Related Photos Sebring, FL to Key West, FL Stage Back
(via Highways 27, 997, 905A, 905, 1 along with LOST Trail)
October 23, 2004
One hour before sunrise, we pulled on our yellow, sleeveless jackets and started pedaling our loaded tandem south on Highway 27. A few blocks from our motel, we stopped at a restaurant for breakfast. For the next 50 plus miles, we knew of only two service stops. One was 13 miles out and the other was 40 miles beyond that. A big meal to start our day was imperative. Following breakfast, we watched as two men were checking out our parked rig. One of them had never seen a two-seat bicycle before so his friend, an apparent cyclist, described the features to him. In commenting on our setup, the cyclist told his friend, “From the amount of gear they have, I’d say they’re traveling unsupported.”
With the pre-dawn sky displaying some brilliant colors, we advanced south. Highway 27 continued to be a divided, four lane road with a three to four foot shoulder. Highlands County was naturally named for the local terrain. The rolling hills were gentle, giving us a slight workout. For the past 50 miles we had been riding across a series of sand hills referred to as the Lake Wales Ridge. Because these remnants of ancient shoreline dunes were isolated long ago by water, there are numerous endangered plants and animals in the area. Sometimes called Florida’s attic, the ridge has several species found nowhere else on earth.
As we biked up and down the moderate slopes, we occasionally passed by some orange groves. The well-drained sand hills provide the desired setting for citrus farming. Unfortunately, housing developments also find the deep sand attractive as well. In those areas left untouched, the scrubland was covered with low lying shrubs mixed with grasses and herbs. Some of the plants appeared to be like the sage brush that we had seen in southwestern USA. Although the area absorbs 50 inches of rain most years, it was like we were pedaling through a tropical desert. Because only 15 percent of the original habitat remains, the state is putting together tracts of refuge to preserve the scrubland.
The number of vehicles sharing the road with us was quite low compared to previous days. We weren’t sure if the lighter traffic was due to the weekend setting or the remoteness of the area. Whatever the case, it was a welcomed change. After pedaling mostly southeast for an hour, we could see Lake June-In-Winter on our right. We were now at the outskirts of Lake Placid, a small community of 1,700. As the highway bent around to the south, we climbed up a four to five percent grade for nearly a half mile. Little did we know that this would be the last hill on our AK to FL tour.
Entering town, the 270 FT Placid Tower
initially captured our attention. An elevator ride to the observation deck
gives visitors a view of the area’s 27 lakes. A sign near the tower proclaimed
Lake Placid as a “Town of Murals.” Having had our share of ups and downs on the
region’s sand hills, we passed by the tower and turned west onto Interlake
Boulevard to check out the paintings. Before reaching our first mural, we had a
sense that this town was going to be special. The streets were lined with palm
trees and USA flags. Even the trash containers had colorful themes. Inspired
by the wall paintings of Chemainus, British
One block into town, we viewed an everglades scene with a family riding an airboat. The artist did a superb job as the boat looked like it was flying out of the building and onto the street. We then passed by a red brick building with the sign, “Toby’s Clown School.” With nearly 500 clown graduates since 1993, Lake Placid claims to have more clowns per capita than any other town in Florida. The founder of the school (a clown by trade) hopes to build a Clown College on nearby property.
The next mural we saw was on a building owned by South Florida Community College. The painting depicted a distinguished-looking gentleman named Dr. Melvil Dewey. Dewey, at age 21, created the Dewey Decimal System. In 1895, he built a summer resort for his wealthy friends in Lake Placid, NY. Three decades later, he discovered this Florida community and proceeded to develop a winter resort for his affluent companions. In 1927, he convinced the state legislature to change the town’s name from Lake Stearns to Lake Placid. Although Dewey died four years later, his legacy lives on.
In the next block, the 60 FT by 30 FT wall of a car repair shop displayed a field of caladiums. A caladium, also called elephant ear, is a colorful plant that has large, arrowhead-shaped leaves marked in varying patterns of white, pink and red. With 1,500 acres of the ornamental plants grown in local fields, Lake Placid bills itself as the “Caladium Capitol of the World.” Imported from the Amazon River Valley of South America a half century ago, 95 percent of the world’s caladiums now grow here. The area’s fields of rainbow colors are said to rival the tulip fields of Skagit Valley in Washington.
As we continued into the center of town,
we passed by several more murals covering interesting aspects of the town’s
history. From pre-historic times to the introduction of the telephone, it
seemed that they exhibited every tidbit of the past. Three of the murals were
programmed to come alive with realistic sound effects. Nested between two
painted walls was a
Because the next opportunity for services was a long ways away, we stopped at a McDonald’s Restaurant before leaving town. Following a small breakfast, we continued south down the four-lane highway passing by some of the area’s small lakes. The pristine bodies of water are popular for recreational pursuits and fishing. Due to their remoteness, these lakes have not experienced the water quality problems seen elsewhere in the state. Bass tournament weigh-ins regularly measure fish over eighteen inches long and weighing over six pounds. Catching a large mouth bass that weighs nine pounds or more is not uncommon.
About six miles south of Lake Placid, we were again flabbergasted to see a highway sign warning of bear crossings. This sign indicated that the bear zone would be for the next twelve miles. We continued to carry our bear pepper spray within easy reach but we didn’t expect to see any bears. With the berries, acorns and honeybee nests that are available in the scrublands, this must be paradise for the black, furry critters. They are probably plump and healthy.
Like Polk County, Highlands has
substantial agricultural interests. In addition to citrus farming, there are
over a 100,000 cattle grazing in the county’s pastures. Among the miles of cows
we biked by, we saw a number of Brahman and other exotic breeds that fare better
in the warmer c
After starting out as a dreary, overcast morning, the clouds dissipated leaving us with a brilliant, blue sky. The terrain went from rolling hills to flat and then to very flat. Oh, life is good! Before departing the county, we saw an isolated sand dune along the side of the road. The sandy hills we rode on earlier were rarely exposed because of vegetation. This dune had little grass cover and the eye-catching sand was so white, it looked like snow. Once we got through the bear zone, we pedaled into Glades County. The highway sign marking the county line impressed us with its double post mounting with angle-iron. It would take a pretty strong hurricane to knock that one over.
As we cycled down the super flat highway, we noticed that we weren’t seeing many vehicles. We could bike five miles without any motorists passing us. With a county population of only 10,000, we had plenty of room to spread our elbows. The highway was so quiet, that critters would sunbathe on it. Randall noted to Barb that there was some debris in the road ahead, a black segment of rope, perhaps. Barb surmised that it was a strip of tire rubber. When we reached the black object, we were startled to find that it was a four foot long snake.
Passing the snake on the right side, we awoke the wiry reptile from its late morning slumber. In sleek fashion, the slippery critter zipped at near lightening speed to the drainage ditch where it disappeared in the grass. Even though we were coasting along at 10 mph, the snake managed to dash between our tandem wheels without contact. The fleeing episode was a bit too close for Barb’s comfort. From the slender, satiny appearance, we suspected the snake was a black racer. Racers are nervous, irritable and fast-moving snakes commonly seen in Florida. When given a chance to escape, they generally do so very quickly.
Just before Highway 27 made a bend to the southeast, we passed through the small settlement of Palmdale, FL. A couple of nearby signs advertised the local gator farms. One was call the Outback Gator Ranch and the other, Gatorama. With 4,000 alligators and crocodiles, Gatorama is the world’s largest gator farm. The farm’s operators warn visitors, “No swimming or sunbathing. Violators may be eaten.” The state of Florida has 18 farms that produce 200,000 pounds of alligator meat and 30,000 hides annually. Having previously visited a gator farm in Louisiana, we weren’t interested in seeing the confined Florida gators. It was more thrilling to see them in the wild.
Also near Palmdale, we saw two areas of logging. The skinny trees being harvested were cut so that the timber could be neatly stacked across the width of the trailer bed. After seeing signs noting the Fisheating Creek Campground, we passed over the stream. The bridge was quite long as the creek looked more like a large pond than a river. The Fisheating Creek begins in Highlands County and snakes its way 52 miles through cypress knee-studded forests and marshes before reaching Lake Okeechobee (O-Key-Cho-Bee). Because of the tannic acid from vegetation, the creek’s dark-blue water enhanced the reflections of the sky.
A mile beyond the creek, Barb noticed
that the trailer was swiveling a bit. Stopping to check it out, we found that
the small tire was flat. There were no side roads to turn off onto so we pulled
our rig onto the grassy drainage ditch. We risked getting a thorn in the tires
with this placement but it was important for us to be off the three foot
shoulder should any vehicles speed by. Although it was not the most pleasant
setting for tire repair, we pulled the wheel off the trailer and started
checking for the source of the puncture. Incredibly, the leak was caused by a
quarter-inch segment of thin wire. The tire had lost about two-thirds of its
rubber from nearly 7,000 miles of wear, so it was more susceptible to foreign
objects. We had a backup tire with us but decided to give the 16 inch tire one
more chance to reach
As we were getting the new tube inserted into the tire, we both started feeling something biting our feet. Because we were wearing sandals without socks, tiny black ants were having a field day with our exposed toes and ankles. Flipping them off with our hands was ineffective as they moved so fast and would scamper between our feet and shoes. We both trotted over to the paved shoulder and quickly removed our sandals. With our hands, we continued to swat away the speedy ants until we could find no more. We then knocked off any survivors from our shoes before putting them back on. The tire repair process was completed on the shoulder away from the grass. When we had to walk back on the grass to install the tire and pack the tools, we kept our feet moving constantly.
Once we were ready to roll, we took a last look at the grassy area where the attack occurred. There were no visible ant dens in the area but simply a few dozen ants running around haphazardly. The small, black insects appeared to be a colony of crazy ants. Aptly named, this menace does not follow trails, but is known for its erratic and rapid movement. They have no stinger but can bite an intruder and curve its abdomen forward to inject a formic acid secretion onto the wound. Having lived in Kansas, Ohio and Michigan, we had never experienced such aggressive black ants.
