This is the southernmost road across Florida, Highway 41, also known as Tamiami Trail. 
For some people the name inspires romantic visions of some native culture, though actually all it means is Tampa to Miami Trail. Oh well. It remains my favorite way to cross the state and plans to enlarge it have fallen away as the economy imploded. The views are typical of the Everglades either side of the two lane highway: 
A wealthy land baron on Florida's west coast, by the inspired name of Barron Gift Collier got busy in 1923 building paved roads in southwest Florida, in the area known today as...Collier county. He also decided to connect Tampa to Miami, a job as you can see in this picture from the Pompano Beach Historical society, that had nothing to recommend it:
I think of these poor, nameless sods every time I ride the trail and wonder how they coped in the muck of the middle of Florida. It must have been ghastly even for our ancestors who were, we are told, much tougher than us. It's about 60 miles from the Krome Avenue intersection to Carnestown (a solitary gas station) at the intersection of Highway 29 which heads north towards Lake Okeechobee. And it all looks pretty much like this, wet prairie and clumps of cypress trees: 
It isn't what Hollywood depicts the Everglades to be: a foggy, Spanish moss infested jungle with huge ferns and crazy old hermits living in huts and eating human flesh. The Everglades is a swamp filled with sunshine and heat and teeming with life. And yes there are alligators though I did not get to see one this trip. I will return to Loop Road to take some pictures of them, I'm sure this winter. Meanwhile I took off north on Highway 29 for twenty miles to the intersection of the other east-west road crossing through the Everglades: 
There is an intersection here which will get you onto Alligator Alley for free, avoiding the $2.50 toll that is charged upon entry at each end of the cross-Everglades section of the highway. Alligator Alley is part of I-75 from Fort Lauderdale to Naples.
Beyond the Bonneville lies Florida Highway 29 that runs another 20 miles north to Immokalee (pro: im-mock-a-lee with the emphasis on mock), a lilting name for a not particularly scenic town that makes it's living from agriculture and tomatoes in particular.
Some people prefer Alligator Alley to Tamiami Trail because it feels less closed in and the views are somewhat more expansive. Still, hill country this is not.
For some people the name inspires romantic visions of some native culture, though actually all it means is Tampa to Miami Trail. Oh well. It remains my favorite way to cross the state and plans to enlarge it have fallen away as the economy imploded. The views are typical of the Everglades either side of the two lane highway: 
A wealthy land baron on Florida's west coast, by the inspired name of Barron Gift Collier got busy in 1923 building paved roads in southwest Florida, in the area known today as...Collier county. He also decided to connect Tampa to Miami, a job as you can see in this picture from the Pompano Beach Historical society, that had nothing to recommend it:
I think of these poor, nameless sods every time I ride the trail and wonder how they coped in the muck of the middle of Florida. It must have been ghastly even for our ancestors who were, we are told, much tougher than us. It's about 60 miles from the Krome Avenue intersection to Carnestown (a solitary gas station) at the intersection of Highway 29 which heads north towards Lake Okeechobee. And it all looks pretty much like this, wet prairie and clumps of cypress trees: It isn't what Hollywood depicts the Everglades to be: a foggy, Spanish moss infested jungle with huge ferns and crazy old hermits living in huts and eating human flesh. The Everglades is a swamp filled with sunshine and heat and teeming with life. And yes there are alligators though I did not get to see one this trip. I will return to Loop Road to take some pictures of them, I'm sure this winter. Meanwhile I took off north on Highway 29 for twenty miles to the intersection of the other east-west road crossing through the Everglades: 
There is an intersection here which will get you onto Alligator Alley for free, avoiding the $2.50 toll that is charged upon entry at each end of the cross-Everglades section of the highway. Alligator Alley is part of I-75 from Fort Lauderdale to Naples.Beyond the Bonneville lies Florida Highway 29 that runs another 20 miles north to Immokalee (pro: im-mock-a-lee with the emphasis on mock), a lilting name for a not particularly scenic town that makes it's living from agriculture and tomatoes in particular.
Some people prefer Alligator Alley to Tamiami Trail because it feels less closed in and the views are somewhat more expansive. Still, hill country this is not.I had decided on this trip that as far as I was able I would ride the back roads and a glance at Google maps for south Florida shows a spider web of very straight lines across miles and miles of open countryside. 
I was relieved to get off Highway 29 as I found it to be littered with law enforcement including a rather sneaky Dodge SUV parked on the shoulder with radar. 60 miles an hour suddenly seemed a very reasonable speed on the dead straight road. I ducked off onto these agricultural roads as soon as I decently could. 
