After lockdown started, I thought I had considered every possibility, every apocalyptic scenario. I was wrong.

Sixty-five years ago, two sons of immigrants burst from a West Philly garage and revolutionized the ice-cream business. The city has changed. Mister Softee hasn’t — and that’s a good thing.

It wasn’t until I returned to my hometown that I realized just how ingrained our inferiority complex is. It’s time to embrace what the rest of the country has: Philly is great.

You say bathing tunic, I say super-practical, totally functional do-anything-you-want-in-it pool attire.

Your trip to the ocean can include plenty of mouthwatering meals … as long as you know where to look.

Seemingly untouched by time or history or, really, development of any kind, this is a country road preserved, with idyllic views of farmland and saltwater marshes and some superior crab shacks along the way.

Time was, the White Horse Pike was a toll road named after the ginormous metal horse that hovered over a local tavern. Today, it leads you through lots of small Jersey towns and long stretches of the Pine Barrens. In search of the Jersey Devil? This is your route.

This amble through the Pine Barrens has a rustic sort of charm, with abundant farm stands and forested back roads lusher than any highway.

Take a drive on this meandering road that goes through fields and farmlands as well as small towns and main streets, showing off South Jersey in all its quaint and quiet glory.

Long before we all hopped on the A.C. Expressway, the Black Horse Pike and its sister, the White Horse Pike, were the way it was done. You can still feel the history as you wind through suburban Jersey on this quirky, eclectic stretch of blacktop.

These Philly athletes are all champions in their fields — setting records, winning titles, outshining the competition. Will their hard work take them to Tokyo?