Just as we were ready to launch, our feet and toes started giving us an annoying itch. We got off the tandem and scratched the ant bites for relief. Amazingly, small white pimples had already developed over each wound. Wherever we would remove a pimple, the itch went away but the lesion felt like it was on fire. To each bite, we applied an ointment we had used for mosquito bites with success but the relief lasted less than a minute. With the temperature in the low 80s, we were really feeling the heat of the late morning sun. As we pushed the pedals, we were quite aware of our feet. At each five mile break, we stopped to rub the itchy areas. Even though Florida has a reputation as a bug-infested state, we hadn’t had any issues up to now. We suddenly had a powerful respect for the black ants.
Five miles from our destination, the road curved again as we headed due east. The surrounding flat lands were a mix of forest, marshland and fields. Occasionally, we would see standing water in the neighboring drainage ditch. One rest break was next to the water so we were on the lookout for devious alligators. The presence of water brought an increase in bird sightings. An anhinga with a four foot wing span was perched on a tree with its wings spread out for drying. Because the bird’s feathers are not waterproofed by oils, they can get quite waterlogged. Cattle egrets were seen flocking around some cows.
As we neared Moore Haven, FL, we went by two miles of sugarcane. The tropical grass appeared to have a height of ten to twelve feet. Because of the Cuban embargo in 1961, Florida ramped up their acreage of this sweet crop considerably. It now leads the nation in sugarcane production followed by Louisiana, Hawaii and Texas. Worldwide, Brazil and India each annually produce ten times the USA output of 30 million metric tons. It takes 224 stalks of sugarcane to provide the annual average sugar consumption of 67 pounds per person in the USA. Perhaps the fields we passed by would satisfy the sweet tooth of a medium size city.
At the outskirts of Moore Haven, a bald
eagle posing as the community sentinel, was perched high on a dead tree limb.
Outside of Alaska, more bald eagles live in Florida than any other state. A
welcome sign greeted us with, “Moore Haven – Lake Okeechobee Sportsmen’s
Paradise.” It seemed that all of the southern Florida towns were hyping their
fishing and hunting. This town of 1,700 was started in 1915 by James Moore, a
Before checking into our motel, we stopped to eat a late lunch at a KFC Restaurant that was connected to a convenience store. In the store’s parking lot, we gawked at a trailer-mounted air boat that was hitched to a pickup. We must be in the everglades now! Having ridden hard through the morning and having dealt with a flat tire, crazy ants and a black racer, we eagerly sat down for a huge meal. A local deer hunter later stopped and ordered a chicken dinner. When asked about his outing, he replied, “I didn’t get a deer but I saw quite a few wild boars.” The elusive hogs are so plentiful in Glades County that there are no legal limits on size or quantity. When we told the hunter about the extent of our trip, he responded with: “And I thought I worked hard today!”
Following lunch, we went across the
street to check into our motel. There was still plenty of afternoon left to
ride another 30 to 40 miles but we would then have a 90 mile segment after
that. The best scenario was to have a leisure ride prior to the anticipated
long day. While Randall unpacked the tandem, Barb had a
When Barb mentioned our cross country adventure, the woman perked up as she experienced a trip of a lifetime in 1980. Joining several Native Americans, she rode horseback from Oregon to Washington D.C. to raise awareness of the problems Indians were facing. The ride took one year to complete and she lost a lot of weight during the excursion. She claimed she gained back 20 pounds in the first month following the trip. When she learn we were headed south on Highway 27, she recommended that we take the levee trail along Lake Okeechobee instead.
After settling into our room, we dug up information on the levee trail from the internet. Called the Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail (or the LOST Trail), it follows the 143 mile long Herbert Hoover Dike that surrounds the lake. Parts of the trail were said to be unpaved gravel but it was unclear which segments were actually a solid surface. Given that the dike was 35 FT high, we figured that there had to be some scenery along the way. We confirmed that the access and exit points were compatible with our route plan so we were excited about our diversion for the next day.
Later in the afternoon, we able to listen to portions of a college football game using our internet connection. Our Kansas State Wildcats smacked the Nebraska Cornhuskers by a score of 45-21. That outcome felt so good that we managed to forget about our achy feet for a while. We soon discovered that the chamois butter we used for saddle sores also soothed our ant bites. For our next couple of meals, we kept it simple with snacks and sandwiches from the neighboring convenience store. Following an early dinner, we easily fell asleep by 8 PM.
Miles cycled – 56.9
October 24, 2004
At 7 AM, we began our day with pastries
and juice that we had purchased earlier from the neighboring convenience store.
We then packed our tandem seat bags with street clothes for a three mile trek to
St. Joseph-the-Worker Church. Because the
Biking without the trailer, we started out somewhat wobbly. With only ten pounds of gear compared with the usual 140 pounds, it was like we kicked that jaded third person off our tandem. Without the usual 40 pounds on the front fork, Randall was naturally over compensating on the handlebars. Fortunately, we had a wide shoulder to ride on. The object was to ride 15 mph without heavy perspiration but inevitably, we were sweating about the stability of our long bike as it snaked down the highway.
When we reached the church, we parked our tandem on the shady west side. As we wrapped our 12 FT anti-theft cable around the bike, the local cat appeared and started playing with the end of the cable. Soon bored with that activity, the black and white pet sprawled out under our bike and made himself at home. Having pulled our street pants over our bike shorts, we soon met the church’s pastor. Upon learning that we were cycling for Habitat for Humanity, the minister noted that some HFH homes had been built recently in Glades County. At the beginning of the 8:30 AM service, the pastor made a point to welcome us and told the congregation about the extent of our trip.
Following worship, we went to the front of church to check out the beautifully painted wall that was behind the altar. The fresco of Jesus surrounded by children of various ethnic groups had very vivid colors. At the back of church, we found postings and pamphlets by FEMA to assist the area’s hurricane victims. After riding back to the motel, we started packing our rig so we could resume our tour. Outside our room, a large palm tree that had been toppled by one of the tropical storms was now just a two inch high stump. As Barb turned in the key, the manager encouraged her with, “Enjoy every minute.”
Before leaving town, we zigzagged down a
few blocks looking for eating options. A motorist stopped and asked if we
needed help finding something. He informed us that KFC and Burger King were the
only places open that morning. Opting for beef, we pedaled a couple blocks over
to the
Following our brunch, we were off to find the lake trail. As Highway 27 curved to the south, a huge overpass bridge came into view. Although we were not expecting this high-rise structure, the bridge’s six-foot wide shoulder made the climbing more comfortable. Nearing the top of the span, we were wowed by the magnificent Okeechobee Waterway. Using a series of five locks and Lake Okeechobee, the 152 mile waterway extends to the Gulf of Mexico via the Caloosahatchee River and to the Atlantic Ocean via the St. Lucie Canal. We slowly pedaled across the bridge’s crest to enjoy the distant view to the west.
After descending the bridge, we immediately exited onto the ramp for River Road. Curving around 270 degrees, we followed the roadway as it passed under the bridge we had just crossed. We then biked a half mile along the waterway before reaching a dam. Parking our rig next to the dam, we attempted to get our bearings. A nearby sign displayed the name, “Moore Haven Lock and Dam – Okeechobee Waterway.” Because there was no access across the dam, we wondered where the LOST Trail went through. A narrow strip of land between the two structures prevented us from viewing the lock to the northwest. We later determined that trail users had to leave their route north of the lock and follow Moore Haven streets to Highway 27 and then cross on the high-rise bridge we climbed.
Peering down at the dam’s four massive gates, we could see the dark, brownish water rushing through. The recent hurricanes had added quite a bit of water to Lake Okeechobee so the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers were trying to get the lake back down to a reasonable level. A six-foot high levee was initially built around the lake in the early 1900s. Two devastating hurricanes hit the area in the late 1920s resulting in eight-foot storm surges which wiped out Moore Haven causing hundreds of deaths. To prevent reoccurrence of the tropical storm disasters, the Corps constructed floodway channels, control gates and major levees which still stand today. Unfortunately the water management activities have greatly encumbered the water flow from the lake to the Everglades. Instead of steady sheets of water, the Everglades now experience periods of drought or powerful discharges of water.
On the release side of the Moore Haven Dam, the rapid water formed an aerated and unstable current. The frothy water had a whitewater appearance before connecting with the neighboring lock channel a quarter mile downstream. A dozen fishermen were seen plying the shoreline waters with their baited lines. On the opposite side of the dam, the dark-blue channel water was like mirror glass as the surface was calm and highly reflective. A string of red buoys crossed the channel to keep boaters from getting too close to the dam. Double-crested cormorants (a black seabird) and white egrets found the buoys and neighboring posts to be great resting places.
Departing the dam area, we pedaled a short distance southeast to a parking lot filled with boat trailers. While seeking out the access point to the LOST Trail, we became somewhat disoriented. We knew that the path was on top of a levee but the setting was confusing us. Expecting to see Lake Okeechobee on our left, we were unaware that the shoreline was seven miles away at this point. Ahead of us was a 12 FT wide paved surface that extended southeast on what appeared to be a dike. A locked gate spanned the entire width of the pavement. On each side of the gate, guard rails ran down the slopes of the levee.
After studying the two posted signs, we concluded that this was our intended path. The most dominant sign was, “Authorized Vehicles Only.” The second, less prominent, sign showed illustrations of a bicycle and a hiker with the words, “Florida Trail.” The LOST Trail is a segment of the Florida National Scenic Trail. Through our previous trail riding experiences, we had been accustomed to having posts inserted at the trail heads, not a gate that looked strong enough to deter a Hummer! The posts are typically spaced about three feet apart to prevent motor vehicles from using the trail. In this setup, the gate was offset from the guard rails to block even ATV and motorcycle riders. So, trail users had to squeeze between the two-foot gap between the rail and gate and then maneuver around the gate’s support pole to return to the pavement.