I have long harbored a fantasy that one day God would dump a huge pile of granite in South Florida, just south of Lake Okeechobee, and humans would build three roads up it and down it. Two narrow winding ones for motorcycles and one wide one through the pine forests for cars filled with car-sick prone families. And then, when I got the urge to leave the Keys for a day I could ride up and down twisting mountains roads to my heart's content. Instead the heat of a burning hot 100 degree (38C) September day produces mirages on the highway which appears to submerge beneath flooding Everglades waters:
I wondered what, if anything, might be left of the Devil's Garden and as far as I can tell it's a creek of some sort.
Apparently the Devil's Garden was a slough in the Everglades with lots of hammocks (dry areas of land) of cypress trees that was complicated to navigate and thus seemed devilish to the early explorers. Now it looks like this: 
And it is to be found at this junction. Which is where two dead straight roads join:
I find these views amazing, perhaps because I have spent too much of my life admiring mountain ranges and open ocean.
This is not a spot where I would like to live even though there are spreading oak trees in the vicinity to break up the monotony of cypress trees and grass:
Devil's Garden is not a flourishing center of commerce or industry as far as I could tell:
So I kept on riding, heading for my target for the day, the Clewiston Inn on the south shore of Lake Okeechobee, where I found a well air conditioned dining room brimming with (unsweetened) ice tea, filled with ice cubes, which I sucked down like a desert traveler deprived of water, while I checked the day's news in the Key West Citizen, published three hundred miles to the south and none the worse for having traveled here in my saddlebag:
Pot roast, macaroni and cheese and fried okra set me up for the ride home, across more prairies, more wide open spaces, more silence that closed in whenever I stopped and turned off the engine. I also came across this phenomenon which one doesn't see in the Keys:
And somehow, while I was riding at speeds more than twice as fast as the posted 45 mph (70km/h) limit I spotted a black lump in the road. I stopped and went back to give him a lift to the safety of the grass at the side.
He stretched his neck and his feet in an effort to get away from my invasive hand. He didn't seem to much enjoy his first ever flight, which lasted all of ten seconds and ended when I gently landed him in safety twenty feet away. I got back on the Bonneville as a large truck came by, filling the empty space where the tortoise had been, and I promptly hit a pot hole with my front wheel jarring my tongue and compressing my spine for a moment.
The Everglades are special we are told, but for someone riding a motorcycle one needs to have a particular outlook to enjoy these roads. At least, having read this you can't say I didn't warn you.
I was relieved to get off Highway 29 as I found it to be littered with law enforcement including a rather sneaky Dodge SUV parked on the shoulder with radar. 60 miles an hour suddenly seemed a very reasonable speed on the dead straight road. I ducked off onto these agricultural roads as soon as I decently could. 
I have long harbored a fantasy that one day God would dump a huge pile of granite in South Florida, just south of Lake Okeechobee, and humans would build three roads up it and down it. Two narrow winding ones for motorcycles and one wide one through the pine forests for cars filled with car-sick prone families. And then, when I got the urge to leave the Keys for a day I could ride up and down twisting mountains roads to my heart's content. Instead the heat of a burning hot 100 degree (38C) September day produces mirages on the highway which appears to submerge beneath flooding Everglades waters:I wondered what, if anything, might be left of the Devil's Garden and as far as I can tell it's a creek of some sort.Apparently the Devil's Garden was a slough in the Everglades with lots of hammocks (dry areas of land) of cypress trees that was complicated to navigate and thus seemed devilish to the early explorers. Now it looks like this: And it is to be found at this junction. Which is where two dead straight roads join:I find these views amazing, perhaps because I have spent too much of my life admiring mountain ranges and open ocean.
This is not a spot where I would like to live even though there are spreading oak trees in the vicinity to break up the monotony of cypress trees and grass:Devil's Garden is not a flourishing center of commerce or industry as far as I could tell:
So I kept on riding, heading for my target for the day, the Clewiston Inn on the south shore of Lake Okeechobee, where I found a well air conditioned dining room brimming with (unsweetened) ice tea, filled with ice cubes, which I sucked down like a desert traveler deprived of water, while I checked the day's news in the Key West Citizen, published three hundred miles to the south and none the worse for having traveled here in my saddlebag:
Pot roast, macaroni and cheese and fried okra set me up for the ride home, across more prairies, more wide open spaces, more silence that closed in whenever I stopped and turned off the engine. I also came across this phenomenon which one doesn't see in the Keys:And somehow, while I was riding at speeds more than twice as fast as the posted 45 mph (70km/h) limit I spotted a black lump in the road. I stopped and went back to give him a lift to the safety of the grass at the side.He stretched his neck and his feet in an effort to get away from my invasive hand. He didn't seem to much enjoy his first ever flight, which lasted all of ten seconds and ended when I gently landed him in safety twenty feet away. I got back on the Bonneville as a large truck came by, filling the empty space where the tortoise had been, and I promptly hit a pot hole with my front wheel jarring my tongue and compressing my spine for a moment.
