took me along what I assume is the shortest.  Off at Nassau Road, past a defunct farmer's stand, onto what was once a rural connecting road that seemed less rural.  New housing developments at highway exit gave way to a set of newer communities with McMansions, though none with entry gates visible from the road.  Past a roundabout, and the traditional Lewes emerges.  Clapboard homes from another era, little commercial activity on New Road.  Then the Marina to the left, town to the right, and forced turn in either direction at the bridge.  The GPS took us to the rented house where I parked on the grass across the street, prepared to find a violation notice under my windshield wiper that did not happen despite the town's dependence on parking revenue in the summer for its solvency the rest of the year.  Schmoozed a bit in their living room, then walking tour of the town with its shops, post office, and a hotel of another era.  Lunch places anything but fast food, trendy menu with waitresses.  More walking afterwards along the marina, cut short by drizzle.

Ordinarily, my route to the State Fair in Harrington, which I attend on alternate years, has been entirely main roads.  Exit 97 after Dover AFB to connect to Route 13, then just follow along about a dozen miles of commercial activity, some old to support the farming heritage of the area, more the expected gas stations with minimarts, strip malls with a supermarket, pharmacies and eating places with signage of national recognition.  This year my new GPS had a preferred alternative.  It took me further south on Route 1, exiting me at Frederica instead.  Route 12 would eventually connect with Route 13 near the fairgrounds but bypass much of the commercial eyesores that now line the main road and the traffic that it generates.

This was a far more pleasant drive.  One Italian restaurant, one school, then farms.  Out of the blue, the ILC Dover complex, a center of research with NASA and industrial applications.  They have to pay the scientists and executives handsomely, which explains some of the rather elegant homes that lined the route nearby, but still largely farm.  I could even see the ears of corn emerging.

Last trip, Fenwick Island.  My GPS wanted to take me along Coastal Highway  the full duration.  However the road sign pointed to Route 113 as the preferred option for getting me to the southermost part of my state.  I drove off, expecting the GPS to eventually give up its demands that I make a U-Turn and adapt to its new reality.  I've driven this way before, two different GPS devices which exit me to the local roads in different ways, assuring that I will get lost among the unfamiliar.  Sometimes I will drive through small towns with their churches and volunteer fire departments, not staying on any road very long.  Occasionally, as the coast nears, the commercial area will generate a half mile of stop and go traffic.  This GPS exited me a little north, at Frankford.  Immediately I fell behind a semi negotiating itself into a tight parking lot that served as a Mountaire Poultry facility.  Then once I could move along, I drove the rest of the way behind a Jeep from British Columbia who in all likelihood did exactly what his GPS told him to do.  It was a Delaware scenery I had not encountered previously, or it did not imprint well if I did.  Chickens.  I know this industry brings revenue to our state.  The State Fair exhibits samples of the animals themselves and booths descibing this element of commercial agriculture.  It is not nearly the same as driving past rows of buildings appearing as elongated chalets. rectangular with A shaped roofs, and what appear to be giant shades covering the long sides.  I could see no animals, no entrances, no workers.  Between the coops were fields of corn.  I imagine the harvest will end up in the feed trays, not in my supermarket sales bin.  Amid the corn fields, and on the right side of the road were vast flat fields covered with some type of low vegetation.  No clue as to what grew there.  

I did not get lost this time.  Route 20 took a diagonal path through the appealing vistal of rural Omar, Roxanna, and Williamsville, none labelled by anything other than an occasional directional sign.  No post offices to announce the town.  An occasional place to eat or a stand to buy produce or the name of the farm at the entrance of what appeared to be a long driveway.  To my surprise, for the first time, my GPS bypassed Selbyville, the last major population cluster before intersecting the final road to Fenwick Island.  As I turned left to my destination, a mall with a supermarket appeared.  Then for the rest of the ride, vacation housing clustered far closer together than in the farm areas, and appearing far newer.  Boats piered on the water, restaurants, a few doctors, places to get ice cream, even minature golf as the final traffic light arrived.  Turn left to Fenwick Island, right to Ocean City.  I went left.  The GPS did not direct me to the park's entrance, rather to its street address.  But having been there before, I knew I had to drive a little further for my afternoon on the sand.

Having lived here over forty years, met virtually every statewide elected official at least once, raised a family, and have people remark on the relative rarity of my license plate when I visit distant cities, there are parts of the state that have eluded me.  I make it to the destinations, Wilmington, my workplaces, the synagogues, the medical facillities where I have both worked and lectured, including downstate.  And the beaches, the parks, and the Fair.  Even earned a promotional beer stein from the Delaware Wine and Ale Trail which took me to as far as Delmar.  What I've done poorly may have been paying attention to the journey.  Highways, or even major state routes with lined with stores, eating places, and gas stations can mislead.  I read about poultry, a factory that makes space suits, and irrigation frames that always seem dormant.  Farms grow green pepper and melons which I eat, but only see at the grocery, never in the field.  At the State Fair I admire livestock in pens.  It took the objectivity of my current GPS to divert me from the main roads, to see where the chickens live, where the crops grow, and to realize that not all top tier PhD holders work for the megacorporations or the university.  I'm much indebted to the GPS for forcing this better appreciation of where I live.