Navigating the staggered rail and gate crossing with a regular bicycle would have been challenging enough. Some cyclists would perhaps lift their bike over the three-foot high gate. In our case, a loaded, eight-foot long tandem was quite difficult to walk around the gate. As expected, we disconnected the trailer before doing the awkward task. While trying to avoid thorns and burrs, we slowly squeezed between the gate and rail and then pivoted our bike around the gate. We had to be careful not to slip on the soft sand and tumble down the levee’s slope. After we managed to advance the tandem around, we could pull the trailer under the gate and then rehitch it. Whew! What an ordeal.
Once we had completed the gate crossing, we had a very smooth pavement to enjoy. The first thing we noticed was that there were canals on both sides of us. A lot of dirt was needed to build a three-story high dike, so the Corps used the material that was dug out of the canals. The canal on the right is an irrigation ditch that provides water to the many crops in the region. The channel on the left is called the Rim Canal. As part of the Okeechobee Waterway, boaters can take this 50 mile segment around the perimeter of the lake. If they’re in a big hurry, they can shave eleven miles off by taking the open water route.
Just two miles down the trail, we met a couple riding horses. The equestrians were traveling on the grassy side of the levee so we avoided tangling. For the next 30 miles this would be the only humans we would see using the trail. For a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon, we would have expected to see more trail users. Perhaps the access gates discouraged travelers. The circular lake route passes through some extremely rural areas. Because we were higher up and trees were very sparse, we sometimes noticed the shifty winds off the lake. The few trees we did see looked like clusters of limbless, white spears. The lifeless sticks were probably killed by flooding long ago.
Occasionally, we could see smoke plumes from distant sugarcane crops. The fields are burned immediately before harvest. The white smoke is rather spectacular but short in duration. A 40 acre section will burn for 15 to 20 minutes. Some distant fields that were really blazing were just smothering cane stalks when we got closer. The fires burn off dead leaves which would otherwise impede harvest and interfere with the milling process. The leaves, if left on the cane stalks, would absorb the sugar and greatly reduce the yield.
The agricultural activities along the LOST Trail are quite diverse. Besides an abundance of beef cattle and dairy cows, we saw numerous crops of sugarcane, winter vegetables, rice, sweet corn, along with citrus groves and sod. Some of the most fertile soil in the USA surrounds the south shores of Lake Okeechobee. Through the ages, lake water saturated the area lands which helped to convert decaying plant materials into fertile, mucky soils. When the first set of dikes was put in a hundred years ago, the surrounding swamp land was drained to expose the rich muck. When the drainage channels and the current dikes were completed in 1937, even more acreage became available for farming.
Although we encountered just the horse riders while on the trail, we definitely didn’t feel abandoned. Various types of recreational boats went up and down the Rim Canal. A number of the vessels were obviously dedicated to bass fishing. A couple of the boats had the configuration of a speed boat as they raced down the waterway. They passed us like we were standing still. There was apparently no speed limit on the channel. One larger ship was an impressive, double mast sailboat. Like many of the passing boaters, the sailboat’s operator gave us a wave.
On the agricultural side of the dike, we occasionally saw the local residents fishing out of the irrigation canal. Who needs a boat when you can walk from your home to your favorite fishing spot? Those who weren’t fishing were seen working in the fields. They were too distant for us to observe what they were doing. Pedaling along, we saw an impressive array of cane harvesting equipment sitting idle near one sugarcane field. The combines, called chopper harvesters, cut the cane at the base of the stalk and then chop it into smaller segments before propelling the output into a wagon that is pulled along by a tractor. Unlike most crops, the remaining stubs of the harvested cane plants grow into another crop. After three or four harvests from the same plants, the sugar yield declines to the point where a new crop has to be planted.
Beyond the presence of people, we were just in awe of the wildlife along the canals. We had two sightings of alligators in the irrigation canal. The large reptiles appeared to be casing the neighborhood as they floated along effortlessly. Along these same waters, shaded rest stops with benches were installed for the comfort of trail users. We chuckled hysterically at the locations of these rest areas. To us, they appeared to be fast food stands for alligators! In addition to the gators, the waters were active with head-bobbing turtles and jumping fish.
Fishing might be king at Lake Okeechobee, but it was the birds that made the most impressive showing. In addition to cormorant, egrets and heron, we saw seagulls, anhinga, sandhill cranes, eagles, crows, hawks and vultures. This was truly a bird paradise. We observed an anhinga swimming through the water with just its head and neck above the water. It looked like a snake ready to strike. Some of the larger, long-neck birds would watch us with a cautious eye. Others were spooked by our presence and gracefully flew to the opposite side of the canal.
The wildlife was active away from the water as well. An armadillo was seen wandering about on the grassy levee slope. Along the trail’s edge, a vulture inexplicably landed 30 feet in front of us. Flying off just as abruptly, perhaps it was checking to see if we were still alive! Later, a dragonfly that was darting about settled on Randall’s left glove. After a half mile ride, the speedy insect lost interest and zoomed away. Eight miles into our nature slideshow, we were rudely greeted with another locked gate. Using the same routine as the first crossing, we made the tedious transfer around and under. The overbuilt barriers were certainly a momentum buster. It was like having a pleasant dream being interrupted by the alarm clock. This gate was not near an access point but a county road was nearby which may have justified the deterrent.
A half mile from the gate, we were surprised to find an idle road grader parked on the edge of the trail. There was several hundred feet of exposed sand that the grader was apparently trying to level out. Beyond this heavy machine, the outline of another dam came into view. Across from the dam, we could see a major channel that flowed southwest from the irrigation ditch. To our relief, the trail continued right across the top of the dam without any barriers. At a subsequent, shaded rest stop, three vultures were perched on the roof. This scene was more proof to us that the rest areas were ill-advised areas to stop.
After ten miles on the trail, we started
getting glimpses of Lake Okeechobee. We were thrilled to see a great blue heron
standing along the Rim Canal. With its long neck and legs, the four-foot tall
bird stood firm as we pedaled by. At the outskirts of Clewiston, FL, we reached
the Hendry County line and another locked gate. Urrgh! Past the gate, this
community of 7,000 had a
Without warning, the trail came to a dead end. The disconnect was due to another water control dam ahead. So, we pedaled back a quarter mile to hop onto Clewiston’s streets. With all the sugarcane we biked by, it was no surprise to us that the nation’s largest sugar mill was located outside of town. Because harvested cane must be processed quickly before the sucrose deteriorates, the six sugar mills in southern Florida are located close to the cane fields. The brownish, raw sugar produced at the mills is sent to the state’s two sugar refineries, one of which is located in Clewiston. With both a mill and a refinery, the community stakes its claim as “America’s Sweetest City.”
When we found Highway 27 to the southwest, we turned left and crossed the bridge over Industry Canal. To complete our two mile, “U” shape detour, we turned left again which took us by the Army Corps of Engineers’ main office building. Without any signs to point the way, we were thankful to find the dike again. After ascending to the levee’s top, we were disappointed to find an unpaved, double-track path. Fortunately, the gravel surface only lasted for a quarter mile. We cringed when we saw yet another locked gate at the start of the smooth pavement. With the fourth gate crossing in twelve miles, we were beginning to despise these robust barriers.
As we continued southeast, we noticed that the scenery on the right side of the dike changed somewhat. We were now riding parallel to Highway 27. The rich muck fields were still to the west but offset by four lanes of traffic. In the early 1800s, before the swampland was drained to expose the muck, thousands of Indians settled in this area. Having escaped deportation to Oklahoma reservations, the former Creek Indians of Georgia became known collectively as Seminoles, meaning “runaways.” It was the Seminoles that named the lake, Okeechobee, which translates to “big water.” During the 1830s, the tribe fought the federal government’s efforts to relocate them. Having never signed a peace treaty, the Seminoles proudly call themselves, “The Unconquered.” Today, most of the tribe lives in the Big Cypress Reservation in southern Hendry County.
With Highway 27 now at our right, we certainly had a different perspective. While the motorists below had no view of the lake, we were relishing the fabulous scenery from our elevated route. After just five miles of riding in Hendry County, we reached the Palm Beach County line. With the change of counties, the shores of Lake Okeechobee merged with the Rim Canal. Wow, what a view! The expansive waters of this 730 square mile lake resemble those of a calm ocean. A source of water for seven million people, this body is the fourth largest lake completely within the USA (after Lake Michigan, Alaska’s Lake Iliamna and Utah’s Great Salt Lake).
Near the lake’s shore, we passed by a pile of dead trees that were probably cleared from the Rim Canal. The heap of dead timber was a favorite roost for the area’s vultures. Wanting to capture a closer photo of the large black birds, we stopped so Barb could walk down the grassy, levee slope. While Randall gazed at the lake, he heard some commotion and then turned to observe Barb aggressively stomping in the grass. It was those darn crazy ants again! Rushing to rescue (and spooking the vultures), Randall met Barb on the paved trail where she was doing an impromptu dance. Both her sandals were removed so that we could swat the elusive ants away. Fortunately, no additional bites were inflicted but the episode reminded us of Florida’s pesky insects.
Recovered from the ant attack, we continued with our lakeshore dream tour. At about a hundred feet, we noticed two dozen cattle egrets that were flying ahead of us. The white birds outpaced us slightly so they would land three hundred feet ahead of us and await our arrival. When we closed within 50 FT, they took off again. The setting was reminiscent of seagulls following a ship only these birds were leading the way for us. We were sufficiently entertained by the attention but the bird show was just beginning! After a quarter mile, we noticed that the flock was growing. There soon were 50 birds leading off. A half mile later, there were over a hundred egrets doing the fly-and-land-and-fly sequence.
