A battleship and a biplane

I dreamed I had taken the family on a road trip to South Jersey. Somewhere down in the Barnegat area, off the coast, there was a large island shaped like a crescent moon, if one were to look overhead. We drove across a bridge onto the island, which felt like something out of Florida. On the eastern side, near the Atlantic, it was built up, with a downtown and a two-lane highway running by and next to the water. Here an old battleship was docked, and as we drove by the immense structure it glowed a purplish red in the sunset, illuminated on the wine-dark sea.

Once you had passed the downtown, though, you were back in the swamps of Jersey, among irregularly built tract housing, the cedars and pines. I had my daughter and her best friend use a proper map to navigate us back to the mainland. The highway simply ended and dumped you into a residential area, and the light was fading fast. They were confused at first but eventually got us headed in the right direction.

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I dreamed I had hitched a ride on a biplane. In reality it was a large box kite tethered to the back of the plane, and a couple of fellows and I were clinging to the kite as it pulled us up and through the air, again over South Jersey. The plane was compelled to land on an aging Main Street, all red-brick splendor and narrow streets, just wide enough for the plane to make a landing near a roadside cafe. We got down from the kite safely and dusted ourselves off, and kept going.