Florida's Turnpike is a wonderful thing for anyone who lives in the Keys and wants to get north in a hurry. And we wanted to get north after our messy departure from home when we started our Grand tour of the State of Florida 2009.
Our original plans had called for a stop in the Everglades with a chance to see alligators and marshes at the Shark Valley viewing center, but that all had to be scrapped after the highway closure delayed our departure and all the lobster mini season boats on trailers had us crawling up the highway. So we took the turnpike all the way to Exit 193 (193 miles from Homestead) at Yeehaw Junction. It's a cute name but really it's nothing more than an old restaurant with mediocre food and a modern truck stop. the good bit about Yeehaw Junction is that you can parallel the turnpike north toward Orlando on a nearly empty US Highway 441:
It's 33 miles of long straights followed by sweeping curves through pine forests and pastures and a few ranch homes and trailer homes along the way. I love this countryside, completely different from the Keys yet fascinating in it's own right. Not many people know that there are cowboys in Florida in the pastures across the middle of the state, and where there are cowboys there are cattle:
This isn't a place that I would like to live, it's far too rural and lacking in amenity but it reminds me of the ocean, all that emptiness and open space. The roads are frost free and smooth, and though they do tend to be straight...
...curves are not completely absent:
I've said it before and I'll say it again, and I'll probably repeat myself in the days ahead as I go touring around the Sunshine State, Florida is the land of subtleties. You don't find cliff faces like Yosemite, or vast desert mesas like Utah, or wild physical variations in a state that is composed mostly of sand and nowhere rises above 345 feet (105 meters) above sea level. As the sun goes down, and a protracted dusk is not part of the program at these latitudes, daytime temperatures don't drop much. Florida is flat and open but it's not a desert and heat and humidity stay close to the ground even after dark: 
For many motorcyclists, people who live and ride in Florida are viewed with a certain amount of pity. This isn't where you go to find winding mountain roads obviously, and for those riders from the frozen north the novelty of year round riding soon wears off after they've taken a few hundred miles under their saddles in a dead straight line. Hence the popularity of big long cruisers, imitators of the impossibly stretched choppers made famous by the Easy Riders movie.
I guess I've had enough and varied motorcycle experiences in my life not to worry too much about the shortage of "twisties." I like the heat and if I have to ride straight then I can do that. However when I come across Florida's oldest Ural dealer, then I have to stop the car, and take a look. My wife was quite taken by the elderly Ural sidecar outfit on display moldering away in front of the dealership:
Apparently they do a land sale business in shipping Ural parts from this unlikely spot in the middle of nowhere. uralfla.com is their website and fascinating it is too as apparently they have taken the time to visit the factory in Russia and have also developed a trailer to haul these outfits behind your four wheeler. The old model out front is pretty elderly and beyond help I think. (Our Nissan is doing just fine thanks):
Modern Urals are said to be much more reliable and better equipped than Soviet era motorcycles and so they should be as the cheapest of them sells for ten grand. I am not yet convinced but it's all a bit academic for me. This fascinating hole in the wall also advertises itself as a dealership for Volare scooters, Royal Enfield motorcycles and of all things Corvette cars. Too bad the place was closed and we could only see some rather picturesque buildings next to the closed dealership all of which constitutes the community of Holopaw, Florida. After which name I believe a band is named though it has nothing to do with this place:
So the total observations along this stretch of US Highway yielded a few cows, a bar, lots of trees and an intriguing motorcycle dealership. And then we reached the end of the countryside and entered the outer reaches of the suburbs of Orlando:
We turned left to St Cloud with a final destination in Mount Dora, a town worthy of a photo or two, but that I got to ignore entirely as I was off to rent my Thruxton while my wife went shopping.