Two miles later, we had well over two hundred birds in our entourage. Resembling a white cloud now, the growing flock continued to take flight and land. Some of them waited to the last minute to fly up out of our way. It was almost like they were mocking our slower speed. Up ahead, we saw about 70 crows stalking the levee’s grassy slope for insects. When we got close, the crows joined the egrets in flight for a flashy black/white integration. The crows, however, were apparently smarter than the egrets (or less attracted to humans) as they circled around to return to their insect search. Our fearless, white leaders hung out with us to the next locked gate. Amazingly, the bulk of the birds kept us company for six miles. It was the weirdest sensation as we felt like we were herding the birds.
Our fifth gate crossing was at the
This was a more precarious detour because a slushy median prevented us from getting over to the two eastbound lanes. Our only option was to go the wrong way on the westbound shoulder for 500 feet. When we got to the 100 foot long canal bridge, the shoulder necked down to a one foot width. Yikes! We stopped and waited until we could see no cars approaching and then made a mad dash across. After a left turn, we headed back up to the dike. Naturally, another locked gate awaited us on the east side of the water control dam. The sixth crossing was just as challenging as the first five.
Resuming our ride, there were 50 cattle egrets ahead that were still hanging out with us. In the muck fields across the highway, we were seeing some sugarcane farming activity for the first time. One tractor was creating furrows five feet apart. A second tractor was applying fertilizer into the rows of trenches. A third tractor was laying 20 inch stalk segments horizontally into the furrows. The cane stalks have buds every two to four inches which sprout rapidly once covered with moist soil. Because the small seeds from the red or white cane plumes do not germinate very well, five percent of the annual harvest is set aside for stalk plantings. It takes about a year before the mature cane stalks are ready for harvest. Following four years of cane production, the fields are typically planted with rice to restore the soil’s fertility.
After passing four miles of dusty muck fields, our wonderful nature tour came to an end. Highway 27 was bending to the south and we needed to rejoin it for a short ride to South Bay, FL. Our exit was the municipal boat ramp area and of course, there was a locked gate awaiting us. We took one last gaze at a gorgeous Lake Okeechobee. Our faithful egrets would be staying behind. The LOST Trail was quite a treat! This was a rare day where we had to change to a second memory card in our camera. Beyond the gate we could take the public access road down from the dike. Studying the gate, Randall became rebellious and decided that he could walk our rig down the narrow guard rail path. A horrified Barb promoted the crossing instead. Randall trusted the brakes so we inched down the 15 percent grade risking thorns and a runaway tandem. After a successful descent, we paused to get our heart rates back to normal.
A quarter mile jog got us back onto Highway 27. Heading southeast, we pedaled a mile before reaching our motel. Having found the only lodging in this community of 4,000, we decided to locate a restaurant for an early dinner. We zigzagged through town looking for a business district but found none. Pedaling down some residential streets, we saw a number of the African Americans who make up two thirds of South Bay’s population. One young boy playing in a yard commented, “I like your camouflage!” While his companions chided him for referring to our purple jerseys as camouflage, the lad probably had never seen cyclists wearing colorful clothing that were meant to be conspicuous. Because hunting is so prevalent around Lake Okeechobee, we found his interpretation of our bike clothing amusing.
Later, a teenage girl shouted, “Where you been at?” Her accent was so heavy that we couldn’t understand what she was saying. Frustrated, she asked her question two more times with a raised volume. Regrettably, we didn’t piece together what she was asking until we were some distance away. Arriving back at the motel, we decided to check in and get some food from a neighboring convenience store. Five miles to the northeast, there was a larger town, Belle Glade, FL, which would have been a base camp offering more services. But, we decided that with 90 miles in the next tour segment, it would not be prudent to tack on more distance. After getting settled in and showered, we discovered that the area’s wildlife was quite evident in our motel room. Scurrying about the walls was a gecko-type lizard.
At the convenience store, we found lots of food options to satisfy our dinner and breakfast needs. As we paid for our selections, the Hispanic clerk asked us where we were biking to. When we told her we had biked down from Alaska, her eyes got real wide. After hearing that we planned to go south on Highway 27, she gave us a solemn, worried look, and said in a soft voice, “Be safe.” Back at the motel, we savored our day’s dramatic ride as we ate our hot meals. Anticipating an early start the next day, we soon called it a day.
Miles cycled – 34.6
October 25, 2004
The alarm clock rudely awoke us at 5:25 AM. Anticipating a long ride with no services for at least 80 miles, we were extremely motivated to begin our pedaling before dawn. In preparation for biking on a dark Florida highway, we replaced the batteries in our flashing red taillight and in our headlight. Following a large breakfast, we slipped on our sleeveless yellow jackets for greater visibility. One hour before the 7:28 AM sunrise, we launched our rig into the semi-darkness. The glow from South Bay’s streetlights gave us diminishing illumination as we edged out of town.
Our early start was inspired by various factors. Historically, we had found that we could cover a great distance on a bike if we began in a pre-dawn setting. We never understood why. Perhaps our legs stay fresh longer in the morning. The afternoon heat can certainly have an impact. We noticed that as we advanced further south into Florida, both the heat and ultraviolet indices were ramping up. The smooth, clean shoulder of Highway 27 certainly provided us with some riding comfort and safety. If we didn’t have the three to four foot wide shoulder, we would have slept for another hour.
With the early departure, we had expectations of lighter traffic. While very few passenger vehicles passed us, we were stunned by the high volume of semi-truck traffic. Just as our eyes were getting adjusted to the low-light level, a string of seven trucks passed us. All of the drivers moved to the left lane as they went around. Some of them probably thought we were nuts riding in the dark so they gave us the wide berth. All that mattered to us was that they could see our rig. For next ten miles, we averaged one truck per minute. After passing, four of the drivers gave us brief toots with their horns as if they were encouraging us along.
Just after ten miles, we turned onto to a rare side road for our first break. Sunrise was 15 minutes away and we were now beginning to understand why we were seeing all those semis. We were surrounded by tall sugarcane and harvest was underway. The crop is harvested annually from late October through March. Although the stalks have not reached maturity by late fall, the lower-yielding sugarcane is cut earlier to allow time for processing the whole crop through the region’s six sugar mills. Each semi was pulling a yellow trailer with wire-mesh siding. Depending on which direction we were from the mills, the empty trailers were going in one direction and trailers loaded with 20 tons of cane stalks were headed in the opposite direction. During the peak of harvest, a mill will receive two truck loads of sugarcane each minute.
While resting, we were amazed at all the cane trailers going up and down the highway. A few years back, we biked through a sugar beet harvest near Sebewaing, Michigan. The beets would spill from the overflowing trailers onto the highway shoulder. Because of the steady stream of trucks, we had to bike over a lot of abandoned beets. Thankfully in south Florida, the sweet cargo was not bouncing out. The “STOP” sign for the side road where we had paused was curiously altered. It appeared that someone had spray painted the face white. The red background was almost obliterated. We wondered, “Was this done to make rolling stops permissible? Or did the substantial sun bleach the sign?”
As the east sky became a fiery red color, we applied sun screen to our exposed skin. We thought we were reasonably tanned but the Florida sun was making us even darker. Continuing southeast, we were enjoying a moderate tailwind from the north. With a posted speed limit of 65 mph, this divided, four-lane highway was built for high velocity whether you were in a motorized vehicle or on a bicycle. With just a few strokes of the pedals after launching, we reached 10 mph which soon climbed to 15 mph. Adding a few hard strokes, we were startled to see our pace go to 20 mph. We would then settle to 17-18 mph and allow our weighty load to just sail along. Oh life is good!
Twenty-six miles southeast of South Bay, we entered Broward County. With nearly two million residents, Broward is Florida’s second most populated county. It was the center of controversy during the 2000 USA Presidential election recount. Strangely, we would bike 27 miles through the county without passing through a town. A short distance into Broward, the rare side roads went away completely. We were now past the sugarcane farming as the surrounding landscape was swampland with tall grasses. While we were enjoying a highway devoid of traffic signals, the absence of side roads forced us to change our rest stop strategy.
Without any crossroads, it would have been impossible for vehicles to turn around. So, every two miles, a crossover was paved over the grassy median. Because the swamp went right up to our three-foot wide shoulder, we did not feel comfortable stopping at the edge of the highway. For all we knew, a hungry alligator could be lurking nearby. When we were ready to rest, we checked for traffic behind and then scooted over the two southbound lanes for a stop at the crossover. In a couple of instances, there were approaching trucks from the north so we kept on pedaling. We would rather bike seven additional minutes to the next crossover than be caught on the side of the road with a motionless bike. A rest stop is much more relaxing when you’re not concerned with oncoming traffic and sneaky gators.
Even though our route was flat and fast,
there was a lot of exertion on our part. This was quite a contrast to the day
before when we took every opportunity to leisurely enjoy the wonderful sights.
Sugarcane fields, swamps and power lines can seem rather monotonous after 20
miles so a faster pace was sensible. Further south into Broward County, we
noticed canals on both sides of the highway. The North New River Canal on the
east side is slated to eventually replace the
Halfway across Broward County, we biked
under Interstate 75. We had been riding parallel to this expressway since
Kentucky. Called Alligator Alley as it cuts across the swamps of southern
Florida, this 1,786 mile highway runs from Sault Ste. Marie, MI to
Having gone southeast for most of the morning, our route was now taking us directly south. After nearly 50 miles of riding, we were surprised to find a truck stop along the highway. We pulled in to check out their food options. Inside, there were no snack offerings so we bought a bottle of pop to sip. While munching on our energy bars outside, we noticed that the nearby trees were loaded with hundreds of crows. Periodically, a dozen crows would dive down to the gas pumps to seek out any trash inadvertently dropped by the truckers. With no food being sold inside, it appeared to be pretty slim pickings for the crows. There were two coin-operated boxes at the truck stop which distributed the local Hispanic news. Reflecting the upcoming elections, one of the newspapers, El Nuevo Herald, had the headline, “La Florida – Epicentro de la Campaña.”
