Driving I-95 through the Mid-Atlantic is a never-ending elegy of brake lights, tolls, and existential dread. So why did we do it?

DH and I looked ahead on the calendar and discovered a free weekend. No Spring cleaning to be done; too early to plant seedlings The Little Shop of Horrors taking over the sunporch; and we don’t ‘relax’ very well.

With DDog in the to-be-terribly-spoiled care of his Sitter, we plotted a somewhat ambitious journey from DC to NYC and back to view one particular painting in one particular gallery. A painting we have wanted to see for at least 5 years, and the “why” we subjected ourselves to I-95.

Somehow we forgot to pack our breakfast, homemade Mexican-spiced sweet potato and black bean hand pies. This realization meant road food. The overlap of road food breakfasts DH and I prefer is most definitely not even tangential circles. Sigh.

A grocery store appeared on the horizon. DH grabbed a sandwich and I, a carton of hummus to eat with the pretzels we had remembered to pack. Crisis averted.

Mostly uneventful driving for the first 3+ hours if one rules out drivers who: don’t keep proper stopping distance; don’t use turn signals when changing lanes; don’t understand zipper merges; and would otherwise fail a practical skills driving exam.

THEN. The variable message signs exploded on the Jersey Turnpike:

MAJOR DELAYS NORTHBOUND AFTER EXIT 8. Oh, snap.

We lost an hour of travel because a rear-end collision between FOUR tractor-trailers (one of which burst into flames) shut down EVERY LANE. Naturally everyone's GPS routed us all onto the same alternate routes, so that was fun. Thankfully there were no serious injuries, and we hope those injured recover well.

Smooth sailing through to the Lincoln Tunnel—well, as smooth as that can go. Arriving within both our parking garage window and the museum entry ticket window we purchased earlier in the week, we exhaled. DH handed the wagon’s keys off to the attendant, and we walked the block to…

The Neue Galerie, TO VIEW THE PORTRAIT OF ADELE BLOCH-BAUER IN PERSON. We have watched "Woman in Gold" several times. While living in Vienna we saw every major site from the film and quite likely enough Gustav Klimt to last us a lifetime. The Painting has remained the only checkbox on our list. The aggravation of driving the northeast corridor was quickly memory-holed when standing in the gallery, finally seeing this painting in person. No photography was permitted, but I have a postcard and my little museum entrance tag as proof of our visit.




We toured the entire museum and very much enjoyed both the permanent collection and the current exhibition, as well. We had not planned to drop $43 on the Wiener Schnitzel from the museum’s café, which “draws its inspiration from the great Viennese cafes*,” but having lost an hour meant we had to scramble for something resembling lunch so that we could escape Manhattan at a reasonable time on a Friday afternoon.

*We weren’t certain from where this “inspiration” had arisen, but it could not be from our beloved adopted home of Vienna. Even in the most expensive restaurants the Schnitzel was never more than 30USD. But Café Sabarsky, you do you.

The Nathan’s Hot Dog stand across the street from the Neue Galerie did not inspire lunchtime confidence, so we hedged our bet that I could find “something” for us to nosh at our next stop, Zabar’s. DH was prepared to circle the block while I gathered some favorites from long ago, when this culinary emporium was a stop on the way home from our summer holiday on Cape Cod. While at the traffic light I spied a parking spot on W. 80th, around the corner from the store. Miracles do happen. Two Zabar’s totes filled with goodies (and lunch) later, confidence was high that we would reach our B&B in Pennsylvania’s Brandywine Valley in time for our 1930 dinner reservations.

Giant Pigeon sculpture on the High Line just before the Lincoln Tunnel exit. So very Big Apple.


Blissfully uneventful drive to our lodging, a charming 1836 former homestead, with plenty of time to pat the Golden Retriever Greeter and freshen up, then pat the Golden some more before dinner.



Downtown Kennett Square, PA was lively, and we were happy that we’d thought to make reservations. Staying true to our Pizza Friday night, we had chosen a well-reviewed, and recommended by our hosts, Italian place. The evening was pleasant enough that we could enjoy our dinner at an outside table, or so we thought.

Turns out that State Street is a busy street. Regular vehicles driving past were white noise, but the kids with “hot rod Hondas” blaring (bad) music and the occasional big truck rumbling past had DH quipping, “Kids and Kenworths cruising Kennett Square’s Strip.”

The pizza was good; the crust was flatbread-like, on the thinner side and pillowy soft. Not our favorite style, though. We’ve been spoiled with the Ooni pizza oven we gifted ourselves for Christmas, so our pizza bar is high. The wine was very good; in fact, so good that we ordered a second bottle to take back to the B&B to enjoy a glass on the porch afterward. Needless to write, our eyelids shuttered before our heads hit the pillows, with the aroma of the light rain that had begun to fall wafting through our open window.

We rose before the breakfast hour and took our coffee on the porch, after a too-lengthy effort to figure out the coffee pod machine (we are Luddites and use a French press.) The Golden cheerfully brought us her favorite stuffie as an offering for more pats while we sipped. The breakfast table was lively; we were the only ones who had not come for the (pick your favorite exuberant adjective) Tulip display at Longwood Gardens. Now we know what to pencil in for next year. Seated next to me was the Mom of the UW student who creates the rock-climbing routes at the campus climbing wall; our DD is a grad student at UW and an avid rock climber. Small world.

