The other New Jersey

Philadelphia to Cape May, New Jersey. Sunday, March 8, 2026

Like Philadelphia, New Jersey has an image problem. To outsiders, it’s a big suburb, bedroom community to New York City, and a place to go through, not to get to. To the city itself, well this iconic New Yorker cover says it all.

But let’s be fair. The state that gave us Bruce Springsteen, the state whose very name is a corruption of “Caesar”, must have more to it than urban decay, organized crime, and the “Joisey Shore.” Today we plan to see the other New Jersey.

We hoped to visit a bunch of East Coast sites as we head to the Deep South, but we’re determined to avoid the dreary New Jersey Turnpike and I-95. That means hugging the Atlantic coast as closely as possible, which in turn means crossing the mouth of Delaware Bay, rather than the Delaware Memorial Bridge.

So instead we’ll follow the Garden State Parkway to the southernmost tip of New Jersey, Cape May, reputedly the oldest seacoast resort town in the US, and the nation’s best place for migratory birdwatching. The funnel-like shape of the Cape concentrates the autumn flyways into a narrow point, before the birds make the leap across the bay.

To get there, we have to cross one of the most bizarre anomalies of the Atlantic seaboard, the Pine Barrens. A vast, sparsely populated plain whose sandy soil supports little more than endless pine forests, which occupies almost a quarter of the most densely populated state in the country, whose water is said to be the purest in America. Featured in a memorable Sopranos episode, home to the cryptid Jersey Devil

and so flat that its highpoint is Apple Pie Hill, elevation 200 feet.

On a previous trip, the hill afforded an awesome view, I could see from Philadelphia to Atlantic City. But today is Sunday and the fire tower is closed, so we just drove through.

In Cape May, we checked in to our Victorian hotel, the Angel of the Sea,

did an 11 mile bike ride to Cape May Point itself, and walked along the deserted beach.

The birds weren’t there this time of year, and the lighthouse was closed,

but the city was full of gingerbread inns, and sunsets to die for.

14 miles, 51 total. 200 feet climbed, time 5 hours with stops.

©️ 2026 Scott Luria