Continuing south, the traffic was becoming heavier. At Pines Boulevard, we were halted by our first traffic signal of the day. Seven miles to the east, Flamingo Road crosses this boulevard in the heart of Pembroke Pines, FL. Based on automotive crash claims, State Farm Insurance in 2001 ranked this Flamingo/Pines crossing as the most dangerous intersection in the USA. With all the notoriety, the city has no doubt made some improvements to the troubled junction. None the less, we were thankful we were biking down the interior of Florida. Riding along the east coast would have provided a scenic ride as well but the associated stress from venturing into a high-risk traffic area would have been unbearable.
Although more cars were passing us, we
still were not seeing any commercial or residential areas. It’s probably only a
matter of time before the
Shortly after turning onto Highway 997,
we stopped for a photo op. A highway sign displayed, “Homestead 33 –
Before long, the traffic on the narrow, rural highway started to pick up. Being in a county with 2.5 million residents, the extra vehicles were not unexpected but certainly unnerving. One northbound SUV stopped quickly before reaching us. As we wondered what was going on, the driver jumped out and gave us the thumbs up. The enthusiastic tourist then shot a photo as we pedaled by. The number of southbound trucks was noticeably high. Because of oncoming traffic, we had a half dozen trucks queuing up behind us on two occasions. Once the passing lane cleared the truckers all went by in one pass. Although the road was moderately busy, no one tried to run us off the highway.
During our tour planning in 2003, we read a number of stories about scary motorist/cyclist encounters in the sunshine state. Published in 1983, Barbara Savage’s book, “Miles from Nowhere,” portrayed the Florida drivers as inconsiderate and described instances where drivers intentionally ran her and her husband off the road. In contrast, we were finding the state’s motorists to be patient and understanding. The one exception was the trucker with the wide load near Avon Lake. As has been our experience, “timing is everything.” Highways and streets have slow times and busy times. If a cyclist is mixed in with heavy traffic that significantly accumulates to the rear, then a quick exit off the road to allow passage is prudent. When the route offers no safe exit points for some distance, then you would hope that the drivers understand your plight.
Our scenery continued to be a mixture of
trees, tall grass and swampland. Some places along the road were really thick
with melaleuca trees. A couple of pickups pulling trailers with airboats passed
us. About ten miles down the highway, a two-foot wide shoulder was added. We
were so thrilled to have the added comfort zone. After riding 69 miles, we saw
our first commercial development of the day. The Miccosukee Resort and Gaming
building was a ten-story tall casino operated by the Miccosukee Indians. Like
the Seminoles, this small band of the Creek Nation settled in this area to
escape the forced removal from Georgia. South of their complex was a crossroad
called Ta
After crossing the Ta
To the distant east, we could see some
ongoing development gobbling up precious farmland.
On both sides of Highway 997, verdant fields extended all the way to the tree lined horizons. Green beans, celery, lettuce and radishes were among the first crops we passed by. Most of the plants seen were in their early stages of growth. Off in a distance, we could see irrigation systems spraying the young crops in a circular fashion. After pedaling by cabbage, pepper and tomato fields, we noticed a half dozen men sitting on the shady side of a school bus. Having spent the morning pruning tomato plants, the workers were now on their lunch break. Because the tomatoes will eventually be sold in fresh produce markets, the plants were held off the ground using four-foot stakes and nylon twine.
Near SW 136th Street, our watches showed a time of 12 noon. We pulled over to check our progress for the day. Through our past ten years of avid cycling, one of our yardsticks for improvement was the number of miles biked by noon. On one of the two northbound days in Kansas, we managed to ride 54 miles by 12 o’clock. Without touring weight, our best morning in Michigan was a 68 mile trek. So, we were quite astonished to see 77 miles on our tandem’s odometers. Our average speed was an incredible 16.7 mph. As we marveled over our feat, we appreciated the moderate tailwind and infrequent traffic stops which factored in. None the less, we concluded that we would probably never again have such a speedy morning.
Following our 12 noon checkpoint, each mile of our route’s intersections was regulated with traffic signals. The abundant fields were now alternating with fruit orchards and landscape nurseries. The numerous nurseries offered a wide range of tropical plants. It was an awesome sight to see large plots covered with ten-foot palm trees. We met one semi-truck hauling a huge, three-foot diameter palm tree along with several smaller ones. The fruit orchards were offering exotic produce such as longan, guava, papaya, lychee, coconut, annona and bananas. Some of the orchards must have been popular with the birds as they were entirely covered with screening. Among the 40 tropical fruit growers based in Homestead is “Going Bananas” which offers nearly 100 varieties of the yellow fruit.
As our surroundings were becoming more and more urban, we continued to see patches of crops, orchards and nurseries. In subsequent vegetable fields, we were able to observe various planting and cultivation practices. Specialized planting equipment was creating well groomed trenches across each field. As seeds were inserted between the furrows, an 18-inch wide span of black plastic sheeting was neatly tucked into the soil. The plastic provides extra warmth for faster growth and helps protect the young plants from blasts of wind. For crops like peppers and tomatoes that require transplanting, the process became more labor intensive. The planter would punch holes in the plastic as it was laid in place. Two operators, riding at the back of the planter quickly inserted a seedling into each hole.
In another field, we saw a tractor
slowly pull an odd looking implement along rows of 12-inch tall tomato plants.
Three workers on each side of the equipment were walking under the machine’s 20
foot long arms. Each operator had a pneumatic hammer that they used to pound
steel stakes into the ground. Between every two plants, a stake was inserted
one foot into the soil. In addition to the unique machinery, the large scale
operations required a lot of resources as well. Pallets of black plastic rolls
were place along the road for reloading the planters. Eight-foot tall,
Biking near the outskirts of Homestead,
we noticed that the cross street names were numerically increasing. Typically,
the numbers get smaller as you approach the center of a city. Beginning at the
Ta
Following a huge lunch, we returned to our tandem refreshed and chilled. In the parking lot, we spotted a photo opportunity. A service truck that catered to preventive maintenance had the name, P.M.S. Their slogan was, “It’s that time of the month.” Pedaling south again, we passed by even more orchards, nurseries and fields. This was certainly the most remarkable agricultural setting that we had ever seen. Two miles from Dairy Queen, a sign noted the Homestead city limits. The two lane highway was now a divided, four-lane street with a ten-foot grassy median lined with palm trees.
When we reached the downtown area, our
orientation was challenged because the eastside streets ran parallel to Highway
1 which angled to the southwest. After meandering over to the busy highway, we
jogged over a short distance to reach our motel. Our 2:15 PM arrival was at
least two hours earlier than we had expected. After checking in, we gave our
legs a welcomed rest. Because of
Miles cycled – 89.4
October 26-28, 2004
Following a late morning breakfast, we set out to find a local grocery store. We hitched up our empty trailer as we expected to make a large food purchase. Our room was furnished with a fridge and microwave so we wanted to take full advantage of that. Wandering a half mile to the center of Homestead, we found Borges Supermarket and Cafeteria. Like a number of businesses in town, the grocery store catered to the Spanish-speaking population. Because of the labor intensive agriculture in the area, 50 percent of the region’s residents are Hispanic. As we locked up our tandem outside, we sensed that we were attracting a lot of attention. A bicycle built for two was not a common sighting for the store’s customers.
Once inside, we pushed our grocery cart down all aisles seeking out the foods that we had some familiarity with. We soon realized that we were the only non-Hispanics in the store. Given the Spanish prominence, we then wondered if our being mono-lingual would be an issue during checkout. As we traversed the narrow aisles, we found ourselves repeating most of them as our usual comfort foods were elusive. Going by shelves of pop and beverages, all the drinks were independent brands. There was no Coke or Pepsi. The meat department was very minimal and prepackaged items such as sandwich cuts were nonexistent.
Even more daunting to us was the absence of freezer displays. No TV dinners, no frozen pizzas. Hmmmm? After several loops around, our grocery cart started to accumulate stuff. A gallon each of orange juice and milk and two boxes of macaroni/cheese mixes were selected. Finally, we decided on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so a few more passes were needed to locate bread and the cherished spreads. While only one brand of peanut butter was stocked, there was nearly an entire shelf for sauces. From La Victoria green taco sauce to Pico Pica Mexican hot sauce, the choices seemed endless. Before checking out, we noticed a large display of religious candles and trinkets. Judging by the quantities, the tall “Our Lady of Guadalupe” candles were quite popular.
After we added cans of peanuts and cashews, the clerk then scanned our items and the amount due flashed on the register. Without saying a word, the cheery clerk took Barb’s credit card to complete the transaction. Based on our selections, we were obviously not local patrons. As we walked out with our bags, we realized how insular we were with our preference for American foods. Returning to the motel, we settled in for some relaxation and writing. Our email retrieval yielded a note from a well-wisher and a dozen messages that were spam. We could thank south Florida for the unwanted messages. Historically, the state has been home to large telemarketing firms. It’s only natural that the spammers would also take advantage of the gorgeous weather and the low key atmosphere.
The next day, we continued with the writing. A rough draft was started for an end-of-trip press release. Needing something beyond peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, we biked to a nearby cafe for lunch. A conspicuous sign outside the restaurant stated, “Bicycle Parking Only – Please Secure Your Bicycle Properly.” An ordinance code posted below the note to cyclists made us curious. Apparently the authorities were fed up with all the reports of stolen bicycles. After lunch, our return route to the motel took us by a clever sign for the local optometrist. The letter on the top row was a large “E.” Below that was a smaller “YE.” For those with good eye sight, you could see the smallest letters “CARE.”
After spending the balance of the day reviewing our photos, we stayed up late to watch the spectacular show in the sky. The lunar eclipse started at 9:14 PM and we began our viewing a few minutes before 10 PM. Unlike some areas in North America, we had a cloudless setting for our observation. We watched as the colors changed from orange to dark brown. At 10:23 PM, the totality began with the Moon completely immersed within the Earth’s dark umbral shadow. This phase of the total lunar eclipse lasted for 81 minutes. After five minutes, we had sufficiently captured the moment digitally. The dark brown blob wasn’t as exciting to watch so we returned to our room. It was way past our bed time. The next total lunar eclipse for the USA will not occur until February 21, 2008.