Our original plans had called for a stop in the Everglades with a chance to see alligators and marshes at the Shark Valley viewing center, but that all had to be scrapped after the highway closure delayed our departure and all the lobster mini season boats on trailers had us crawling up the highway. So we took the turnpike all the way to Exit 193 (193 miles from Homestead) at Yeehaw Junction. It's a cute name but really it's nothing more than an old restaurant with mediocre food and a modern truck stop. the good bit about Yeehaw Junction is that you can parallel the turnpike north toward Orlando on a nearly empty US Highway 441: 
It's 33 miles of long straights followed by sweeping curves through pine forests and pastures and a few ranch homes and trailer homes along the way. I love this countryside, completely different from the Keys yet fascinating in it's own right. Not many people know that there are cowboys in Florida in the pastures across the middle of the state, and where there are cowboys there are cattle:
This isn't a place that I would like to live, it's far too rural and lacking in amenity but it reminds me of the ocean, all that emptiness and open space. The roads are frost free and smooth, and though they do tend to be straight......curves are not completely absent:I've said it before and I'll say it again, and I'll probably repeat myself in the days ahead as I go touring around the Sunshine State, Florida is the land of subtleties. You don't find cliff faces like Yosemite, or vast desert mesas like Utah, or wild physical variations in a state that is composed mostly of sand and nowhere rises above 345 feet (105 meters) above sea level. As the sun goes down, and a protracted dusk is not part of the program at these latitudes, daytime temperatures don't drop much. Florida is flat and open but it's not a desert and heat and humidity stay close to the ground even after dark: For many motorcyclists, people who live and ride in Florida are viewed with a certain amount of pity. This isn't where you go to find winding mountain roads obviously, and for those riders from the frozen north the novelty of year round riding soon wears off after they've taken a few hundred miles under their saddles in a dead straight line. Hence the popularity of big long cruisers, imitators of the impossibly stretched choppers made famous by the Easy Riders movie.I guess I've had enough and varied motorcycle experiences in my life not to worry too much about the shortage of "twisties." I like the heat and if I have to ride straight then I can do that. However when I come across Florida's oldest Ural dealer, then I have to stop the car, and take a look. My wife was quite taken by the elderly Ural sidecar outfit on display moldering away in front of the dealership:
Apparently they do a land sale business in shipping Ural parts from this unlikely spot in the middle of nowhere. uralfla.com is their website and fascinating it is too as apparently they have taken the time to visit the factory in Russia and have also developed a trailer to haul these outfits behind your four wheeler. The old model out front is pretty elderly and beyond help I think. (Our Nissan is doing just fine thanks):Modern Urals are said to be much more reliable and better equipped than Soviet era motorcycles and so they should be as the cheapest of them sells for ten grand. I am not yet convinced but it's all a bit academic for me. This fascinating hole in the wall also advertises itself as a dealership for Volare scooters, Royal Enfield motorcycles and of all things Corvette cars. Too bad the place was closed and we could only see some rather picturesque buildings next to the closed dealership all of which constitutes the community of Holopaw, Florida. After which name I believe a band is named though it has nothing to do with this place:So the total observations along this stretch of US Highway yielded a few cows, a bar, lots of trees and an intriguing motorcycle dealership. And then we reached the end of the countryside and entered the outer reaches of the suburbs of Orlando:We turned left to St Cloud with a final destination in Mount Dora, a town worthy of a photo or two, but that I got to ignore entirely as I was off to rent my Thruxton while my wife went shopping. 
When we don't know a restaurant my wife and I have a policy of ordering something safe from the menu, some item that is hard to screw up, just in case, and in the Keys a fresh fish sandwich is hard to get wrong. Our food arrived in remarkably short order, the food was on the table in minutes despite the crowded dining room. And it was good:
My potato salad was more potato than mayonnaise and my wife's fries were thick and chunky and crisp. The fish was excellent and my wife loved the kaiser roll it came on. The tartar sauce was just slightly spicy and the service was fast and cheerful. "We're coming back," my wife said between mouthfuls.
Mercifully the TV was off and the management got points for sparing me the imbecile pronouncements of the idiot box while I ate. The tourists seemed to like the place too, there was a cheerful air to the vast room as plates of food sped out of what must be a well organized kitchen carried by capable servers identified by their uniform t-shirts:
And the views are what you might expect, looking south across the Straits of Florida. I would imagine the beach seating might find some takers at another time of year:
The restaurant seems equipped for the milder months of winter with what appeared to be a downstairs bar underneath the main dining room with direct access to the beach and views of passing traffic:
We were not alone apparently in our enchantment with this find along Highway One:
It is I must confess a bit irritating to be traveling the highway as much as we do without knowing much of what is available. Finding a spot like this will give us the option to pull over in our frequent headlong flights along the Overseas Highway and take a break. Judging by the first and only visit it seems likely we will not be disappointed.
After I signed the paperwork for the rental and insurance I found myself alone in downtown Orlando, maneuvering this red jewel through unfamiliar streets and onto the I-4 interstate highway with no time to get used to anything. It was a strange sensation, the controls are as smooth and light as I am used to on my own Bonneville, the engine which supposedly puts out ten more horsepower than my own Bonneville's modest 65, pulled smartly and the cone exhausts gave a pleasing though very civilized rumble as i moved through the five speed gearbox. Handling was firm, just like my own machine with any lightness produced by the slightly smaller front wheel amply compensated for by the short low handlebars. Looking over my shoulders at lane changes was much tougher than I am used to, and though I am short, 5' 06" (168cms) and I have short legs, yet I still was able to clasp the cylinder heads with my knees if I wasn't careful. For taller riders Triumph has added wire guards to the cylinder fins: 
I don't know the Orlando area very well and though Frank tried to direct me to some twisties I wanted to try to get out of town and take some country roads well away from the traffic of the big city, and make no mistake, Mickey Mouse's home town is sprawling like you wouldn't believe. Florida is not known for it's great winding motorcycle roads but I gave it my best shot. Every time I saw a side road I took it and ripped up lanes and back roads big and small. I found a failed housing development deep in the woods and spent a happy five minutes snicking through the gears and weaving around my own private race course past the undeveloped housing lots. The bike was brand new so I wasn't pushing anything but I enjoyed the performance I did squeeze out of it. Very calm and middle aged of me. Besides my wrists aren't as resistant as they used to be and the heat was truly astonishing. It was hot as Hades out there, so much so I took off my gloves for a while for relief from the relentless fug of hot air to air my sweaty hands out and let some air up my sleeves. 
