The Overseas Highway in the dark is one hell of a ride. The air is warm at 5:45 in the morning, at least 80 degrees, even in mid October, the rainy season is still upon us so stretches of the Highway are wet and glistening from the passage of recent downpours. The air smells of salt sea air and little else as the restaurants are closed, the bars are closed and most worker bees are still snoring before 6 am. Its too early to able to spot the blue flickering screens of morning televisions ( an abominable habit says the former radio newsman in me), marina docks are devoid of people as I rumble by, glancing at the orange dock lights illuminating the boats bobbing alongside the finger piers.
Speeding is tricky when its dark because a set of headlights catching up with you from behind can either indicate someone in a hurry or a deputy anxiously closing the distance to initiate a traffic stop. My tactic when i see a pair of headlights fast approaching in my mirrors is to slow down to the speed limit plus 5 (5mph over the limit garners you only a written warning, the maximum penalty by State Law) and wait and see. Often its just another speeder who flashes by as I dawdle along, but not always. Its the same when I spot a pair of side lights glowing on the Highway's shoulder. Sometimes its just a bridge fisherman organizing his pre-dawn hobby in the trunk of his car. Other times its a Highway Patrol officer operating a laser radar gun. One zap and you're fined.
As the dawn comes up its a reminder of why living in the Keys is so special. Dawn anywhere is a wondrous thing, especially as one grows older with the increased awareness of the finite number of dawns left to to enjoy, but this year's heavy rainy season has produced spectacular light displays at dawn and dusk. The view from the top of the 70-foot Long Key Bridge, called for some reason Channel Five, opens up the full array of pinks and purples and grays hidden in the shifting cloud layers, spreads them across the gunmetal ocean surface and reflects streaks of orange between the cloud layers, like a portraits of the second coming in Renaissance art. The Bonneville, a triumph of modern craftsmanship, purrs along steadily, sweeping through the curves, wide open to 70 mph in the 55mph constriction of the two lane highway. Checking for cream and black FHP cars is prosaic but so necessary, even while god's handiwork is on show, the rising sun an irresistible distraction from the necessary preservation of one's driving privilege.
The drive to Pure Triumph of Fort Lauderdale for the motorcycle's first service is a 165 mile mixture of all the types of roads one can take in the flat lands of South Florida. After the waterborne curves of the Overseas Highway we slip off to the right (keep going straight, really) at Mile Marker 106 and take Card Sound Road, a wooded series of humps, dips and sweeping curves that has a nominal 55mph speed limit. 80 mph is entirely feasible on the smooth (no trucks!) surface of this back road alternative to the construction zone that is the 18 mile stretch of Highway One, the more familiar entrance to the Keys. There's a one dollar toll at the card Sound Bridge where Monroe County meets Dade County, and the toll booth is an excellent deterrent to the mass of tourists who take their lives into their own hands on The Stretch, source of many bad accidents owing to its lack of passing spaces.
After card Sound Road rejoins Highway One at Florida City the Bonneville needs gas, I'm 105 miles from home with 60 to go and I'd rather stop and get gas here than find a pump in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Florida city is a strip mall of junk food and gas stations, a Holiday Inn and some no name brand flea pits and a "Last Chance Saloon"- the last cold beer for 18 miles! Whoo, who can ride the Stretch without one last mainland beer for dutch courage?
From Florida City its the terminus of the Turnpike with four one dollar tolls to exit 55, Downtown Fort Lauderdale. I pause to suit up when I see a thick black rain cloud dumping on the roadway up ahead. By the time I get there swathed in nylon the raincloud has moved off to the Everglades to the west, and only a thick sheen of water lies on the road to assure me the rain wasn't in my imagination. The turnpike is a mass of cars jockeying for position through western Miami, and the Bonneville is starting to loosen up so I'm running 70 to 80mph and I'm starting to feel the need for a windshield. I hope my Parabellum gets here soon, this is tiring. I arrive at the shop at 9:45am, giving me 15 minutes to read the latest edition of Vanity Fair, sitting on the sidewalk, like my youthful alter ego of years ago, traveling by motorbike, scruffy and dusty.