On our last full day in Homestead, we
needed a changed of venue so we hopped on our tandem for a ride into town. With
no set route to follow, we just meandered around while trying to avoid getting
lost. Following Highway 1 a short distance south, we noticed that some of the
billboards were in Spanish. It felt like we were in a foreign country. We soon
found ourselves on SW 344th Street which was also called Palm Drive.
For our convenience, there was a bike lane marked to the right of the two
westbound lanes of traffic. We were now in Florida City, FL, the southernmost
mainland municipality in the United States. Originally named
At the center of town was a fairly new civic complex. In 1992, Florida City and Homestead bore the brunt of Category-5 Hurricane Andrew. Florida City, with 8,000 residents, lost three-quarters of their structures so a lot of rebuilding has occurred over the past decade. As a result of stricter post-hurricane building standards, the newer structures were designed to withstand 175 mph winds. Turning northward, we zigzagged through a residential neighborhood. The area’s homeowners certainly weren’t bashful about loud colors. Florescent pink, toy green and sea blue were among the prominent exteriors. All of the dwellings had either metal shutters or steel bars covering the windows. Because many residents had tall fences around their front and/or back yard, we initially thought that the window coverings were for security. However, the shielding also provides good storm protection.
After heading east for a while, we turned left at A - OK Fish ‘N’ Bait. We found ourselves back on Highway 997 but in a northbound direction. Also called Krome Avenue, we noticed that traffic on Homestead’s primary road was rather light. We got the sense that we were off the beaten path. Surveying the mix of car tags, nearly all of the vehicles had Florida plates. Most tourist traffic apparently skips by Homestead using Highway 1 or the Florida Turnpike. Florida has 100 specialty license plates for those who want an alternative to the standard design showing a pair of oranges overlapping the state’s outline. Also displayed at the tag’s top and bottom are “MyFlorida.com” and “Sunshine State.” Among the most popular specialty plates are Panther, Protect Wild Dolphins and University of Florida.
As we neared historic downtown
Homestead, the first thing we noticed was the really tall palm trees. The
healthy plants were taller than the street’s two-story buildings. The community
had done a great job refurbishing the downtown district. The stucco exterior of
the buildings all looked freshly painted. After passing the Seminole Theatre,
we biked over brick pavers which depicted a large rose flower. This area opened
to homesteaders in 1898. Now with almost 40,000 residents, the community began
to thrive with the 1904-1912 construction of the overseas railroad to
On the way back to our motel, we passed by a large, windowless building with the prominent sign, “Amputee Brace Clinic.” Sadly, this business probably exists because of repetitive motions and mechanized activities associated with the region’s agricultural work. After spending more time writing at our base camp, we biked a mile south on Highway 1 for dinner. Near the south terminus of the Florida Turnpike was a Golden Coral restaurant. We were very impressed with their buffet so we decided to return for breakfast the next morning. That evening, we reviewed in detail our map itinerary for the Keys. We were so close to an anticipated fun-filled ride that it was difficult to get to sleep that night.
Miles cycled – 11.0
October 29, 2004
Expecting a ride of about 40 miles, we
began our day much later than usual. Before departing, Barb had contacted The
Reporter, a daily newspaper covering the Upper Keys region. When told of our
impending arrival in Key Largo, a Reporter staff member asked that we call again
once we reached our campsite. At 10:15 AM, we biked one mile south for our
return visit to the Golden Coral. With breakfast served until 11 AM, we made
several trips to the endless buffet. While the food was so delicious, we
realized that this would be the last time we were be eating in an uncontrolled
fashion. When our waitress asked where we were biking to, she followed with,
“You’ll have fun riding to
During Randall’s visit to the rest room,
another restaurant employee quizzed him about the extent of our bike trip.
As he studied our HFH card, the well-dressed worker was just incredulous about
our journey. In wishing Randall well with our upcoming finish, the staff
member then noted that he had a brother that was into bicycle racing.
Shortly after Randall rejoined Barb in the dining area, the soft background music was
interrupted. From the P.A. system, an enthusiastic voice bellowed out, “Ladies
and Gentlemen, the staff here at Golden Coral would like to welcome our very
special guests today. Randall and Barb Angell of
While we were blushing from the sudden
notoriety, a man at a neighboring table teased us with, “I’m driving my pickup
over to
Back on southbound Highway 1, we were
now at the point where the turnpike traffic merged in. Four miles to the east
is the Homestead-
Although the Eighteen Mile Stretch has a
two foot wide shoulder, the motorists’ behavior creates a setting where there’s
no safe refuge for cyclists. Tourists out of
Just getting across Highway 1 for our
left turn onto Card Sound Road was an ordeal. After waiting through two traffic
signal intervals, we squeezed between some paused motorists to get over to the
turning lane. Whew! Bearing southeast, Highway 905A was flat and straight with
a two-foot grassy shoulder between the pavement and guardrail. A large, empty
rock truck rumbled past us shortly after we entered the narrow highway. With
such a narrow margin of space on our right, our feelings were somewhat
claustrophobic. More empty trucks headed southeast while full trucks headed
northwest. We soon realized that there was a rock quarry ahead. Thankfully,
Florida Rock and Sand was just four miles down the road. Once past the quarry
entrance, we were away from the busy rock-hauling loop to
Because of the truck traffic, the surface of Card Sound Road was moderately rough. After five miles, we stopped at a side road for a rest break. Now mid day, the tropical heat was really a drain. In addition to drinking lots of water, we soaked up our purple bandanas with water. The coolness on our scalps felt wonderful as we resumed our pedaling. The scenery varied from grassy marshes to dense mangrove trees. Occasionally, there were pools of water along the road. We were amused by a homemade sign that was nailed to a utility pole. Unreliable distances were posted as “Ocean Reef 5 – Key Largo 11 – Cuba 190.” Ocean Reef is a private resort on northern Key Largo. Like the sign at the start of Highway 997, the mileage indicators, raised our level of excitement.
Just past the sign, a small group of squatters have carved out a rickety community along a cove off of Barnes Sound. Living in boats or piles of scrap wood stacked up to look like boats, the year-round residents make their living from the cove. Because they are right at the county line, the temporary status of the squatters’ moorings is not questioned. Near one boat, we could see several bags of harvested sponges. Natural sponges are considered more absorbent, durable and longer lasting than synthetic sponges. Annually, over a half million sponges are pulled from the Keys waters. Next to another boat, there were several stacks of crab cages.
Continuing past the boat homes, we stopped at the public boat dock to check out the cove view. The mangrove trees were tightly packed around the cove’s perimeter. Some anglers were preparing their boats for an outing. From the shoreline, we could see various fish darting through the water. South of the dock was a restaurant/bar called Alabama Jacks. Their sign lured motorists’ eyes with, “Welcome to Downtown Cardsound – Voted Best Conch Fritters in the Keys – Welcome Bikers.” Parked in front were a dozen motorcycles and a few cars. Although it might have been interesting to mix with the motorcyclists, our tanks were still plenty full from the breakfast buffet so we pedaled on.
We were so focused on the unique
restaurant that we barely noticed the bridge toll booth ahead. A
Our twenty-third and final county in Florida is known as the “County of Islands.” As we launched, we noticed a roadside vendor selling live blue crabs. After pedaling two hundred feet, we stopped on the wide shoulder before attempting to climb up the bridge. Strangely, there was a sign ahead of the bridge with the word, “Bridge.” The area is not lighted at night so apparently they have had motorists that were startled by the abruptness of the bridge. The grade of the approach appeared to be eight to nine percent so we positioned our chain into granny gear. With the sound of gently slapping water coming from both sides of the road, we slowly began our ascent.
For first half of the climb, there was a walkway with a three foot high concrete wall. About 50 feet up, two young men were fishing as they had five poles distributed along the wall. A sign warned, “No Jumping or Diving from Bridge.” When we reached the end of the walkway, the wall was shortened by one foot to serve as a curb. With the shifty cross winds, a two-foot high wall is not a substantial barrier. Paranoid that we could topple over the side, we rode four feet away from the edge. Traffic was light and not an issue. Only two pickups passed before we reached the bridge’s apex. During our bridge crossing, a sizable yacht was approaching from the north. Crossing from Biscayne Bay on the left to Barnes Sound on the right, the large boat passed under us as we reached the top.
At the bridge’s summit, everything opened up. We feasted our eyes on a wonderful panoramic seascape. There was endless water to the horizon in almost every direction. To our right, the fast-moving yacht cut through the expansive and highly reflective waters. Straight ahead, patches of dark green mangroves swirled forward before ending at the Atlantic Ocean. On our left, the darker blue waters went on for miles. Oh, what a view! Barb snapped the camera repetitively as we knew this brilliant setting would be fleeting. Although our weight could have sent us flying down the other side at 35 mph, Randall squeezed the brake levers tightly for a dramatic 12 mph descent. With our giddy feelings, it was like we were floating through the air.
After departing the bridge, a sign noted that we were entering the Crocodile Lake National Wildlife Refuge. The sanctuary was established in 1980 to protect the breeding and nesting habitat for the endangered American crocodile. While the brackish water next to the road discourages alligators, crocs thrive in it. The refuge apparently has been a success. The reptiles were proliferating so well that chain link fences were installed in places to deter road crossings. More aggressive than alligators, crocodiles are the top predators in their environment. While they might look clumsy on land, they can actually sprint up to 30 mph for a very short distance.
In spite of this grave danger, we left the highway at the first clearing. With the Biscayne Bay as our backdrop, we positioned our rig next to the shoreline for our proud display of seven fingers. Seven thousand, unbelievable miles! While capturing photos of our treasured moment, we glanced around frequently for any signs of crocs. Once our special moment was documented, we hastily got back on the highway and pedaled away. The road took us mostly east towards the interior of Key Largo, the largest of the Key islands. Along the way, we crossed four short bridges which had signs warning, “No Fires on Bridges or Roadways.” We met a yellow utility tractor that had a column of circular saws on a hydraulic arm. The equipment was trimming the mangroves back from the highway.