The path home included two museum stops. First, the Brandywine Museum of Art for all things Wyeth. We were not disappointed. The second, a rather obscure museum that has been on our radar since 2005. On our summer holiday travels to and from Cape Cod we passed the sign on I-95 for the Havre de Grace Decoy Museum and each time would remark, “We really need to stop in.”

Twenty years later, we finally stopped in. And we were glad we did. Decoys are an important part of American Folk Art history, and now we not only know what a Bushwack boat is but can also toss our knowledge of gunning the Susquehanna Flats into cocktail party conversations.

Next up was lunch. Far and away, the best meal of this odyssey. We scored a patio table at a highly-rated seafood restaurant where I indulged in the first Soft Shell Crab Sammie of the season. For those not in the know, when blue crabs of the Mid-Atlantic molt they are cleaned, tossed in seasoned flour, then beer-batter fried entirely whole. In the classic presentation they are served on white bread with nothing more than lettuce and tomato. Perfection.



Then, homeward bound. Our dog sitter informed us that a storm had come through the previous night. She wrapped DDog in his Thundershirt and asked Siri to play “Spa Music, loud” throughout the house. Apparently DDog climbed into his crate and slept soundly. Did I not write that our Hound would be terribly spoiled?

To wrap up this odyssey, a few thoughts.

1. Zabar’s was a letdown. So much of their product inventory is stuff I can find in DC. And their bagels? Meh. While living in Vienna we mastered an “authentic NYC bagel” recipe that has been our go-to for years. Even accounting for the day-old status, Zabar’s bagels were ho-hum. This emporium won’t be a must-do destination any longer.

2. Alcohol laws across the states is so Federalism. When we ordered the second bottle of wine in Penna, to take back to the B&B, the wait staff brought it to the table, opened it, and instructed us to keep it in a plastic bag in the back seat of our car on the way back to the B&B. At the seafood place in Maryland I was curious about a wine described as containing essences of Pecorino (who wouldn’t be curious?) I ordered a glass; and after DH and I tasted, decided we’d like to bring a bottle home. Nope. The bottle “must be consumed at the restaurant,” to quote our server.

3. We will think long and hard, and hard and long before driving I-95 again. The planning matrix came down to whether we wanted an extremely long Amtrak day “just” to see a painting; or did we want to endure the nightmare that is driving the I-95 corridor to improve the ROI on the outing. There is never a win-win in this situation.

Thank you for reading.

It sounds like the drive was worth it.
You were able to fill a bucket list item, have yummy soft shell crab, explore new museums, and discover new wines. Sounds like a win.
I was in Kennett Square exploring mushroom farms and museum a few weeks ago.

Trip Report flag attached

The Neue Galerie is a gem. Many wonderful artists including Kokoschka, Dix, and Schiele. We had a perfect day in New York visiting there, followed by the Frick, and then the JP Morgan Library. One extraordinary vision after another. And yes we did see the movie before going.

I've driven I-95 from the coast of Maine to the swamps of Florida and do not share the popular hatred or even fear of that mighty pike. I even find a little romance in it. As a youth it seemed to offer the promise of travel and adventure. Perhaps my fondest memories are of night drives between New York and D.C., speeding in my RX-7 . . .

Thanks for the report -- an ambitious weekend!

Nice report. Brave souls - I've only driven parts of I-95 a couple of times and fun it isn't

Several years ago I had a short trip to NYC -- had never heard of the Neue Galerie and a couple of Fodorites clued me in. Was a highlight of the trip. What a terrific place, and I did eat in the cafe - was quite good even if it was New York prices.

We have driven Philadelphia to Florida on I-95 many times and don't think it's too bad. One time there was an accident and we sat in traffic for about 45 minutes, but that can happen on any of our roads at home as well.

schmerl, I would love to forage around that part of PA for mushrooms, though it would be a solo adventure. DH is like a Scent Hound when it comes to mushrooms; I swear that man can even tell when I am looking at 'shrooms in the grocery and will pick at his dinner, fully believing that I have tried to sneak mushrooms onto his plate.

shelemm and janisj, The Neue Galerie IS a gem. I've been to the Frick and the Morgan, as well. They're all extraordinary.

Fra, we don't share your romance with I-95. We would leave our DC home at 0430 to reach our Cape Cod rental each summer by 1400, and never, ever, ever did we have anything good to say about I-95. I was born and raised in Midwest I-75 and I-94 territory and feel the same way about those interstates.

Re I-95 -- I'm a Californian and am totally used to crazy CRAZY traffic -- in the Bay Area, LA, and elsewhere. But the 3 or 4 times I've driven I-95 have been some of my worst driving experiences ever. I haven't driven it north of Maryland, mostly in SC/NC/VA, and each time it was awful. Too few lanes, too much traffic, too fast and every car glued to the next car's bumper.

Oh yeah? Well, when I was in Southern California last year I got so frustrated with disappearing traffic lanes I remarked to my wife that they shifted like the stairs in Hogwarts! Take that! There was no shortage of tailgaters, either.