A Site for Shore Eyes

Some readers have expressed concerns that they don’t think I take global warming, now amended to the more inclusive, climate change, seriously. They also want to know what I’m doing with respect to making my website greener.

Of course I take global warming seriously, and I try to do my part in reducing my carbon footprint, although I thought carbon paper was pretty much a thing of the past. For example, this past summer, we hardly ran our air conditioning at all. What’s that? Oh. . . okay, my wife just informed me that the reason we didn’t run our air conditioning was because the outside air temperature was lower than the house ambient temperature.

As far as making my website greener, I have to admit that I failed to do that for the local Irish festival, but usually attempt to do it on St. Patrick’s Day. Unfortunately, when most people think of barrier islands, they think more of white or tan beaches, rather than the green marshes. Speaking of marshes, they have a tendency to produce methane gas, not that there’s much danger of the marshes blowing up, but I know that during low tide, there’s a lot of wasted energy floating around out there. I’m thinking that there may be a way to harness that energy, and I intend to visit a saddle shop in Cowtown to see what’s currently available. I’m also thinking, wow, if only we could figure out a way to convert all those seagull droppings into fuel. . .

I’m not all that concerned about greenhouse gases, though. Without greenhouses, we’d be sitting around waiting until August for Jersey tomatoes. When they open the doors on those places, of course some of the gases escape, but I think that’s a small price to pay for early produce. It sure beats that stuff they ship in from California.

I’m also concerned that global warming isn’t working as well as it should be. This past summer, the local ocean (the Atlantic) wasn’t warm enough for swimming until late July or so. Even the lifeguards were sitting around in wetsuits for most of the summer, in case they had to rescue someone from a polar bear. We’ve seen a lot of polar bears here in Jersey lately, and that can only be attributed to the steamy conditions up at the North Pole, so they have come south to take advantage of the Jersey ice floes. They tell me that, based on current projections, people may be driving to Bermuda this coming winter. This raises many concerns, because I don’t think they take kindly to automobiles on the island.

I admit that I have to rely on the information of others with respect to the warm conditions up in the Arctic area, but I know what I’m seeing around here, and this global warming thing isn’t going to be pretty. I think they’re saying that it has to get cold before it actually gets warm. Well, duh-uh!

Because of my small carbon footprint (I have high arches), I’m thinking of writing to Al Gore to see if some of that carbon offset money is available. No, I’m not going to spend it to research marsh gas and seagull poop; I’m just going to buy a heavier winter coat.

The sun is heading south, most of the laughing gulls left, and the monarch butterflies are well on their way to the Andes, yet we remain, ready for whatever winter brings. Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned there, but I guess I’m tired of learning.

This Thursday kicks off the Irish Festival here in North Wildwood, and the Classic Car Show and Auction in Wildwood. I guess I’m somewhere around fifty- to seventy-five-percent Irish (I’ve never quite figured out the Mathis thing, but both Quinn and McFarland leave little doubt).

I’m neither ashamed nor necessarily proud of my Irish heritage, and sometimes forget to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. I think of myself as American, and wonder why some people want to include other continents as part of their American heritage. The whole idea, back in 1776, was to become independent from other countries. For that reason alone, I don’t demand that people refer to me as Irish-American. Also, I’m not quite sure where my Mathis ancestors originated, and my other grandmother was from Russia. . .I mean Poland. . .or is it Russia? It has been one or the other at various times, and no one is even quite sure of her last name. Anyway, does that make me a Eurasian-American? I think I’ll just stick with the American thing.

It seems that, ever since the various Irish dance troupes gained prominence, everybody wants to be Irish at least a few times a year, and I know a number of individuals who visit the Homeland once a year or so, to “get back to the roots” they never really had. Still, I feel just a tad slighted when the phone never asks me to push 2 for Gaelic, not that I speak the language, but with all the green-blooded “Irish” people milling about, you would think it might be necessary.

I understand that Ireland is way ahead of us in the renewable energy department, what with all the peat they burn. Of course, in this country, the EPA would require each home to install a million-dollar scrubber, and we’d probably see a lot of fairways on golf courses disappear during the night.

Anyway, I don’t care much for ham and cabbage, and the last time I ate corned beef I was only being polite. What is that stuff, anyway? I like my red meat to be brown, at least on the outside.

I prefer American food, such as pizza, crabs and linguini, and General Tso’s chicken, to name a few. Also the German stuff, like hamburgers and French fries. My tastes are varied, but require one simple ingredient – FLAVOR!

My point to all this is not clear, probably because I don’t have a point. Just come on down the shore for the Irish Festival and be Irish for a few days. Wear green, dance a jig, drink green beer, and watch Notre Dame (they’ve actually won a couple of games). And eat some ham and cabbage, or whatever those crazy Irish people eat. With any kind of luck, some stands will be selling cheesesteaks or bratwurst. Did someone say Octoberfest?

Last weekend featured the annual “Roar to the Shore” event, a good time to stay inside with the windows sealed. Various sources estimated between 50,000 and 100,000 motorcycles on the island. I don’t know if those are exaggerated figures, but I estimate that a lot of bikes were in town.