After four miles of mangroves and patches of sparkling blue water, we reached a junction in the road. To the left was the private road to Ocean Reef. On our right, Highway 905 went nine miles southwest before joining with Highway 1. Making a turn to the south, we were pleased to find a much smoother highway. We still had no shoulder but the traffic was quite light. Two miles down the road, we passed by the former Nike missile site. Closed in 1979, the site was hastily constructed after the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis. At the outskirts of the Crocodile Refuge, we felt safe enough for an extended rest. Because there was no shoulder, we picked a shady side road for our stop.
While we were studying our map, a state park ranger stopped his truck and asked if we were lost. When we told him that we had biked down from Alaska, he looked over our rig and queried, “Your stuff doesn’t look that weathered?” If only we had thought to show him the inside flaps of our faded red bags. Instead, we handed the dubious ranger our HFH card. He said that he had donated some landscaping plants to Habitat for Humanity. As far as sights in the Keys, he recommended a wild bird center and the hawk watch. Given that it was a Friday afternoon, he cautioned us that it gets pretty crazy on the weekends.
The rest of Highway 905 was somewhat bland as far as the Keys go. The trees were fairly solid on either side of the road. But, we were quite content to be away from traffic. Our 25 mile alternate route ended with our road going straight into Highway 1 as it curved around from the north. At this merging, there was a convenience store which was an obvious stop for us. From our research of the Keys, we knew that there was little shade and that convenience stores were few and far apart. Even though we were less than nine miles from our destination, we packed our Camelbaks with icy water. Outside the store, we were amused to see a rooster and hen in a heavy commercial area. They were contently pecking along the grassy edge of the parking lot.
Departing the convenience store was no easy matter. We had to cross four lanes of the moderately busy Highway 1, otherwise known as the Overseas Highway. Southbound motorists up to this point had enjoyed a speedy 18 miles and had yet to adjust to the island speed limits. There was a bike path on the south side of the road that ran the entire length of Key Largo. The beginning of the path at the Highway 905/1 junction was not well marked. Our plan was to use the path only as a rational alternative. Cyclists taking the path contend with countless driveways and drivers who do not even think about looking before crossing the path. Trees and shrubs reduce visibility making right-of-way issues even more challenging. Because the path would require constant vigilance, we decided that the highway with a shoulder would be safer.
After nearly ten minutes of waiting, the
traffic cleared sufficiently for a crossing. Given that it was the weekend, we
gave particular attention to RVs and to pickups pulling boat trailers. The
extended mirrors on some vehicles can really stick out a ways. We were now
approaching MM 106. Like the Alaskan Highway, locations in the Keys are
indicated by mile markers which measure the distance to the Monroe County
Courthouse in
The first thing you notice about Key
Largo is the extravagant commercialism. These desperate businesses have to be
that way. Every day, thousands of tourists pass by with the intent of reaching
At MM 103.6, we crossed the 400-foot long bridge over the Marvin Adams Waterway. Known as the “Cut” by boaters and businesses, the half mile passage cuts the 30 mile long Key Largo at about the middle. The man-made waterway offers a shortcut between Florida Bay and the ocean. Scattered on the islands are marinas catering to the ever-present anglers and skin divers. We saw a number of dive flags waving from buildings. The flags’ red rectangles split diagonally by a white stripe gave us a cheery welcome. Key Largo, a community of 12,000 is known as the “Diving Capital of the World.” It is home to the most extensive living coral reef system in North American waters and the third largest system in the world. A mile southwest of the Cut, we passed the entrance to John Pennekamp State Park which is famous for its snorkeling and diving.
This state park was the first underwater preserve in the United States. With the coral and artificial reefs, recreational diving is huge in this region. If the Keys’ long history of shipwrecks doesn’t offer enough stuff to explore, there are several ships that were intentionally sent to the bottom. The most recent large sinking was the 510-foot long naval ship, Spiegel Grove, in 2002. Key Largo hosts 100 to 200 underwater weddings each year. One popular spot to get hitched is near the “Christ of the Deep.” The nine-foot statue of Christ has arms lifting up to the heavens from beneath the waves. And if you’re really into diving, you can check into the Jules Vern off the coast of Key Largo, the world’s only underwater hotel.
After passing a few restaurants, we
decided to eat at the Waffle House at MM 100.2. This chain is quite prominent
throughout southeast USA but this was the first one we had stopped at during our
tour. Having driven to
Just beyond the restaurant was the sign
for MM 100. We stopped to get a good photo as this was another epic moment for
us. A passing motorcyclist yelled out to us, “Only 100 miles, you’re almost
there!” Three miles off shore from MM 100 is the Benwood on French Reef, one of
the most dived shipwrecks in the world. Continuing on, the four lanes on the
Overseas Highway were soon separated by a 200-foot wide median. Our paved
shoulder deteriorated to nothing while the traffic kept a pretty good pace.
With two miles yet to go, we were resigned to riding on the bumpy but firm
grassy surface next to the highway. It wasn’t the most pleasant riding surface
but we had seen a lot worse. Along the way, a billboard advertised Hog’s Breath
Saloon, a
Having rumbled on the grass for a while, we were ecstatic to see the entranced sign for America Outdoors Camping Resort. In the spirit of Halloween, there was a “witch” smacked against the sign. Barb called the newspaper reporter to let her know we were in town. She said that she would be over in fifteen minutes. Inside the campground office, the manager asked about our trip. When he learned about our Habitat for Humanity involvement, he noted that he had helped with HFH houses on Big Pine Key. While registering at the office, we checked the time on the wall clock only to find that the clock’s hands had fallen off. When you’re in the Keys, time is irrelevant.
We had to decide between $40 or $50 sites. Checking the lower priced locations next to the highway, we concluded that it was quiet and secluded enough for a restful night. Before the reporter’s arrival, we wondered what kind of photo the newspaper would want so we delayed setting up our campsite. Soon, the reporter pulled into the campground driving a red convertible. After we guided her to our campsite, she quizzed us about what we packed on our rig. Like many before, she was amazed that we could get by on so little. Once she took our photo standing behind the tandem, she was quickly on her way to another story. To read the story, click here From Alaska to Florida by Bicycle.
Following the interview, we hastily put up our tent on the super-white sand. With power hookups and a picnic table, we had everything we needed. Having had two full meals for the day, we snacked on energy bars as oppose to cooking a meal. We were surprised to learn that the campground offered wireless internet through Linkspot. The catch was that it wasn’t free. With a one day subscription of $5, we were able to retrieve email and news stories much faster than the usual dialup connection. On our way to the showers, the sign, “No Bike Riding After Dark,” attracted our attention. Strolling across the grounds, we enjoyed the colorful trees and flowers. The trees’ growth had been managed to give every campsite some seclusion.
Instead of washing clothes at the available laundry facility, we soaped them up in the shower. After drying off, we wringed the water from our clothes and then slipped them back on. We had done this many times before with a chilling effect. With the temperatures in the mid 80s, this was the first time that the damp clothes felt really comfortable. Less than an hour later, we were completely dry! Following our refreshing showers, we went to the shore to check out the view of Florida Bay. An outdoor food bar called Fishtails was at the center of attention on the shore. With lunch and breakfast served there, we knew where our next meal was coming from. From the food bar, a wooden pier stretched out 300 feet into the bay. We ventured out on the decking to gaze at the mangrove lined shore to the northwest. The south boundary of Everglades National Park is just a mile north from the Keys coastline. What a wonderful way to end the day.
Returning to our tent, we meandered by several RVs that were parked in the area. It was apparent to us that we were in a very upscale campground. On our short list of campgrounds, we could have settled for a site with fewer amenities. However, we saw this as an opportunity to gawk at the lifestyles of the rich. Besides the Greyhound bus sized RVs, there were several midsize units that had quite a setup. Tracking white sand in? No problem. Just cover the entire lot with green outdoor carpet. Satellite dishes were more abundant than mosquitoes. For inclement weather, a simple awning wouldn’t do. Many had full lot coverage with an overhead canopy. Back at our campsite, the mosquitoes were starting to feast so we retired to our cozy tent.
Miles cycled – 38.2
October 30, 2004
At 7:10 AM, we were awakened by the morning’s first light. With temperatures in the low 70s, we began packing things right away. Breakfast service at Fishtails would start at 8 AM so we wanted to break camp by then. Because of the heavy traffic we saw on Highway 1 the day before, we were motivated to be back on the road before the vehicle volume ramped up. Once our rig was loaded, we pedaled the 500 feet to the shoreline snack bar. While waiting for the food vendor to open, we strolled once again onto the pier to check out the gorgeous blue bay. We noticed that some of posts near the pier were topped with plastic caps in the shape of a cone. Apparently this covering was use to control bird roosting.
Near the pier, there was a sign that had been posted by Save our Seabirds, Inc (SOS). The very detailed display offered tips for anglers who inadvertently hook a bird with their fishing line. The photo instructions included how to hold the bird and how to extract the hook. To aid in the bird’s recovery, SOS strongly discouraged the quick resolution of cutting the line. Another sign posted on the side of the food bar gave us a chuckle with, “May your fish always be bigger than the holes in your net!” Besides serving breakfast and lunch, the vendor also sold frozen bait. Because we wanted to maintain our morning appetite, we didn’t dwell very long on the long list of bait: “squid, chum, finger mullets, thread herring, rigged ballyhoo, and silver sides.”
When the food bar opened, we quickly placed our orders. The female cook noted our matching bicycle jerseys and remarked, “Don’t you two look cute!” After receiving our servings of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon, we seated ourselves near the bayside view. As we plopped down into our chairs, we could feel some immediate stiffness in our back and legs. Our bodies were revolting not because of the cycling but because we hadn’t camped since central Georgia. Although our air mattresses provided some comfort, they didn’t match the softness of a motel bed. While enjoying our meals, the campground cat watched us intently. The feline’s begging eyes and meow pleas were ineffectual as this pair of hungry bikers would not be leaving any scraps.
