“Sat morning are we going for coffee in AC?”
…says a text from my brother Mark, at 9:45 on a Thursday night.
It’s short for “Will you meet me in Atlantic City on Saturday morning so I can drop off my car before a 65-mile bike ride on Sunday? That way I’ll be able to drive myself home afterward. Also, let’s leave early to beat the shore traffic. And yes, I’ll buy you a coffee.”
I know what he means. We do it every year.
And yet, the idea rattles me. I’m caught between anticipation for our small tradition and apprehension over giving up my morning routine.
Yes, even for one day...
(It sounds ridiculous, even to me.)
What’s one morning? A one-hour to drive to Atlantic City? And anyway, it’s the weekend! Live a little!
This is my peptalk.
Because the truth is, I am a morning person. Just not a morning traveler.
I’m a morning walker.
I’m a morning coffee drinker (and thinker).
I’m a morning “check-email-over-breakfast”-er.
Sometimes I’m even a morning writer.
It’s the routine I’ve developed to keep myself in working order. My body — inside and out — needs time to settle before I step out of my comfort zone. So I hold those morning hours sacred.
(If you see me at 8 AM, I’ve likely been up since 4!)
But this is my brother, and he’s been there for me more times than we can count. He’s worth it. :)
Plus, it’s not just any bike ride. It’s a great cause.
So I text back.
“Yes, it’s on my calendar! Let me know what time I should leave to meet you.”
Last week, I led an Adaptive Travel workshop for a local amputation support group. At the meeting, I posed my favorite question: “What’s your dream trip?”
It was met with… radio silence.
The longest pause you can imagine.
So I back-pedaled. “I mean anything, anywhere — no limitations — like if time or money or disability weren’t issues.”
(Hey, it’s a dream, after all!)
Finally, one woman, an above-knee amputee like me, raised her hand.
“I like going to Gettysburg or down the shore,” she said. “Anyplace within a few hours drive. I guess I’m sort of a two-hour traveler.”
She sounded apologetic, or maybe embarrassed, as if it were a failure of some kind.
But I thought it was a wild success. I immediately LOVED that phrase!
Two-hour traveler.
Our conversation launched into the benefits of such a trip and all the adventures within two hours of our homes.
Then I thanked her for sharing — and told her I’m stealing that idea for myself!
On Saturday, I get up at my usual time.
Crutch to the bathroom. Shower. Get my leg on. Get dressed. Make the bed. Take my meds. I pack water and a banana for the ride.
Then I text Mark: “Leaving now.”
And instead of my usual walk-coffee-breakfast sequence, I get in the car.
Now — I have to admit — a parking garage at the Ocean Casino is not on my list of dream trips.
But I’m exhilarated — sunglasses on — crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge, speeding down the AC Expressway, listening to soft morning radio. It’s a beautiful day, there’s no traffic at all, and I feel like a bad-ass for rebelling against my morning routine.
An hour later, I turn left on Atlantic Avenue, then right on Connecticut Avenue, then right on Oriental Avenue. (Yes, the streets really are like the Monopoly board!) I park on a non-descript alley between a parking garage and a massive corkscrew waterslide.
A few minutes later, Mark leaves his car in the garage and gets into mine.
Then comes the reward: Hayday Coffee, a half-mile away, on New York Avenue.
If Atlantic City seems dusty and sparse, New York Avenue is a burst of joy — and not just because of the coffee.
It’s like a life-sized coloring book!
Blank walls are covered with brushstrokes; there’s art wherever you look.
We order two lattés and two breakfast sandwiches. Then we sit outside in two blue chairs and eat them.
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| And we're not alone! |
Afterward, I make Mark wait while I photograph ALL the murals on the block.
At first he rolls his eyes. Then he joins in.
On our drive out of town, I can’t stop sightseeing.
“You don’t even know who that is!” Mark says, when I spot this one about Apex Hair Cream…
…“I’ll find out,” I tell him.
And I do.
(It’s Madame Washington, a ground-breaking entrepreneur of African-American beauty culture!)
Twenty minutes later, we’re back on the road.
We take Pacific Avenue out of town.
In an hour, we’re crossing the bridge back to Philly.
It’s a short ride, but along the way there’s a transformation within me. As we speed down the AC Expressway — laughing at the shore traffic we skipped by leaving early — my mind expands with possibility.
Could I do this more often?
Even on a regular basis?
Would my body go along for the ride?
I start imagining all the “dream trips” within a one-hour radius of my safe morning space.
Think about it. The destinations are endless!
I’d have to start small, of course. But for an adaptive traveler like me, that’s always the name of the game.
And anyway, isn’t that the point of one-hour travel?
Before we know it, we’re back home again!
Rebecca
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