Navigating New Jersey’s interstates

BY GREGORY J. RUMMO

LIFE IN THE BOONIES

Living in the Boonies has its advantages and its disadvantages. We're blessed with cooler temperatures during the heat of summer, gorgeous vistas when the leaves change in autumn, plenty of places to encounter nature including one's own backyard (where we had a bear earlier this year in February — another story for another day) and in general, a quieter, cleaner environment to raise a family and get away from the rat race.

But "getting away" or just getting anywhere — escaping from the Boonies to get to work for example — almost always necessitates the use of one or more of New Jersey's interstates.

In my case, that means the northernmost portion of I-287, starting from Riverdale in northern Morris County, skirting the towns of Wanaque, Oakland, Ringwood, Franklin Lakes and finally opening up into a long, two-lane stretch that I'll just call "No-man's Land" before connecting to the New York State Thruway.

I have a love-hate relationship with this stretch of highway. While offering a high-speed means of connecting with civilization in a usually relaxing atmosphere of gorgeous vistas along a scenic portion of northern NJ, its remoteness has often left it to fend for itself.

If it were a playlist on an iPod, two of the songs characterizing it would be "Carefree Highway" and "Highway to Hell."

Last Friday while driving to work at the speed limit in the right lane along "No-man's Land," I saw too late a portion of concrete missing from the road surface. Both tires on the right side of my car disappeared into the abyss, making that sick sounding THUMP! THUMP! noise and what I believe was the metallic rattle of the steel mesh on which the road surface was originally poured. This was followed by the immediate whooooooosh! of air escaping from both tires.

Inside the cockpit of the car, it was as if the Klingons had attacked the USS Enterprise. Bells went off and my dash lit up with warnings of low tire pressure. But fortunately the shields held and I was able to continue on my way to Star Base for repairs — seriously — I was fortunate to have run-flat tires and the car dealer was only five miles away, on the way to my office. The other dozen or so motorists that I whizzed by changing flat tires in the shoulder of the road weren't so lucky.

If I had not purchased tire insurance when I bought the car, I would have been out of pocket over $1,000 as both tires had to be replaced. Fortunately the rims had not been dented nor had the front end been damaged.

This wasn't the first time I-287 cost me some real money. Several years ago a tractor-trailer kicked up a sizeable piece of retread several yards in front of me. (Retread and other potentially hazardous pieces of debris are a constant challenge. This morning, for example, I counted over a dozen sizeable chunks of rubber strewn along both shoulders of the highway along with other assorted pieces of potentially hazardous debris.) I couldn't swerve to avoid it and the front of the car didn't quite clear it. I lost a fog light, a portion of my front fender and half of the spoiler (along with almost $2,000.)

And last winter, this forgotten stretch of highway was responsible for dozens of accidents, hours of delays and an uncountable loss of productivity all because of literally a half-inch of snow that fell just before rush hour.

Where were the salt trucks? Good question. I had almost three hours to ponder this while waiting behind an endless line of cars en-route to my daughter's school. We were all stopped in our tracks, idling on a thin lamina of wet ice, hoping the air temperature would climb and that an act of God would save us.

In the end, that's exactly how it played out. It served as a reminder that the best insurance policy is offered by God Himself. But a little tender loving care from the DOT once in a while would also be appreciated.

Gregory J. Rummo is the author of "The View from the Grass Roots." Contact him from his website, GregRummo.com