Tropical storm Hanna threatened to spoil the fun, and a few events were canceled, but silly little tropical storms are hardly a match for biker types. Maybe we car people stayed inside to ride out the storm, but bikers like to literally “ride out” the storm, or so it seems from the non-storm rumblings during the weather infraction.

On Sunday, we passed a group of Pagans heading north on the Parkway, riding what appeared to be stock bikes. I thought Pagan types generally rode choppers, but either I don’t know much about motorcycle gangs, or maybe times have changed. Back in the 80’s I lived in Charlotte, which was the East Coast headquarters of the Hells’ Angels at the time, and they mostly rode choppers, the bikes with low seats and high handlebars.

A couple of individual bikers were heading north, and one of them rode a bike with handlebars that kept the rider’s hands up over his head, I guess in case he needed to do a few chin-ups to stretch his muscles. Maybe I’ll get an extension tube for my mountain bike and see if there’s some advantage to hanging from the handlebars.

I never really got into biking, as far as cycles go. Back in the 60’s, I started out on a Vespa, and lived out “Roman Holiday” at the Jersey Shore. My friend, Rocco, showed up on leave from the Army with a Norton Commando, which he let me try out, on the condition that he fire it up for me. I took it around the block, and felt squeamish about the front wheel jumping from the road every time I shifted. Other than that, my total bike experience involved riding gravel pits on my brother’s 175cc Kawasaki and an early motocross bike with no shocks.

So the Roar to the Shore now sounds like the Chirp at the Surf, with the crickets coming out in force now that the bikes have departed. I like the cricket sounds more, and one of them told me that making those little chirps saves lives, because you can hear them coming. I suggested they also add headlamps, and he said they’re considering that, after meeting with a group of fireflies.

Next weekend, the firemen roll into town for the New Jersey State Firemen’s Convention. Instead of the thunder of cycle engines, we’ll be treated to sirens and flashing red lights, and not just on the fire engines. They like to convert their motel room balconies into makeshift fire engines, with flashing lights and sirens. It must be a firemen’s thing, but in this oh so politically correct world, shouldn’t it be the Firefighters’ Convention?

Once again, summer ended all too fast, and vacationers here in the Wildwoods were seen cramming as many memories as possible into the trunks of their cars and the storage areas of their SUVs. The exodus started Monday morning and by late afternoon, only stragglers remained, although the island by no means cleared out completely.

It almost seems that Labor Day was only yesterday. Oh, wait. . . Labor Day was only yesterday. I meant Independence Day. Once The Fourth of July gets here, the two remaining months of the season get sucked down the drain in what seems like only a couple of weeks or so. That’s largely due to the “panic factor” instilled in the minds of those fortunate enough to spend their summers at the Jersey Shore. Just when things finally get rolling, the brakes start to fail, and the whole darned summer slams into Labor Day and screeches to a halt. Well, that’s the way it used to be, but the process has undergone some modifications.

We now have “shoulder seasons,” as some like to call them. Used to be that some things on the boards and around town opened on weekends starting around Palm Sunday or Easter Sunday, sort of nudging the summer season into gear. By the day after Labor Day, everything pretty much closed up until the following spring. Not so, anymore. Many of the visitors, as well as many business owners, seem reluctant to turn out the party lights.

Back in the 70’s, motel owners started scheduling tours in the fall for senior citizens who rolled into town on tour buses, and part of the town stayed open to accommodate them; mostly shops, and some restaurants. Seniors required very little in the way of entertainment, as long as they could browse around a bit and eat their three squares a day. They also found the off season prices more tailored to their fixed incomes. Over the next couple of decades, the concept mushroomed, and promoters scheduled weekend events that brought in people from all age groups. Autumn weekends now get pretty crowded here, with the various ethnic festivals, the “Roar to the Shore” (motorcycle groups), and whatever else someone can dream up. The tour bus trade hasn’t dried up completely, but most seniors don’t get all that excited about motorcycles, especially at two in the morning. Turning off the hearing aids effectively silences the crickets, but hardly masks the clatter of the bikers’ engines.

In the past, the island rolled up the sidewalks in the fall for one very good reason – the hired help, meaning teenagers, went back to school. The largest enterprises now import hired help, and offer bonuses for staying beyond the season. Some even offer bonuses for staying at least until Labor Day, because most college students in this country head back to campus during the last week or two of August.

Summer visitors used to unpack their memories once they got home, and put them away in safe places, where they could take them out once in a while and briefly relive them. In this day and age, that is no longer enough. Everyone seems to want more. Each weekend of the fall, they return and attempt to dredge up a few more memories, just to ensure they’ll have enough for (as my grandmother used to call them) “the hard days during the winter.” Right around Columbus Day weekend, the scavenger hunt ends, because memory picking wears pretty thin by that time. There’s not much that out-of-towners like to remember about some cold, desolate, barrier island at the Jersey Shore, even though many year-rounders cherish the time as a welcome change.