The opposite end of the Highway is in Fort Kent, Maine marked according to Google Streetview by a wooden signboard next to the bridge over the river into Canada. The gentlepeople of Maine seem to put rather less stock in their end of the highway than the tourist oriented society at this end.
However, rather than simply staring at the street sign which can be seen here: Mile Zero, I was more interested this time in the complex of buildings that are the heart of Monroe County government. The State Supreme Court has ruled that trees and menorahs are suitable seasonal decorations for public offices this time of year, in one of those Solomonic decisions that seem to please no one, and I rather liked the modest little lighted bush in the upper window. Then I saw offices with actual open windows to allow natural fresh air inside and I had a spasm of envy.
The wildlife posed rather generously for me with the white wall background making them look stuffed and mounted. They were actually quite alive and active when I took these pictures.
I am once again sticking my neck out on fauna of which I know nothing and I shall guess they are mockingbirds but they neither screeched at us nor dive bombed us as we passed.
Perhaps they were having an off day or they were on tranquilizers. You can tell this place is the nerve center of something.
The courthouse complex has grown over the years with new buildings added to the original, clock-towered classic brick southern courthouse. The whole place is lovely, kept like a park.
Then there is the Freeman Justice Building, the new courthouse added in back. Freeman Justice Center
And there's even a picnic table out front of the whole complex under the kapok tree where a tired dog walk can eat a 'to go' lunch and watch the passersby-by. County government at your service.
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Or it can be a thing of physical pain. The pirate shown below is hanging 8 pounds (3.7 kilograms) of water from his arm. On the other hand a longer arm could be helpful to him in other areas of his life.
Friends let friends ride scooters and cruise Key West together. Cute aren't they? And remember they are getting miles to the cup of gasoline. What would happen if they behaved like this at home?
This is my idea of the perfect wheels, sturdy sensible, a covered chain, lights and room for luggage. Across the street the tourist checking the map failed completely to walk into a car. I was hoping for a pratfall. 
One inflexible rule of being a Key West tourist is men always go at the front, walking, riding a tandem or cycling. Why? Ask riepe, I haven't a clue.
Some lucky bastard is getting a Badboy Burrito delivered down Whitehead Street. The best (only) burritos in town get delivered by Vespa, of course. The best for the best.
A convertible for the fearful is the next best way to see the Key West sky. My wife is still enjoying her Sebring. And I am under orders to deliver her Vespa 150 to work for her to use around town. I have been prevaricating as I enjoy riding the ET4 from time to time. 
This was the whole point of this essay. Tourists taking pictures at the Mile Marker Zero sign, the start/end of Highway One down the US East Coast. This essay was suggested by a reader after I took pictures at the Southernmost Point and watched tourists taking pictures of themselves. 
On this occasion I had a moment between dog walks downtown and I sat at the county building waiting to see who would happen along. These were the only photographers who showed up so clearly I'll need to come back during the winter. They look pretty serious so there is potential for some fun pictures this winter.
Bobskoot keeps threatening to show up in Key West with Jack riepe; I can hardly imagine Mr Fussy being dragged around the titty bars by Mr Foul. Bob is so wedded to the idea that he's sending Jack some money to help him get down here. Bob is a Corvette driver, though I don't think he's bringing his car as Jack and his arthritis wouldn't fit. 
Then the rain started and the government workers, the next privileged class to be dragged into insolvency by our homespun wild eyed clerics, discovered they had forgotten their umbrellas.
Not many scooter riders carry waterproofs, so like the improvident virgins in the Good Book they find themselves without their lamp oil at the critical moment when it is most needed. 
If you are bald and butch a little rain doesn't hurt. Get undercover and run a piece of newspaper over your head and you are ready for the wet t-shirt contest.
There was another misanthrope sitting a few feet down form me in the arcade at the court house. He was amusing himself with a book, I was taking random pictures and Cheyenne was watching the world go by. We were all happy. Except the homeless dude who shambled off grumping, presumably because we were cluttering up his living room.
Finally, a sensible person properly equipped for the forecast. 
Horrors! It dawned on me suddenly she only looks sensible from the ankles up.
Sensible people started showing up from all points of the compass.
Rain washed out my attempts to hang with the Parrotheads this past week. I was on my way Thursday and got massively washed out before work. Friday my appointment went late and so it went. So I took a commemorative picture instead.
The zero mile marker has gathered a few extra signs over the years because I guess everyone wants a piece of the action. This sign is at Whitehead and Fleming Streets, an otherwise undistinguished intersection for one very good reason. 
It's where the seat of power resides in Monroe County, the county court house, symbol of government. 
For some it is an oppressor, for others it offers shelter, so I left him to it.
As an aside Wikipedia has a picture of the other end of the road, 2300 miles away.
I expect Fort Kent, Maine is under six feet of snow by now. I wish them joy of it.