El Dorado
1976
Out on Route 7 in summer the reeds get thick and wild. The Phragmites are higher than the cars and vans that ply this short stretch bumped over by a couple of bridges. The reeds frame the horizon. Glimpses into the marsh come sporadically, of radio towers and open water. No one walks this stretch. Under the overpasses the growth stops and the muddy shoulders are rutted with tire fossils. These are the shady out-of-the-ways that you somehow don't feel safe under. But then there is the Grand Cathedral of the Eastern Spur.
The New Jersey Turnpike undulates through the meadows, the eastern spur creating a graceful arc visible from everywhere. We used the service road beneath it to get to the river for one of the final sampling stations in our run. The road beneath was wide because it became wide with the great allee of concrete pillars supporting the dozen lanes of traffic rising above. The marsh beneath had been filled with hard-pack, and as a result diked off two sections of marsh on the western side of the Hackensack.
We bumped over the slight curb and up onto the shoulder and went through the gap in the chain link. At that time you could simply drive out and head for the Turnpike underbelly, today it is a tidal flat. The pock-marked dirt road was obstacle course and slalom run. If you dared drive straight, you'd be bucked out of your seat. You took it slow in long sweeps of the wheel, using the down rut to get to the up rut.
But today would be different.
Halfway in, looping the van in and out of these craters, I suddenly looked up and stopped. Up ahead a car commercial sat in the middle of this cathedral, driver door open, radio on. It was a brand new baby blue El Dorado with its top down and a gleaming white leather interior.
Something was wrong with this picture.
It took us a few minutes to get it. Replay it. A couple of kids. Their stakeout, the opportunity taken. The joy ride into the Meadows. Peeling down Route 7, knowing this place. Pulling to the side of the road until no one was in view and then punching up the curb quickly and out of sight. And then, unexpectedly, a white van coming at them in broad daylight. Run to the reeds and don't look back.
Or something less benign. We started feeling spooked. We turned the van off and got out. Radio crooning. Keys in. No body. No blood.
We looked at the wall of reeds around us. Was someone watching us? It was getting late. The roar of the traffic overhead was white noise. We pulled the keys, wrote down the owner from the registration, got to the river, got our samples, and got the hell out of there.