Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J.

The father-son Springsteen Break continued, but not before an early - and I do mean early - morning run with original E Streeter Tom Beaupre.  Andrew, still basking in the glory that was seeing Bruce in Hershey, opted to sleep in.  Shocker, I know.

That meant Tom and I had to log a run in the mist before he headed off to his teaching gig.  Seriously, we both ended up in education gigs.  Rewind to 1982, who would'a thunk it? If only the nuns of St. Joseph's High School could see us now.

With a farewell to Bones and family (thanks for the Pennsylvania hospitality!), it was off to our next stop.  This one wouldn't spotlight a concert, per se, but it would prove to be one of the most unforgettable sojourns this father-son tandem has experienced together, made only more memorable by the eerie mist that laid a quiet blanket over the landscape and provided an almost spiritual endcap to the road trip.

From one end to the other - Albany to Asbury - it was time to go back to where it all began for a guitar player from Freehold, N.J., and his legendary E Street Band.

After driving down Kingsley, having Proved It All Night, we arrived at the desolate beachfront along Ocean Avenue.

Those kids huddled on the beach in the mist that everyone's heard so much about for more than 40 years?  This would be that beach. 

Remember that scene in the Sopranos when Tony's walking along the boardwalk contemplating the family business?  Hopefully, Andrew had more constructive thoughts on his mind that didn't involve the waste management industry. 

Fourth of July weekend, 1988, the original E Streeters road trip, and it included a stop at the immortalized Madam Marie's.

Man, were we young.

Did you hear the cops finally busted Madam Marie?

Actually, turns out she died in 2008, a passing that Bruce announced at one of his Florida shows we attended with Barry that same summer.

Madam Marie allegedly once told the Jersey Devil that he would make it big as a rock star.  Apparently she knew a thing or two about seeing the future.

Andrew and I couldn't get our fortunes told, but believe me, we already felt pretty damn fortunate. 

The Paramount, closed to visitors and under construction, but no less an impressive and dominant edifice on the shoreline.

It was two years ago, but the damages inflicted by Hurricane Sandy on this historic stretch of beach is staggering.  It was startling to see the amount of reconstruction still underway to extract the shoreline out from under the specter of Sandy.  And we're not talking Bruce's legendary ballad on his debut album. 

There ain't even any horses in the carousel these days, and the once-upon-a-time home of the rock and roll museum that showcased many of the key pieces of Springsteen's career has fallen to the proverbial Wrecking Ball that would also eventually claim his Meadowlands stomping grounds. 

Finally, it was across the street to where it all began for the Boss, not to mention dozens of other rock-and-roll acts throughout the last 50 years. 

Inside all was quiet, but the memories and markings were there.

Dozens of guitars adorned the walls, along with the occasional rock poster commemorating a certain someone's musical releases

So of course, Andrew couldn't help but take the stage where it all began.  He kicked ass on air guitar. 

Welcome, indeed 

Pilgrimage: a journey or search of moral or spiritual significance.

In the playbook of father-son experiences, this qualified.

Inevitably, though it was time to head home and reunite with the non-Springsteenians among the family.

And amazingly, and padded by just a handful of directional missteps along the highways of Connecticut, the trip odometer reached the 1,000 mile mark for the road trip just as we approached our driveway.  Sadly, our gas warning light also sang out to remind us that things had come to an end. 

Hiding on the back seats, were the carcasses of some of the CDs that provided the soundtrack inside our Ford Escape.  See a pattern here?

(For the record, we made it through about 70% of his anthology.) 

And yes, despite our attempts at looking bad-ass, Andrew and I were still talking to one another at journey's end.

I wasn't able to quote any of Springsteen's songs that spoke to a father-son relationship, mostly because they were all so dark and brooding, and reflective of a relationship that invariably shaped him, but clearly, was less than idyllic.

Anyone who's been reading this blog of late to follow our exploits throughout Springsteen's Promised Land knows that's not the case with Andrew and I.

This pilgrimage will go down indelibly in our history books, for a myriad of reasons.  There's no one I would rather have logged the miles with.  (Well maybe Jackie and Heather, but they would have complained about Bruce the whole time and made me change the music.)

Thanks, bud.

The dogs on main street howl,

'cause they understand

If I could take one moment into my hands

Mister, I ain't a boy, no I'm a man, 

And I believe in the Promised Land