It was the best of road, and it was the worst of road, and sometimes you couldn't tell which was which. The road I talk of is Route 22 in New Jersey, most notably the 40 miles between Scotch Plains and Easton. A road that in the 1960's was the busiest road in the US before I-78 by passed it. Nationally referred to as the worst road in the US, it did its best to earn and keep this distinction. A road known for big trucks, potholes, big trucks, traffic jams, big trucks, and all kinds of urban blight. A testimony to poor planning, too many lights, way too many trucks, and a testimony to fast food-and good food, not just chains. It was comic fodder for anyone from Saturday Night Live to Jean Shepherd and everyone in between. And yet, it is one of my favorite roads, go figure. With only five curves in the entire 40 miles, it seems out of place in my list of favorites, but not all roads are as memorable-just prettier. And with less potholes.
Starting in Scotch Plains, and heading west to my grandparents house, I cannot say how many trips I ever made on this road in 55 years. Starting on the the intersection of Terrill Road and 22, used to be a driving range until 1969, with a windmill and a gravel parking lot. Remember when parking lots were gravel, and you think they are difficult now? Heading west you passed Two Guys From Harrison, a post WWII department store, now something else, but just as low class. Further up as you pass Home Owners Haven, since the 1950's an iconic building supply, you enter into North Plainfield, and past the high school football field where Billy Disch, the Wildman, played half back-until he got his first motorcycle, a 1972 Mach 3, then his priorities changed as he rode with Bill and me. Travel a few more miles and you can see what remains of the Steer Inn, the first 15 cent hamburger drive-in I can remember. It predated McDonalds in our area, it was 1969 until we got one in my town, and you guessed it, it was on Route 22! Passing Ebers, where my grandparents bought their patio furniture, while sitting at a light you can see the orange roof of Howard Johnson's. We didn't call it HoJo's then, but it has a lasting memory to my family. While driving past there, we saw a naked man sitting on the balcony, and every time we went by, we looked for him again. And giggled. Such things just weren't normal 40 years ago. Past Great Eastern, a Two Guys competitor, where my mother went and bought me three eight tracks when I had my tonsils out-Allman Brothers Live at the Fillmore, Who's Next?, and Hendrix Band of Gypsies, all for $10. Was your mother ever that cool, glad mine was-although we would never admit it.
Stop and have a Texas wiener with chili, grilled foot long Schickhaus franks that snap when you bite into them. As the traffic starts to thin out, you go past vestiges of old bowling alleys and motels, diners and empty buildings with a strong 1950's flavor, not quite Googie, now reduced to suburban blight as the city moves west. And in Bridgewater you start to see bucolic, open areas, and once past the State Police Barracks-always sounded like a Gestapo hangout-to us it was, you see on the right-Ethicon. The home office complex of Johnson and Johnson, built much like Bell Labs, open, not up. A huge facility-campus like, a group of white buildings, with pretty blue windows, simple yet business like, what you would expect from a medical manufacturer, all surrounded by acres of green grass-purity and beauty. As you enter Hunterdon county-big bucks, you pass by what used to be the Whitehouse Inn-which to me always looked like the inn on Holiday Inn. I could see Bing Crosby singing there, and I imagined us eating by the hearth, in a snow storm. And the only time we stopped was in one, and they were closed due to the weather-a memory better of left in my dreams. As was the Polar Cub, passing it for 50 years and never stopped for a cone-next time, I promise.
Past Miller's Tavern, since the 1700's, then as you approach Clinton, and up Jugtown Mountain. Not much traffic anymore, and remains of old restaurants, and truck stops that were welcome to weary travelers. Buildings not torn down or property sold, just left fallow hoping that it would someday return to usefulness, resting and rusting like so much of the road. And as you go down on the other side, encounter the first turn in the road, one of five on our trip. Picking up the interstate-they aren't called freeways back there, you come to the intersection of SR57, and the Key Diner, where we used to meet my Grandpa, who worked across the street at Ingersoll. And then later the Turnaround Diner, where he and his carpooling friend Leo would meet us. Now a Burger King. Really miss that cool neon sign. And finally past Phillipsburg High School, and its football field. Collegiate looking, my friend Hopi was also a halfback there, how times change-and then it is decision time. New bridge, built in 1937 and used to cost a dime, or take the old bridge into Easton, built in the 1890's, and go past Jimmies'-an icon that moved across the river-and took its customers long with it. For me, four with everything-best hotdogs you'll ever eat. And at that point, say goodbye to Jersey, and our trip down memory lane.
And as I look back, I also look ahead to future memories. And find that as important as the road is, it is having Jesus with me when I travel it that makes the new memories precious. And I have found a great way to travel, and also to live when I am not travelling. It is called communion, but goes beyond the bread and cup. Jesus said "do these things in remembrance of me," and we do. But I think He wanted to take it far beyond just a monthly ritual. He wants our relationship more personal. So I find that when I live my life in remembrance of Him, the times are glorious. When riding, remembering Him keeps Him my riding partner. Thinking of Him during the day, keeps Him my friend. At work, school, riding, and sleeping-live your life with Him, as if He is there-which He is. And watch as your attitude changes, and then your actions-and then people's reactions. Greet people thinking of Him. Shop as if He is with you. Converse as if He is there, and soon you find Him the focal point of all you do-and living your life with Him-remembering Him. And He is alive, just like talking with my kids and wife, and we make new memories together. We have communion, and it is personal, intimate, fun and funny, and a great way to live. You and God. And when I do take communion, it is that much more special, a time just with Him and me, away from the world.
If your memories don't include Him, He allows U-turns. And you can also get off the road you are on at the next exit-He's everywhere. And He wants to spend time with you. And has a great future of memories ahead that He wants to share with you. You see as important as the road you are on is, it is more important who you travel with. Ride with Jesus. He knows the best places to eat, and can even take a seemingly mundane road like Route 22 and turn it into precious memories. Not enough memories, just add more Jesus. Let Him open the scrapbook of your heart and go places you never knew existed-ending in one you can't imagine-heaven.
So when you do anything-do it in remembrance of Him. Whether on Route 22, or the privacy of your den, He wants to spend time with you. Invite Him along, and watch as you see what true communion is all about-spending time with the one who loves you so much He died for you. And now wants to live with you.
Route 22 may just be another road, but to me is filled with precious memories. Don't let religion make Jesus just another Sunday affair-make Him the focus of your life, and watch as you do all things in remembrance of Him, that the blessings multiply. Live life remembering Him in all things, and you will find He remembers you too. You can never have too many friends, or time to ride, and you will never have a friend better than Jesus. A special communion that doesn't need cup or bread, just your heart and a willingness to know Him better.
Memories anyone? Your future is loaded with them, in Jesus. Live life in remembrance of Him.
love with compassion,
Mike
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