This motorcycle makes me feel young again in so many unexpected ways!
Speeding is tricky when its dark because a set of headlights catching up with you from behind can either indicate someone in a hurry or a deputy anxiously closing the distance to initiate a traffic stop. My tactic when i see a pair of headlights fast approaching in my mirrors is to slow down to the speed limit plus 5 (5mph over the limit garners you only a written warning, the maximum penalty by State Law) and wait and see. Often its just another speeder who flashes by as I dawdle along, but not always. Its the same when I spot a pair of side lights glowing on the Highway's shoulder. Sometimes its just a bridge fisherman organizing his pre-dawn hobby in the trunk of his car. Other times its a Highway Patrol officer operating a laser radar gun. One zap and you're fined.
As the dawn comes up its a reminder of why living in the Keys is so special. Dawn anywhere is a wondrous thing, especially as one grows older with the increased awareness of the finite number of dawns left to to enjoy, but this year's heavy rainy season has produced spectacular light displays at dawn and dusk. The view from the top of the 70-foot Long Key Bridge, called for some reason Channel Five, opens up the full array of pinks and purples and grays hidden in the shifting cloud layers, spreads them across the gunmetal ocean surface and reflects streaks of orange between the cloud layers, like a portraits of the second coming in Renaissance art. The Bonneville, a triumph of modern craftsmanship, purrs along steadily, sweeping through the curves, wide open to 70 mph in the 55mph constriction of the two lane highway. Checking for cream and black FHP cars is prosaic but so necessary, even while god's handiwork is on show, the rising sun an irresistible distraction from the necessary preservation of one's driving privilege.
The drive to Pure Triumph of Fort Lauderdale for the motorcycle's first service is a 165 mile mixture of all the types of roads one can take in the flat lands of South Florida. After the waterborne curves of the Overseas Highway we slip off to the right (keep going straight, really) at Mile Marker 106 and take Card Sound Road, a wooded series of humps, dips and sweeping curves that has a nominal 55mph speed limit. 80 mph is entirely feasible on the smooth (no trucks!) surface of this back road alternative to the construction zone that is the 18 mile stretch of Highway One, the more familiar entrance to the Keys. There's a one dollar toll at the card Sound Bridge where Monroe County meets Dade County, and the toll booth is an excellent deterrent to the mass of tourists who take their lives into their own hands on The Stretch, source of many bad accidents owing to its lack of passing spaces.After card Sound Road rejoins Highway One at Florida City the Bonneville needs gas, I'm 105 miles from home with 60 to go and I'd rather stop and get gas here than find a pump in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Florida city is a strip mall of junk food and gas stations, a Holiday Inn and some no name brand flea pits and a "Last Chance Saloon"- the last cold beer for 18 miles! Whoo, who can ride the Stretch without one last mainland beer for dutch courage?
From Florida City its the terminus of the Turnpike with four one dollar tolls to exit 55, Downtown Fort Lauderdale. I pause to suit up when I see a thick black rain cloud dumping on the roadway up ahead. By the time I get there swathed in nylon the raincloud has moved off to the Everglades to the west, and only a thick sheen of water lies on the road to assure me the rain wasn't in my imagination. The turnpike is a mass of cars jockeying for position through western Miami, and the Bonneville is starting to loosen up so I'm running 70 to 80mph and I'm starting to feel the need for a windshield. I hope my Parabellum gets here soon, this is tiring. I arrive at the shop at 9:45am, giving me 15 minutes to read the latest edition of Vanity Fair, sitting on the sidewalk, like my youthful alter ego of years ago, traveling by motorbike, scruffy and dusty.
This motorcycle makes me feel young again in so many unexpected ways!
