I think I'm on to something - screw trying to earn a living from writing or any of my other passions, I'm going to start a travel company focused on selling a bucolic experience to workaholics who hate themselves and want to feel like they are truly living the good life.
This morning we hopped in the car and headed west to Long Valley to meet up with Erik and Tiffany at Hacklebarney State Park for our 2nd Annual Hike and Drink.
Last year, we hiked and toured wineries somewhere along the NJ/PA border; this year, we decided to meet in the Chester area for some walking and talking, followed by some hot apple cider and homemade doughnuts.
I was REALLY looking forward to the doughnut part and even pumped my arms a bit up the last incline to burn a few extra calories.
Apparently, so were about 200 other people.
When we got to the apple cider/doughnut farm, the fields were parked full of cars - many with PA and NY license plates - and the line leading to the deep fried goodness resembled the one at Disney's Space Mountain back in its 1985 heyday.
The look in Tiffany's eyes spoke volumes: she didn't wake up on a Sunday morning to drive an hour, hike another hour, and not get her reward - she was willing to wait in that line.
Frightened by the thought of it, I slowly back peddled toward the car park and Matt instinctively followed my lead. Although Erik would have waited in the line because he is a righteous partner, he had us to use as an excuse not to and before long, we were caravaning away from the farm and back toward Chester.
That's when we hit the Chester Traffic Jam. Now, I've always known that Route 206 is a crapshoot in terms of traffic - I've been driving that stretch of road home to PA regularly since 2000 and I used to go there often on the weekend to hike and have a scone at Sally Lunn's - but never again will I go anywhere near that part of NJ on a fall weekend.
I'm warning you, folks - stay away from Chester on the weekend because it's become another stop on the Tri-State Fauxthentic VIntage Americana Tour.
That's right - just like New Hope was destroyed in the late 90s, followed by Lambertville a few years later, Chester has turned into a shit show of nostalgia seekers. Tempted by hot apple cider, corn mazes, and a Sunday "Farmer's Market", hoards of thrill seekers looking to find a slice of Rural American Experience - and perhaps a fauxthentic blanket chest or jelly jar - mobbed the streets of this quaintish village this afternoon.
Now, I say quaintish because only one side of the main drag comes anywhere near to being quaint. The South side of the main street is lined with a few attractive shops that appear promising at first sight but upon entering, one is oppressed with the bourgeois stock (yes, you guessed it, Vera Bradley products, mixed with faux Yurman and Tiffany costume jewelry and I think even some Wilton Armetale metal products that if one actually wanted to purchase, one would do so with a 20% off coupon at either Macy's or BB&B. Seriously).
The town has a few nice restaurants, Sally Lunn's scones and clotted cream do rock, and the coffee shop is pretty darn decent (there used to be a kick ass pie shop but no one ever got rich selling homemade pies). The clothing stores are pseudo upscale but geared toward the mom crowd and I don't mean the "Boden mom" crowd, I mean the "my mom" crowd so they are lost on me. While not to my tastes, the South side of the main drag is nice.
The, um, North side however is horrific: each shop is worse than the one before it and the wares sold by each are as moldering as the buildings that house them. Dolls, lawn ornaments, costumes, seasonal crap - ugh. I almost slit my wrists when we happened upon the Doll Hospital (yes, when a doll arm is ripped off in a bout of sibling tug-o-war, some freaks actually take the doll to this place for "surgery". That thought makes me puke in my mouth a little) but I was afraid I might stain someone's Fauxthentic Experience and he or she would sue me.
Because that's the thing about the Fauxthentic Experience - despite its cheesy, borderline creepiness, people prefer it to its actuality. Dude, I remember when a drive in the country on a Sunday afternoon was a routine part of life and if an apple cider/doughnut place appeared, fantastic - the family would veer off and make a 10 minute pit stop. If the fam happened upon a cute village while out driving, great: a lunch stop occurred and then if there was time and availability, perhaps a bit of window shopping took place.
But times have changed. Sadly, what I noticed yesterday was that most of the people stopping for cider or browsing a village shop were looking to purchase something that, unfortunately, can't be bought.
So, What's La Pointe of It All? Well, if you live in NY or NJ or anywhere else with a "Live to Work, don't Work to Live" mentality, please remember that authenticity is a way of living, not a destination.
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