But the joke was on me, as any of you who’ve driven through the Northeast could guess. The local route, US-40, charged me the exact same toll to cross a much more dilapidated bridge. Oh well, I consoled myself as I pulled away from the plaza, at least I’d see more of the area this way.
The thing is, there really wasn’t much to see. While I’m sure Delaware is home to verdant marshes and lovely seashores, the half of the state that’s consistently above sea level is pretty much just suburbs. The weirdest thing I saw along the way was the traffic patterns. I missed a turn in Wilmington and wound up driving through its residential side, where I slid past loitering pedestrians, fumbled my way through diagonal intersections, and almost made a left onto a one-way street (a bus spared me the indignity by blocking my way as it stopped). I’m mountain-smart, not street-smart, okay?
It took me a couple of passes to find Ebright Rd. (unlike most other high points, I couldn’t spot it just by looking up). I drove up the road slowly, eyes peeled for the high point… and then I realized I’d just driven past it. Wow.
Oh well. There was much more to come. I hopped out of the car, took the requisite pictures,
|"You promised us rocks, not cement."|
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