After leaving the George Washington Bridge, the first state we came to was New Jersey. Despite having miles of beaches and the nickname the "Garden State", most people I knew wouldn't consider it much of a haven for nature. It had more of a reputation for its industrial complexes all along I-95, Newark International Airport, and maybe on a good day, Frank Sinatra. Mention New Jersey, and you'd think you'd suggested eating a lemon coated with sewage on it from the reaction.

     But anyone who's been to the state for any length of time, particularly those who live there, is aware that New Jersey is known for more than air and noise pollution. Even I knew better from my limited scope of the state. Not that much earlier, my husband and I were in Action Park, located in Vernon, and Six Flags Great Adventure, which was in Jackson. Both regions were far cries from industrial parks at the time. Vernon was known for its ski resort, not a waste disposal site. And there was the time we took a random drive to anywhere and wound up in a place called Cheesequake State Park. I don't remember a lot about the park, but I remember seeing forest, not factories. So I already knew that New Jersey had a bad rap before we even started out.

     We had no formal plans to visit anyplace particular in New Jersey, seeing that our first destination was in Pennsylvania. But it was likely we would pull over somewhere at a rest stop there, taking our first break after manhandling the traffic in Queens and the Bronx. The dog needed a run, and we were thinking of something to eat. Nothing formal, but enough to break into the snacks we had and stretch our legs before we moved on. But first, we had to clear the urban stretch of New Jersey, which would finally put metropolitan New York behind us for the next thirty days.

     Our route was due west on I-80, which took us through city regions such as Fort Lee, Paterson, and Hackensack. One suburbia after another shot past us. It was the kind of megaindustry that was so prolific that it left you numb, rendering you oblivious to specifics. Whizzing by at forty miles an hour, it was just slow enough for you to know something significant was there, but too fast for you to distinguish one neighbor from another. I was only aware that the mass suburbia here was not the mass suburbia that I lived in, and wondered what the crowd of people who occupied the vehicles, houses, and businesses there were thinking, what it was like to be them. For although I could be cynical and say it all looked the same just because it resembled home and flew by in a blur, I knew it wasn't all the same. Besides that, even if it was similar to home, it wasn't home. And that made all the difference in my perceptions. It was being a stranger in a world of familiarity, a foreigner with a native tongue.

     Within fifteen miles or so west of Parsippany, the city ebbed away. Instead, we were surrounded by what seemed like miles of uninhabited hills on either side of us, and an open highway inviting us to go further. Forty miles an hour became an elated fifty-five. Leaving the city behind us was in a way the real beginning of the unknown journey.

     We pulled over sometime in the early afternoon, enticed by a sign announcing "Scenic Outlook", to let MacGyver the dog out for a walk and chew down some snacks. I was too filled with adrenaline pushing me further to want to waste time sitting in restaurant eating food. We both wanted either to be seeing wild things in a park or moving forward, so on the run dining was the best option to suit both our tastes. There was a vehicle leaving as we pulled in, so we were going to have the place for ourselves, like our own personal playground. MacGyver sniffed the air in anticipation as the van slowed by the access.

     The scenic area was a pullover with no facilities, but it specialized in panorama. Ranges of hills and mountains spread across its canvas. Several farms dotted amongst the view as though as an afterthought they were added for accouterment. A patch of woods was at the far side of the parking area, and my dog headed me straight towards them. Certainly, this was not what "they" had in mind when the stereotype of New Jersey was invented. A garden state, perhaps it was, at least had been.

     The woods seemed to consist mostly of tall, young trees with no real trail but yet a lot of spaces to walk on. I walked with MacGyver there. Or rather, MacGyver walked me there, pulling me with his leash towards olfactory delights. The good thing about having a dog is that you get to go places with him and have an excuse for exploring somewhere that otherwise may seem eccentric. For example, a random plot of trees in the middle of nowhere.

     Entering the forest was like stepping into silence. The highway traffic was muted the further we ventured into the woods. No one was there but the dog and myself. There was no real trail, but yet a lot of spaces between the trees to walk through, so in a sense, there were trails everywhere. It was like a park that one would have to visit to know it existed. The stereotype of New Jersey with its factories wouldn't lead one to believe in open spaces of quiet such as this one. MacGyver explored the woods, sniffing each of the trees exploring the mystery of which dog had been there before. I exhaled the serenity, exhilarated by the peace there.

     When we finished our siesta, we returned to the road. At this point in New Jersey, much of the highway was adjoined by state parks such as Hopatcong and Allamuchy. I don't know what amenities they held, though as we passed the signs announcing them, I became curious as to what they held. My enthusiasm to see them led to a conflicting emotion: should we stop to see what was here, or press on to our first official stop, Bushkill Falls in Pennsylvania. The endless choices were dazzling, and we were only in New Jersey. The West Cost was days away, but the temptation to stay and graze even this early was pretty strong.

     In the end, we passed the signs and continued on towards Bushkill Falls, slowly leaving New Jersey behind us with every passing mile. Turning down the parks in that state was the first of many decisions we had to make. It was amazing how much there was to see, and the journey had barely started.