The Everglades are special we are told, but for someone riding a motorcycle one needs to have a particular outlook to enjoy these roads. At least, having read this you can't say I didn't warn you.
Which message told me I was overdue for a few pictures of a "last little piece of old Key West," as the waterfront bar is known to it's aficionados: SWB- Schooner Wharf Bar. This guy appeared to be an habitué, yelling at the top of his inebriated lungs at a patron sitting not five feet away:
The open air theme is what the bar is all about, pea rock for floors and junk with a possibly nautical theme hanging everywhere.
The bar overlooks Key West Bight ('bight" is a nautical term for an indentation in a shoreline), but the main entrance faces Lazy Way Lane on the inland side:
There aren't many bars featured in Key West Diary, not least because I am not much of a fan of them. They tend to be loud and frenetic and if they don't have at least a dozen TV screens they aren't doing their job. So I don't feel particularly capable of telling a story about this place. Feel free to add comments and tell all the stories you have about getting pie-faced at SWB...where everyone, except Conchscooter, knows your name:
It takes work to run a bar and the ice machine, like the patrons, sits out in the open churning out desperately needed ice, in all weathers, as SWB really is a ramshackle place in keeping with it's shtick:
You don't need a limousine to travel around Key West either:
I love the Slovenian Tomos moped which my mechanic sells at $1200 apiece. Ideal urban wheels which can even be pedaled if gas gets too much at 120 mile per gallon. You'd better not need to travel above 30mph (50km/h) though: 
Aside from all the drinking possibilities there is sailing to be done from Key West Bight. The bight used to be a commercial fishing port, then tourism got a hold and it became a series of separately owned marinas. In the 1990s renting a berth in the bight was quite the mark of the old timer (or the very wealthy parvenu) but commercial boats still have some sort of right of way here. Wolf is the so-called flagship of the Conch Republic fleet, and it sits right in front of the bar:
Just a note here for people who want to talk like pirates. If the boat is called Wolf, that's what you call it. The Wolf is landlubber talk, and no one wants to walk the waterfront in Key West sounding like a -gasp!- landlubber, now do they? Another piece of nautical etiquette is not to walk past some dude's boat and make disparaging remarks about it. Voices carry and you have no idea who might be below decks listening. Nor is it polite to remark on how stationary the notional sailing vessel might appear, like commenting on the lawn growing at the waterline. This is September and the waters are warm, facilitating growth and the paying passengers are few:
The odd thing is the big hole gives a certain airiness to the space with a grand view all the way down to Whitehead Street:
And here's the good news, I'm pretty sure, if you were the type you could win a bet here. The other end of the big hole is actually a city street, unmarked and mostly unknown, except to police officers and the people who hang out here at night trying to kip:
And while I am in a good news sort of moment let me add that the wheels of private development grind slow, but to paraphrase the Good Book, they tend to grind exceeding small:
I have a feeling this is one Key West development that will get no opposition, at least until some berk publishes the plans and then everyone will have an opinion about it, 83% sure to be negative. After five years no one will remember how it used to look except for a few elderly barflies mumbling about where "the old creperie used to be...." That's how it goes in Key West, you get street cred by knowing where things used to be. Here's a freebie: remember when Office Max used to be Pantry Pride?
I suppose technically it is one block long though it doesn't actually open into Applerouth Lane but you can certainly ride a Bonneville up Prospect from Fleming Street opposite La Concha (or The La Concha if you don't eSpeak eSpanish):
And as you can see it is unmarked, hence the bet suggestion. The one way sign actually refers to Fleming Street and points to Duval. If Prospect were one way it would soon get pretty jammed up.
Prospect is not, with the best will in the world, too terribly scenic. It is the backside of everything else. It's the back of the old Kress Building, which houses fast Buck Freddie's and Margaritaville:
And the back side of a department store isn't usually to be found decorating postcards. I spent many happy months here sorting out deliveries too and from Fast Bucks while enjoying the gastronomic leftovers from Margaritaville warming over in their dumpster nearby:
So, having won the bet worded to your best advantage about Key West's least known alley, there is more one question to be answered. Why did the chicken cross the street? 