I was out on the pier enjoying a 2 am lunch break ramble and I was attracted to the fencing placed somewhat at random but in a way that put me in mind of a maze. I'm guessing the barricades were put here to keep people off the fresh paint but by the time I got there it was dry and I walked on it happily clicking some pictures.
I remember when I was a child my family went to Hampton Court a royal palace made famous by Henry the Eighth, he of the six wives fame. The palace has a maze on it's grounds and I have had a hankering to go back and see just how complex it really is. I must have been less than ten years old at the time (the Beatles would have been in their heyday, imagine that) and the thick hedges seemed scary and impossibly complex.
It was odd, finding myself pondering my distant childhood, listening to the sounds of Cuban fishermen having a night out, while trying to reconcile all the cultural diversity in my short life. It had been a shitty night at work, crazy people calling the police all night long, and here I was out under a velvet sky with a gentle breeze and no one begging for my attention. It was enough to make one's head explode.
Me? I look out across the water at Higgs Beach and think how much there is to like here, even if I'm not a Rotarian doing good, I certainly don't miss snow mobiles or even the fog of San Francisco. There's too much to photograph and too much to think about just standing here in Key West, on a hot muggy summer's night.
This is rural Florida Keys the place were contrarians come to hole up and avoid too much contact with the world. It's also the place where you can goof off and hope not to get disapproval from newcomers not used to the laid back ways of those already here. In California this sort of thing is strictly not kosher:
But happily I'm not in California anymore and riding in a towed boat (on land) is just another way to get where you are going.
I don't think I've ever seen this before either. Look closely above and you will see a large fungus type thing sprouting succulents dangling from a child's swing. I guess you have to hang it somewhere.
The one below is actually a manufactured home on stilts, a popular option in the Keys to get an affordable home out of the path of floods. Insurance for homes not on stilts tends to be twice as expensive as the raised homes.
So why do they call it Doctor's Arm? What a good question. In the meantime here's a mailbox for Celia who likes them decorated:
This next home was the scene of a triumphal return by the hunter gatherers in their boat, applauded by the damsel at the balcony:
The flamingo's owner was inside the back of the van. though it isn't obvious in my sneak picture.
The main drag through Doctor's Arm is actually called Matthews Road and it boasts two lanes divided by a massive median:
And the canals, though picturesque, always struck me as being a long way from open water and as prestigious as Realtors may want to make this place sound, it isn't on the Atlantic side of the island which is the preferred side for people who like to fish. The Atlantic side of the Keys is the side with the reef and the deep open waters of the Straits of Florida where the big game fish reside.
The planners also chose exotic sounding names for the streets,many of Italian or Spanish extraction, Ortega, Malaga,Minorca or San Remo and San Marco:
And its a network of dead straight side streets leading off toward the waters of Big Spanish Channel:
I read about motorcyclists worried about hitting deer in the wooded hilly country Up North. Well, we have the same though smaller sized issue here.
Key Deer are a source of irritation as they are protected but they do like to eat gardens, and their detractors sneer at them describing them as :just small white tailed deer" which is probably how they started out before they evolved into little deer able to survive on little patches of land, a lot of it occupied by disorganized human beings.
And so we come to the final frame, the dead of this essay. Doctor's Arm is a name shrouded in mystery and in my opinion a lot of bullshit. However the generally accepted story is that a pirate was hanging out in Big Spanish Channel, the large body of relatively deep water north of Bahia Honda. Or possibly they were on the other side in the waters if Big Pine Channel. In any event they captured some people including a man whose name may have been Doctor Armandi. The pirates had an injured crew member but the legend goes that the good doctor refused to treat the scoundrel so they marooned him in the mangroves of the place that later became known as Doctor Armandi's (or Armondi's) island. Which they gradually abbreviated to Doctor's Arm. And there you have it. If you believe a story with so many holes in it. 
And that is the very dead end of this shaggy dog story.