With our duel fuel tanks filled we hopped back onto Highway 1. Now at MM 98, the traffic was light enough that we could stay on the pavement. With two southwest-bound lanes, all traffic could pass us without issue. A couple of the locals were apparently unnerved by our presence on the highway. We could see them pointing in the direction of the bike path after passing. If it would have been the middle of the afternoon, we would have considered the path as the shoulderless road and traffic would have made things too stressful for any great distance. After two miles, the wide, 200 foot median narrowed back to 20 feet. With previous widths up to two miles, the island was now only 1,500 feet across. We were now getting some glimpses of the scenic ocean. The movie, PT-109 had some scenes staged on Key Largo’s shores.
A half mile past MM 95, we reached the boundary of Tavernier, a small community of 2,500. While we were still on Key Largo Island, a small, deserted island one mile offshore had the name Tavernier Key. Many of the Keys’ names are Spanish as the prefixing name was Cayo which denotes a small, coral-based island. After decades of mispronunciation by English-speaking residents, Cayo became Key. Tavernier is actually a French name meaning tavern keeper and was probably derived from the original Cayo Tavona which translates to Key of the Horse Flies. In the 1800s, pirates used this key as their base during the day and searched the reef at night for booty from ships that had run aground and sank.
At MM 93.6, we noticed a sign at the entrance of the Florida Keys Wild Bird Center. If the park ranger hadn’t suggested this attraction, we would have missed it as the sign wasn’t very prominent. This six-acre rehabilitation site for birds is the largest of four centers located on the Keys. Their primary purpose is to provide emergency and recuperative care for injured birds. Eighty percent of the avian patients are treated for fishing-related incidents. Toxic chemical exposure and collisions harm the balance of the birds. A number of chicks that have fallen out of their nest are also received. For the center’s staff, success is measured by the number of birds returned to the wild to continue their natural life cycle. Those birds that are permanently disabled live out their protected lives at the center and provide photo opportunities for gawking tourists like us.
With camera in hand, we entered the
network of boardwalks which meandered to the bay’s shoreline. Our fall timing
was excellent for viewing birds as the migration season had been underway for a
couple of weeks. Also, since all of the focus was on
Among the cages were displayed a number of interpretive signs and memorials. In addition to describing the various species, the signs educated the public about the perils that wild birds face. Similar to SOS’s sign at the campground, there was information on caring for birds caught on a fishing line. One posting listed a long discourse about the pros and cons of feeding wild birds. The center emphasized that they only distribute limited amounts of food and that the birds are fed only their natural diets of fish. The problem outside of the center is that humans have a natural instinct to nurture children, pets and wildlife. The digestive system for birds cannot tolerate the fats and preservatives that human food contains. Even worse for the seabirds is filleted or scrap fish. The exposed fish bones get stuck before a bird’s system can dissolve the bones.
Halfway into the refuge, we noticed that the staff was walking around with five-gallon buckets. It was feeding time. Initially, the sight (and smell) was sickening to us as cage trays were filled with live minnows and other small fish. After the cage feeding was completed, a bucket of fish was emptied into an opening in the trees. Dozens of egrets of all sizes immediately swooned down upon the rocks to feed. What a sight! Continuing down the boardwalk, there were seabirds all about in the mangrove and buttonwood trees and in the marshy waters. While a snowy egret posed precariously on a limb for us, we gazed at its striking colors. The white bird had a yellow patch of skin around its eyes, a black bill and black legs with bright yellow feet. Geez, why would a seabird have such distinguished-looking feet?!
Once we reached the shoreline, a large contingent of pelicans awaited us. While only the seabirds back at the cages were being fed, these large, web-footed birds seemed to be anticipating food with our arrival. Seeing numerous small and large fish in the surrounding water, we felt that surely these birds could make an honest living. Soon, one the larger birds lurched for a fish, with its wings spread in a canopy over the target. The boldest of the pelicans stood on a small rock six feet away and gave us several photogenic poses. Returning to the cages, we noticed some spider webs we had missed earlier. A sign stated, “These spiders are harmless to people, they bite only bugs!” Near a supply shed, a large web had a distinctive “X” entwined across the network of thin string. It was almost as if the silver orb weaver spider had marked its signature.
Before departing the center, we checked out one last spur on the boardwalk. To our amazement, the path led to two pens of infant raccoons. A staff member soon arrived and asked if we wanted to see one up closed. We giggled as the juveniles scurried up and down the three levels of their cages. They acted like small kittens with three times the speed. As she retrieved the raccoon, the woman explained that the masked critters come into rehab because their moms were killed through trapping. The orphaned raccoons stay for a year before being release in the spring as a family group.
For several minutes, Barb tried to take photos of the raccoon squirming all about the woman’s shoulders. The very energetic creature wasn’t being very cooperative. The most famous raccoon to rehab at the center was “Bud Man.” For a month, campers had seen this unfortunate critter hobbling around a campground before some young men contacted the center for rescue. Because the animal’s front leg was stuck in the tab opening of the beer can, the staff had to perform a “canectomy.” After surgery and rehab, the young raccoon become another success story. Back at the entrance, we intently inserted money into the donation box. Enthralled by both the diversity and magnitude, that was the most interesting bird sanctuary we had ever seen.
When we reached our rig, we noticed that something was tucked under the bungee cord attached to our trailer. It was a dollar bill. A visitor apparently saw our HFH banner and decided to make an unsolicited donation. Wow! The anonymous contribution was very meaningful to us as we will never forget the method of delivery. Now almost 10 AM, we had biked only four miles of our projected 50 mile target. But, we considered our advancement quite adequate for absorbing the Keys. A leisurely pace was appropriate as we wondered when would we ever get to bike on this stretch again. With prevailing winds out of the northeast at 10 to 15 mph, how could any southwest-bound cyclist be concerned with making progress?
As we rambled through Tavernier, we crossed over Tavernier Creek near MM 90. The wide, natural channel offered boaters another opportunity to travel from the bay side to the ocean side. On the 300- foot long bridge, there was a narrow walkway that was separated by a concrete wall. Since, the traffic was still light, we stayed with the highway. Beyond the waterway was Plantation Key where the four lanes necked down to two with a nice shoulder. Tavernier also straddles this key which can be confusing to visitors. The 127-mile long Keys archipelago, which is a cluster of 1,700 mostly deserted islands, is just a crazy quilt of unplanned town, villages and keys. On the west side of the channels sits the Tavernier Creek Marina. The site is quite prominent with its large, blue/white striped sheds for housing boats. While resting after the bridge crossing, we watched as an oversized forklift truck with 20 foot long forks was hauling a shiny new boat from the display yard. Having grown up in land-locked Kansas, we had never seen anything like that.
The five-mile long Plantation Key was aptly named from its early days of pineapple and banana production. Coconut, limes and vegetables also were grown here up through the early 1900s. Key limes were popular for sailors to prevent scurvy on their long voyages. Farming all but disappeared because of limited water supply, distance to market and tropical storms. The housing developments and lower Cuban prices also led to the demise of island based produce. One of the island’s landmarks is the McKee castle at MM 86.7. The building once belonged to “Silver Bar McKee,” a Navy diver who struck it rich in the 1940s when he discovered the remains of a lost Spanish fleet. The commercial site now houses various merchants in Treasure Village. With a 35-foot lobster near the highway, the place is hard to miss.
After passing through Plantation Key
nonstop, we pedaled over Snake Creek using a 200-foot long span that included a
draw bridge. Unlike the
previous bridge, we had a comfortable four-foot shoulder to ride on. We
normally would walk our rig over grated surfaces but this passage was a short
span that created no problems. Naming a wide channel a creek confused us as we
considered a creek to be a stream with a small trickle of water. The somewhat
elevated bridge gave us a wonderful view of the ocean to the south. With the
creek crossing, we were in Windley Key and Islamorada, FL (pronounced
EYE-la-mor-AH-da). This city of 7,000 is one of only five incorporated cities
on the Keys. The others are Layton, Key Colony Beach, Marathon and
The main attraction on the two-mile long
Windley Key is the Theater of the Sea at MM 84.5. The former quarry is a marine
animal park which stars various sea creatures. We were quite impressed with the
park’s bushes which were sculpted to look like dolphins. Continuing our island
hopping, we pedaled over the Whale Harbor Channel. Enjoying another
Once inside the Chamber’s office, we
were chilled by the air conditioning as the temperature outside was a humid 81
degrees. While perusing the available pamphlets and postings, the staff asked
about our trip. One woman, a native of Kentucky, was excited to hear that we
biked through her home state. She reminisced about the wondrous fields of
tobacco and how the plants’ flower stalks shot up in the late summer. With
vivid memories of the tobacco flower’s brilliant pink color, she lamented that
her husband, a Keys native, had never seen this unique Kentucky setting. Our
adventure reminded the staff of two women who earlier traveled through the Keys
on foot. Amazingly, the walkers spent 14 months traveling from Blaine, WA to
At the visitor’s center, we learned that Islamorada is known as the “Village of Islands.” The name Islamorada is frequently translated from Spanish as "purple isles." Hence, the color purple inundates the local shops and resorts. The municipality proclaims itself as the “Sports Fishing Capital of the World” as it holds more sports fishing world records than any other destination in the world. The Atlantic side of Islamorada is brimming with marlin, dolphin, tuna, lobster, snapper and grouper. In the shallow backcountry waters of Florida Bay, anglers can easily find tarpon, bonefish and redfish. With all of the angling opportunities, the area boasts that it has more boats and ships per square mile than anywhere else on earth.
Cooled and refreshed, we continued across Upper Matecumbe Key. This island was devastated by the Labor Day Hurricane of 1935 with storm winds exceeding 200 miles per hour and a 17-foot tidal wave that washed over Islamorada. Hundreds of lives were lost. Among the dead