Pictures from Florida

Near the DuPuis wildlife area on route 76 are these awesome-looking bee boxes. Bees already make me happy; a rainbow of bees is even better.

Key West has a healthy outlook on life.

When I was traveling in Ecuador in 2008, I found a dead rat near the train. It remained there, and I photographed it regularly over four months as it got flatter, and it became a running joke. Here, to continue tradition, is another dead rat, spotted in the Bight Marina.

This strangely creepy photo is of the Seven Mile Bridge. I have no idea why it seems to have been taken through a pane of wavy glass. I can tell you that Pigeon Key, which is underneath the bridge, is noticeably haunted.

This beautiful and impatient horse was more than ready to go adventuring at DuPuis.

A walk up Bathtub Reef beach collecting shells on our first day exploring Stuart, Florida.

Some Art... (Key West)

         

 

Key West

The GPS I'm using insisted that we take route 1 through Miami. I didn't know the area well enough to argue until we were stuck in a clusterfuck of traffic, roasting in the heat and moving at about 2 mph. I pulled out my phone and found a new route, but we still had 6 miles to go in the overheated crush. I had a brief moment of comic relief when I saw a man riding a motorcycle while wearing a tuxedo and bowtie.

We camped a short night in Everglades National Park, where we found a friend from the last campground and talked birds for a while. We had a very classy dinner in Kendall (for which I'll be reimbursed when the paperwork goes through) and rolled out early the next morning toward the Keys.

If you haven't experienced the Keys before, they're a little strange - a long chain of islands with a single road running through them, 100 miles from top to bottom. Some of them are natural, full of plants and sea birds and coral, and others are very commercialized, like Marathon and Key West.

It took us about three hours to reach Key West, where we met up with family friends Harriet and Ray from home. They're spending their winter in a camper in Florida and Louisiana, avoiding the cold and seeing the sights much like we are. They bicycled out to meet us on the main road, showed us good motorcycle parking, and we changed into summer clothes and went on a wander.

The traveling New Englander can by identified by the black tank top.

They led us down to the docks, and we were ambling through Bight Marina when I heard someone say, "Skipper?"

In an area so full of boaters, I decided they couldn't possibly mean me and ignored it. But a guy pulling a wheelbarrow had stopped in my path and was staring at me.

"Skipper?" he asked again.

I put my sunglasses on my head and found that he was, in fact, looking directly at me.

"Yes?" I tried, puzzled.

"We met at Wildfire," the guy said, and suddenly I pictured him with a giant beard where now there was naked chin, and solved the mystery.

"Sam!" I said, and gave him a hug. "Holy shit!" I'd known him as a fire performer a couple of years ago, and the last I heard he had gone off to work on boats. I assumed I'd never see him again, but sometimes the world is a surprisingly small place.

From that unexpected encounter we went to lunch and had some excellent fish and chips, then walked to the southernmost point of the US and took the obligatory photo.

We walked several miles by the end of the day and learned there isn't much for beaching on Key West, but there's a lot of awesome art. Rogue and I said good night to Harriet and Ray, who took off on their bicycles, and then went for a snack at a local hotel. We were on our way out when Sam texted me and said he was off shift and if we were still around, we should get a drink.

With three hours still to drive back before we could even set up camp, I hesitated, but decided driving late was worth it to see an old friend. At the Schooner Wharf we met up with him and his girlfriend Danielle and had a great time catching up and talking about nomad life. He and she live similarly to the way we do, just on the water instead of on the road. The travel perk and weather exposure are similar, although they get paid, while we're in search of work.

It was 1 o'clock the next morning before we popped up our tent back in the Everglades. Our original intention had been to camp in Key West, but when I saw the cheapest site was $60 just to tent, I decided I'd rather make the drive.

Driving in Florida (Sucks)

Heading south toward the Everglades, we were rounding a corner in Fort Lauderdale when something rolled out of traffic and came to a stop in the striped dead zone between lanes. As it slowed I realized it was a person, and I remembered seeing a scooter a few cars ahead of us.

I dropped my kickstand in the road and ran up the median. The line of cars slowed, then drove around the downed scooter and went on their way as the rider picked himself up and walked in agitated circles.

"Are you okay?" I asked. One of his shoes was sitting nearby, and the moped was lying in the road at the tail end of 20 feet of skid marks.

"Damn bitched slammed on the brakes!" he replied.

"That sucks," I said. "The drivers around here are awful."

He shook his head and bounced in circles. He was wearing a helmet at least, but clothed in a t-shirt as most scooter riders are, and a large amount of skin was missing from his right arm. I asked if he had hit his head and if there was any way I could help, but he waved me away. I rescued Bee from traffic and drove away, wishing there was something more I could have done.

