Latest News

Atlantic City Gamble: Seeking charm and a ride back

Category: Atlantic City by Rail

Published Date

Written by Randy Garbin

Finally recharged, we had a few more items on the agenda: More beach, amusement park for Roadside Girl, dinner at the brew pub for Mr. and Mrs. Roadside, and then the 7:45 train back to Philadelphia.

The once-grand and glorious Steel Pier, just off the boardwalk near the Taj Mahal.

Unfortunately, because the hunt for lunch took so long, we found ourselves in a rush. By the point we finished at the Steel Pier Amusement Park, we had already entered the dinner hour without a definite idea on how to get to the Tun Tavern Brewery, located right near the train station.

Mrs. Roadside and the Girl finish up at the Steel Pier, hungry for dinner.

Mr. Roadside takes aim for a prize to give Roadside Girl. Sadly, he came up short and five dollars lighter.

If you go to the Steel Pier these days looking for a diving horse, prepare for disappointment. I've visited traveling carneys in church parking lots with more thrills than this place. However, in the eyes of Roadside Girl, rides are rides are rides, and after shelling out thirty clams for a sheet of tickets (a third of which we still have), she got her fill of all the kiddy rides and turned her attention to the midway games, which as we all know, are rigged for failure. Another five bucks later, I came away empty handed and facing a very unhappy little girl. When she insisted I try another game involving throwing a beanbag at a stack of milk bottles, I told her, "I'd rather give you the five dollars to go and buy something than waste it here!"

A funny thing happened at that point. Though she still expressed major disappointment in me, I could see wheel turning in her head. She got it, and I know she got it because an hour later she asked me for the five dollars.

Some classic A.C. boardwalk architecture: Sadly, Mrs. Roadside reports that many of the toilets were out of order. You'd never see this at a true family-friendly beach like Ocean City.

As I mentioned, the ride to the boardwalk from the station was almost too easy. Getting back, however, would prove more of a challenge, because I found no signs or schedules anywhere for these shuttles. Our morning shuttle dropped us off in the bleak canyon between the Taj Mahal and the Resorts Casino on South Pennsylvania Avenue, but unless you took that shuttle, you'd never know it stopped there.

In search of information, I entered the Resorts Hotel lobby to ask for information at the front desk. A couple of things struck me as I entered Atlantic City's first casino: Its dreariness and and its conspicuous lack of people sitting at the rows and rows of slot machines that greet you as you walk inside. 

The desk proved not much help. "How do I get back to the train station?"

"There's a jitney stop right at the corner."

I read about the jitneys. They do indeed comb the streets of the city at all hours with generous frequency, but the woman at the desk left out a detail or two. As the jitney came to a stop, we asked the driver if he went to the train station.

"No, go two blocks up and catch it there."

And so began our little adventure.

The interior of the Tun Tavern, which despite what I read on Yelp, did a fine job with both its food and its ales.

Two blocks up took us to Arctic Avenue, a much less busy street, but one that also ran one-way in the wrong direction. So, we kept walking. And walking.

And before we knew it, we found ourselves five blocks away from the boardwalk in a neighborhood that was, well, let's say it wasn't exactly tourist friendly.

I knew that we still had about a half mile to walk before reaching the train station, which I could do alone with little effort.

Hoping in vain that we might catch a bus, taxi, or jitney going in the right direction, we continued down the street a few blocks until finally a police car pulled in front of us just before we could cross the street. The nice officer poked his head out the window and asked, "Can we help you folks find something?"

"Why," I asked wryly. "Do we look lost?" After a bit of a chuckle, I said we just wanted to get to the train station. He said, "Get in."

Neon at the gateway to the Outlet district just outside the new convention center. The dimmed neon is all-too-indicative of A.C.s general malaise. 

As grateful as we were for the ride, I do not recommend police cars for taxis, especially the newer, smaller ones — a Dodge Charger in this case. After accommodating the hardened partition between the front and back seat and replacing any cushioning with hard plastic, you're left with very little room and absolutely nothing to soften the bumps. Roadside Girl didn't care. Riding in a police car seemed pretty cool to her, and the officers loved her. I just hope that's the last time she ever rides in the back seat of one of these things.

By now, we had completely blown any chance to catch the 7:45 train and would have to jump on the 9:45. No matter. We had a very good meal and a few wonderful beers at the Tun Tavern, thankfully served by a kind, attentive waitress.

Now with almost two hours to kill, we took a walk around the relatively new outlet store district the city built up around the station and its new convention center. Of course it had to have a new convention center. These are the monorails of the twenty-first century. No city should be without one!

The sight of this horrid abomination of a "diner" only gets worse when you remember that the Casino Reinvestment Development Authority booted the real thing out back in the 1990s. That diner, the former Terminal Diner, became part of the ill-fated Dottie's Diner project in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. Recent owners earned a Lou-Roc from us.

Being a Sunday, all the shops had closed a couple of hours before, but even here you'll find another budding Atlantic City failure. The district sports quite a lot of neon, but much of it didn't quite work, a sign of deferred maintenance.

Even more ridiculous was finding the new A.C. Diner, a garish nightmare of a restaurant not far from where once stood the former Terminal Diner, a real 1950s Mountain View diner. In the late 1990s, the Casino Reinvestment Development Authority. cast the diner out of the city. Though snapped up by Steve Harwin who would then restore it, this diner ended up as part of the ill-fated Dottie's Diner fiasco in Cleveland Heights, OH.

So, you kick out the real thing and build a wretched replica. Sure. Makes sense to me.

We didn't get home until just before midnight, so indeed we spent quite long and rather arduous day just getting to the beach only 76 miles away. Google Maps tells me that it would take about an hour and a half by car. You can pretty much park in A.C. for free at the casino lots. Out of pocket, yes, it does cost less to take a car.

However, if we do this again — indeed if we ever find Atlantic City compelling enough for a return visit — we know how to do it right.

First, we'd pack our own lunches just like we used to when we went to the beach as kids. Baloney sandwiches with a little beach sand in them have a certain charm, after all. Otherwise, we'd happily return to Megan's, but I welcome any other suggestions.

Second, we'd get a better idea of the shuttle schedule, stops, and routes. Sadly, even after thirty years of continued development and investment, the advice to never stray far from the boardwalk remains true. It's a pity, because you can still see plenty of the once-sparkling charm this city once beheld.

And finally, I might consider driving out to the Cherry Hill stop on the line and catching the train from there. I think we spent a good 90 minutes just waiting for the transfers at 30th Street Station.

All things considered, I'd rather ride the train. I'd consider it more with a better destination.