A wild summer vacation awaits you

IN THE OFF-SEASON between last summer and this one, while Philly was nestled snug in its rowhouses, our downashore neighborhood, Wildwood, made another bold step toward the shiny new nostalgia-tinged future it's been imagining for itself lately.

The new sign of the times is literally a sign: The drop-dead-gorgeous beach-ball installation, shown above, started coming together last fall and was completed this spring.

The formal gateway to the Wildwoods jazzes up the intersection where Rio Grande Avenue meets the beach, and incites all manners of traffic violations as families scramble out of their cars and onto the plaza to pose for the summer's must-have snapshot.

For a sense of scale: The "W" in the sign is 19 1/2 feet high and the word "Wildwoods" is 80 feet long. The 30 concrete beach balls each weigh between a half-ton and a ton.

But for a sense of the giddy vibe that the sign radiates, you kind of have to be there.

From his vantage point in a booth nearby, parking-lot attendant Herb Waterman watches kids dash for a letter to pose with - "They sit inside the O's and the D," he says - while their parents capture the moment. "They take all kinds of pictures," Waterman says. "They have all kinds of cameras."

The Daily News, in our quest to discover the secrets of Wildwood, fanned out across the island looking for attractions that live up to the sign's promise of buoyant vacation fun but don't necessarily hit you over the head with a half-ton concrete beach ball.

The , in our quest to discover the secrets of Wildwood, fanned out across the island looking for attractions that live up to the sign's promise of buoyant vacation fun but don't necessarily hit you over the head with a half-ton concrete beach ball.

We coaxed the location of secret beaches out of the influential townies who pack the Crest Tavern on Pacific Avenue (especially on Wednesday nights for the chicken-pot-pie special, but never when there's a big Yankees game on TV and Shore-condo owners from Northern Jersey mob the joint.)

We scouted Wildwood's three boardwalk water parks for the most thrilling rides, the deepest discounts and other special finds. We bellied up to the bar scene stalking the legendary Tully Nut.

Then, for good measure, we biked the boardwalk and the honky-tonk downtown district looking for other hidden gems and stopping to pry for secret Wildwood customs and lore. On page 10, for instance, we'll tell you where the dear, departed Zaberer's sign has wound up.

Bicycles, incidentally, are the main means of transportation for the teenage labor force that lives downtown in the summer.

Bicycles, incidentally, are the main means of transportation for the teenage labor force that lives downtown in the summer.

Since some of those teenagers embrace a loose concept of "yours" and "mine," it's good to pack a lock for your family's bikes when you come here on vacation. Otherwise, says lore-master Bob Bright of the Wildwood Historical Society, someone might "borrow" one of them for a quick hop to work.

"It's crazy. It really is," says Wildwood's chief of police, Steven Long. "Instead of walking, they just help themselves to a bike . . . Then they just leave it at work."

At quitting time, if the mood strikes and an opportunity presents itself, they'll hop another bike home. "It's happened for a long time, probably forever," Long says. "Even when I was a kid you had to lock your bike up."

While that Wildwood tradition endures, some others are fading. Everywhere we traveled on our Secrets mission, the signs of change told us: "This isn't your father's drunken-binge town."

While that Wildwood tradition endures, some others are fading. Everywhere we traveled on our Secrets mission, the signs of change told us: "This isn't your father's drunken-binge town."

The surest sign? Wildwood's hottest concert ticket this summer is for an appearance Sunday by the Doodlebops - a Disney act whose fan base couldn't score a fake ID if they tried.

Their diapers would give them away.

(See page 8 for an extensive list of summer events in Wildwood, North Wildwood and Wildwood Crest.)

Another sign? The boardwalk now has its own cyber cafe.

At Magic Brain Cyber Cafe, (2700 Boardwalk), you can pay $3 to indulge in a 15-minute quickie of an information-age vice: secretly checking your work e-mail.

Hard-core users with their own laptops can pay $35 for a week of fast T-1 Internet access through either wi-fi or cables.

Or, if you're a teenager, you can slip away from your parents to reconnect with your IM buds back home. "It's crazy," says Magic Brain co-owner Drew Robinson. "Instead of going to an arcade, the kids will get on and go to MySpace."

Wildwood's busiest agent of change may well be Virginia Sabo, manager at the new island hot spot Shore Décor and So Much More!

Wildwood's busiest agent of change may well be Virginia Sabo, manager at the new island hot spot Shore Décor and So Much More!

Shore Decor, at 2511 New Jersey Ave. in North Wildwood, exists to outfit the neutral walls of Wildwood's plentiful $400,000 condo units with all things bright and beachy.

The store's inventory runs the gamut from seashell wreaths and nautical-themed lamps to margarita party lights and ceramic chip-and-dip sets that are shaped like Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops.

Sabo's role is to match the new condo owners with the beach theme that speaks personally to them, be it fish or dolphins or gulls or "It's 5 O'Clock Somewhere."

"I'm the manager, but I feel like their decorator," Sabo says. "They come in here and they say that they have a condo and they need some pictures. I know how to help."

One minute, she's pulling plastic tropical fish off the wall and arranging displays that will suit the geometry of a customer's powder room. The next, she's restocking the shelves with the assorted shore-house bric-a-brac that keeps flying off of them. (Decorative wooden holders for take-out menus are in big demand right now, she says, and artificial palm trees are sold out.)

Sabo feels some misgivings about the low-slung motels that were sacrificed to make way for condo buildings and progress. The only music she plays in the store is oldies.

But she thinks the island's on track now with its back-to-the-future focus on doo-wop architecture and wholesome family fun. "They're trying to keep Wildwood Wildwood," she says approvingly.

Then she rings up another happy customer, bags full of shore decor. "Have a good day, hon," Sabo calls toward the door. "Thank you, babe. Bye-bye."

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