You'd think that if the road is called Blimp Road there is a reason for it, and so there is. That's because the Air Force spends 32 million dollars a year flying blimps from a base at the northern end of the road. They used to have two until a hurricane wrecked them, one sent propaganda TV signals to Havana, who promptly squelched them. The other blimp known locally as Fat Albert has equipment on board supposedly to help intercept aircraft and boats approaching south Florida. Its a big white balloon pointing in the direction of the breeze. When its more than breezy they lower Fat Albert to one of the nose cones on the ground until the wind dies down again.
They launch the blimp on the end of a very long piece of string and it can be seen from miles around lollygagging in the sky. 
Aside from the dump and the blimp Blimp Road is also home to a ramp where people can launch boats or simply hang out and fish. Its pretty handy for small craft like kayaks but the ramp isn't very long and it doesn't seem to go very deep, for my taste and I imagine it might be all too easy to launch your car if you got it wrong.There was some kind of old fogey kayaking event going on when I stopped by yesterday afternoon so I kept the hellish machine (which has standard factory exhausts I might note) away from the nature loving paddlers. In summer this is a great spot to be alone with the sounds of wavelets splashing on the ramp.On my way back down Blimp Road, trying to keep to a sedate 30 miles per hour (fat chance!) I had to stop and contemplate the magical vastness of an island that isn't really that big. Cudjoe Key (pronounced as it is written in English: Cud-joe) is mostly mangroves and the low greenery is a bit desert-like inasmuch as the lack of perspective makes it look like a much bigger island than it really is.
Then one returns to reality and there is the Cudjoe Pocket Park at Valencia road opposite the entrance to the dump. 
It's kind of weird as parks go, kindly provided by Keys Energy our publicly owned utility company (I like it that my electric bill doesn't go to pay shareholders) and though it is equipped with a bike rack (!), a sign, and an artistic rock there is nowhere to sit. The grass is nice and lush which would make this a good spot for a picnic as lawns are in short supply in the Keys.The funny thing was that by stopping at the park I opened the door to an entire little world I had previously not imagined existed. Valencia Road was graded (my tax dollars at work? or is it really a "private" road as the street sign insisted?).
It was a glorious afternoon, low humidity, breezy and sunny, a continuation of the absolutley perfect weather we have been enjoying lately. The thermometer on the Bonneville recorded the fact for me, and I guess 92 degrees should feel hot but for my thin blood this was just as it should be:
Valencia Road wound its way back into a subdivision that was tucked out of sight, a criss crossing of dirt roads lined with palms and shrubs of various kinds. There are no canals back here so these homes would be considered "dry lots' in the local lingo but they are quite delightful for all that they aren't boat accessible.
I worked my way back along the lanes and found myself in another world. Aside from the purring of my Bonneville the place was silent, no dogs, no squawking kids no aircraft overhead, nothing. I found my way to the end of Valencia, where the street was closed by a fenced area and beyond was an old geezer walking his dog. He turned to look at me and I waved but he just stared icily back. It was perfect, a place less friendly than my own neighborhood!
I found my way to Spain Road and somewhere near there I came across a couple of horse paddocks. Now, I've never viewed the Keys as the place to come if you fancy riding horses but there they are, happy as clams.
My sisters loved to ride in their youth, and though they still keep horses, because they live in the country, they don't ride any more. Beats me, but thats how it is. I've always preferred horsepower to horses and here I am still riding. I may have imagined it but the nag seemed to be a little envious of my steed, loose on the backroads outside their stockade.
There was more than one barricaded animal in the subdivision, practically every home warned of fearsome canines within, beware of this dog and that on every fence until I came across a dog of a different breed:
Bad snakes? Thats what it says and no I didn't stop to investigate. And no, I have no idea why the first line is in English and the snake warning is in Spanish. As I am frequently moved to explain, asking "why" isn't cool in these islands. Things just are. Like iguanas:
Iguanas drive gardeners crazy down here. They aren't indigenous as for the most part they are pets that have been released and survive pretty well in the climate. They tend to seize up during cold fronts but mostly they plod around looking solemn and eating everyone's flower beds. Some people apparently don't mind the iguanas, I count myself among them, but I haven't put up a sign to that effect.No neighborhood in the Keys would be complete without this:
This house is at most half a mile from the dump; a $5 trip lasting perhaps 15 minutes and this excresence would be gone. But no, there it sits decomposing gently in the lush greenery of the neighborhood, a blight for all to enjoy. If I lived here I'd be hitching up my trailer and counting my pennies for the dump fee!
This magnificent manufactured home structure, complete with gingerbread fretwork is another example of the snowbird style of living. Apparently unoccupied like so many homes in the Lower Keys sitting there waiting for heaven knows what. An occupant perhaps? A happy grateful-to-be-here occupant? And one who perhaps would like to get rid of the gruesome hurricane fencing, but I'm pretty sure I'm overthinking this.
I came back out on Blimp Road on the other street, the one behind the pocket park and I think it's name is supposed to maintain the Spanish thread of the subdivision.
Or at least it would if the County's Public Works department could spell. I think its meant to be Asturias Road, but whats a vowel between neighbors?
Back out on Blimp Road and there is nothing between me and Highway One half a mile away except a short burst of speed to clear the dirt road from my tires. Except, whoa what's this? If I'm out exploring how can I pass by an elderly crane that pokes its snout over the hedge. I've seen this thing a dozen times as I pass on Blimp Road and today is the day I'm here to check it out. Not least the osprey nest lurking at the top of the machinery.
There's a decomposing truck next to the crane, as though one was loading the other next to what appears to be a water filled quarry of some sort. It's all terribly bucolic now the engines are reduced to rust.
And then I hear a madly revving engine across the pond, a red truck appears in a cloud of dust and ducks behind a pile of gravel. Harder and louder the engine revs and the red truck appears closer than ever. I put my camera up and the truck spins out in a spectacular cloud of dust that my feeble picture only manages to hint at: 
The driver pulls alongside, a young kid looking worried. "I'm not doing any harm," he says defensively. I start laughing which breaks the ice. Ron is 23 years old and he grew up in the Keys. "I've seen everything there is to see and I've done everything there is to do, " he says gloomily lamenting the lack of variety in his corner of this huge and variegated country. I sympathize, telling him when I was his age I visited key West and left in a hurry bound for the exciting opportunities awaiting me in California. "Its just a way to let off steam," he says of his rough riding around the quarry. He complains that the deputies come out at night and try to put a stop to it. "We're not doing drugs," he adds, making what I think is a reasonable case for some off street fun. This encounter is typical of young people in the Keys; I find them generally to be polite thoughtful and well mannered in total defiance of the preferred model of sullen bad mannered youth reported elsewhere in the country. I wish Ron well and he takes off after letting me know of another secret spot nearby worth exploring. 
