My head said "Yes" but my gut said "No".
I knew it wouldn't be easy finding the Graffiti Pier in Port Richmond, that there'd be hiking involved and only one street to get us close to where we wanted to be.
But Beach Street was impossible to find and the area was not what I expected.
I expected some sand, maybe a boardwalk, possibly remnants of an amusement park and a low concrete structure covered with colorful marks made by street artists... all the makings of a pleasant outing.
I hadn't realized we'd be searching for an abandoned spot along the Delaware River where ships once docked and carried coal, not an ocean or former resort.
Instead we found a remote region surrounded by litter and broken glass, without a river or pier in sight... Beach Street... the start of our destination.
But now I was hesitant about leaving the car... it parked and me from its protective metal exterior.
I worried about being mugged, having our car (a rental) stolen or vandalized... jacked on all fours, its tires, battery and radio gone, with the words... "Welcome To Philadelphia" spray-painted in neon across the hood.
An active mind perhaps, but also determined.
With the car behind us and this ominous sign in front of us, we made our way past the gate, hoping to sidestep trash, puddles, predators and police waiting to arrest us for trespassing.
Eventually we hit concrete... Coal Pier 18, the Graffiti Pier, in Port Richmond.
And these...
Some rooms within the pier and my husband Michael...
The exterior of a room, and the skyline of Philadelphia from the edge of the pier...
And our rental car... exactly as we left it.
