My mission this week, and I accepted it, was to travel to New Mexico for a client visit deep in the old western frontier. Just after crossing the border into New Mexico, I stopped in a travel rest area and encountered this sign. Am I heading into no man's land? Terra incognito? Will I make it back alive? Stay tuned!
A collection of shore themed knick knacks at a gift shop in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.
The boardwalk is deserted. The beach is empty. There is perhaps no better time to enjoy what it is that brings all the people to the beach in the first place - the sounds of the waves lapping the shore and the gulls flying overhead. That, and picturing the sights and sounds of the season ahead.
Nobody to meet you. Nobody to greet you. Get there, get your bag, find the rental shuttle.
You know what they say about first impressions? For many people, this is their first impression of Philadelphia.
Terminal C baggage claim area. Philadelphia International Airport.
It's a postwar design with classic prewar curves. The Cessna 195 was positioned as a 5-seat, cabin class airliner when it was introduced in 1947. Sadly for Cessna, the powerful radial engine single never caught on in a broad way, and production ended after just 1100 units in 1954. Shed not a tear for Cessna, as the 172 launched just two years later and remains strong 35,000 hulls later.
This plane is owned by Coyle Schwab, president of the International Cessna 195 Club.
A young girl spent her summer days at the shore, walking on the beach, getting taffy on the boardwalk, riding her bike. And did she ever love to ride her bike. All of the shop owners on Front Street waved at her as she rode by on her way to the ball park to play with her friends. Each day seemed to last forever, and the days and weeks became a seeming lifetime in itself. Until, all of a sudden, it was time to go back to school, and the bicycle was put up for the winter, silently waiting for its rider to return.
And return she did, summer after summer after summer. The joy in her eyes when she was finally given permission to ride over to Rehoboth Beach, where the action was. All of the arcades and shops and food and ... boys. After a while, it seemed the tires on the bicycle needed air more often. Then, suddenly, she was driving a car, and life was now moving too fast for a bicycle to handle.
The girl was in college now, and weeks of summer break were spent working her job at the Atlantic Bookstore on Rehoboth Avenue. There was little time for leisure, and the bike just didn't fit in to her fun loving lifestyle. Until one day, she laid the bike against some bushes and left.
Somewhere, maybe in Baltimore, or perhaps Philadelphia, a woman is raising a family, working day in and day out, never able to put together the time to take that vacation to the shore that she's promised herself since that promotion. She gazes forlornly at the traffic on the Schuylkill Expressway, silently wishing she were nine years old again, riding her favorite bike. And a bicycle remains propped up against a bush in Lewes, faithfully waiting for a rider, any rider, to make good use of it.
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