There’s a stretch of NJ Route 29 just south of Trenton that is unique. On one side of the road is a sewage plant, and on the other a landfill.
The landfill is built in such a way that the fluids it might generate are gathered at the bottom in a moat of sorts, which drains into a swampy basin. From the road, my only dared vantage point, the basin appears to resemble Hell almost exactly. Fallen trees, black murk, and a subtle haze laid there like a blanket made of stew brewed from truck exhaust all make the sight notably horrendous to behold.
The plant across the street is much more civilized to the eyes. The huge vats of waste and the various pipes that run between them are all painted in lovely green and bright yellow, much like a children’s play set. The plant’s lack of assault on one’s vision is well made up for with ulterior attacks, though. Without elaborating too much, I will simply give this warning; There’s a little button in your car that makes the air circulation stop bringing in outside air and start recycling the air within the car. Find it, and be ready.
These filthy hot messes do have one wonderful element. On a crisp morning, the various basins at each will create clouds of fog, and if it’s a breezy crisp morning, that fog will crawl over the road. This lends itself to two experiences. One is the experience of driving into white nothing, and then right back out. I imagine it’s what pilots feel like passing through clouds.
The other experience happens a bit later in the morning , just after sunrise, when the road has seen more traffic. Every passing car disrupts a bit of the fog, and for a short time in the morning the fog structure that forms is a sort of archway. Approaching it, you see a short tunnel of fog, and driving through it is just surreal. The banks of the road become vanished, and as you pass under the strip of cloud the sun blots out for just a moment. I like to think of it as the man made natural phenomenon of passing under your own refuse.