The drivers in Florida really do scare the crap out of me. I've nearly been wiped off the highway three times since we've been here by people who have shifted into my lane without looking. Someone told me it's the unfortunate mingling of retirees, rich youngsters, and South American immigrants. Whatever it is, it's awful.

The third time someone tried to replace me with a car, which was in the dark on I75, that little streak of Masshole that I usually keep buckled down came out to say hello. Almost before I knew what I was doing, I had turned on my (very obnoxious) aux high beams and parked myself at the bumper of a small car. The driver remained somehow oblivious while I blinded them, and eventually good sense got the best of me again and I zoomed away, silently wishing ill upon them.

Usually I keep my head on and don't give in to road rage when I'm riding. It's not worth the risk; the only fight I'll ever win is a speed race. I think it's the commonplace nature of that kind of incident here that led me to have a temper tantrum. I've learned to ignore occasional idiocy from other drivers, as we all have our moments and I appreciate a little forgiveness when I don't notice the light has changed. But when it becomes the norm, I feel like something must be done in the name of change, and all I can think to do is be an asshole.

It's about time to get the hell out of Florida. But first, we'll hit the Everglades and the Keys.

DuPuis WMA

From Orlando we returned to I95 and flew further south, eventually landing at the DuPuis Wildlife Management Area in Indiantown. The area was large and the campsites unmarked, so we chose a spot in the middle of a field. A man and a little girl rode by on bicycles, and he stopped to tell us that his covy of trucks and trailers would be leaving that night, so if we wanted his tree-filled space with a picnic table and a water spigot, we'd be welcome.

They decided to stay another night, but we set up next to them anyway, then went to explore. The place was really nice, nicer than many campgrounds I've paid to stay in, and it cost nothing.

We had turned off the lights and were on our way to sleep when the generator belonging to our neighbor began to malfunction. Its steady hum became a pulsing rhythm like ocean waves. After a few minutes of this, the door to the camper opened and closed, and then banging noises issued from the vicinity of the generator. The cycling noise changed but didn't even out. A few more minutes passed, and then it started to get quieter, as though someone had picked it up and carried it off.

"Are you ready to kill me over that generator?" we heard.

"Us?" I asked. "Don't worry about it. We're having a good laugh."

The next day we rode the 25 miles east into Stuart, where we found another adorable beachside town and some excellent pizza. The night had been cold, down in the 30s, but the day jumped quickly into the high 70s.

We discussed exploring Indiantown next, but I missed the turn on the way back to camp. Rather than go back, I opted to continue west and try to find Lake Okeechobee. We passed through Port Mayaca, turned around in Canal Point, and pulled off at the only lake access I'd seen.

Okeechobee is enormous, appearing more like an ocean than a lake, as the far bank is beyond the horizon. I lay in the grass and enjoyed the sun while Rogue bounced around taking pictures.

Back at camp, we asked where our neighbor had gotten his firewood. He told us there was a large pile of deadwood past the gate around the corner of the bathhouse, so off we went. We collected several armloads of dead palmetto trees and discovered to our great joy that they burned with enthusiasm. Maybe half an hour later, the neighbor offered us extra wood that he'd retrieved with his chainsaw, and we were set for both that night and the next.

Mount Dora, FL

Cities are fun in their own way, but they're not much fun to drive in. The Motorcycle Roads website offered up a scenic route around northwest Orlando, and after Saturday morning at Donut King (maple bacon donut!) with the kids, we geared up and headed out to see some sights.

At a stop light in Mount Dora, I glanced to my right and saw a giant sign for a steampunk show. I gestured at it, and Rogue nodded. We eased into the turning lane and parked on the grass under a large tree.

"Why is everyone dressed up?" Rogue wondered as we walked down the hill.

"I'd have dressed up for a steampunk convention if I knew there was one," I answered, puzzled. "Wouldn't you?"

"Steampunk convention?" she asked.

"That's why we're here," I answered, confused.

"I saw a sign that said 'flea market,'" she said.

"Oh, there's that too," I said, pointing up the hill. "But down here, there's steampunk."

"I missed that completely."

It was mostly vendors and one pretty awful band on an outdoor stage. The crowd was a mix of convention-goers and flea-market shoppers. Between the convention and the permanent flea, which had absolutely every product imaginable, from local honey to shoes to plants to bicycles to wood sculptures to henna tattoos to hookahs to puppies, we spent a couple of hours just walking and photographing.

The guy doing the chainsaw wood sculptures had a 1970's Yamaha bike with a homemade trailer and was living in a converted box truck, with its own trailer that held his carving equipment and the motorcycle. We chattered about road life and he showed us his home on wheels. He shared a story about a time that he ran out of gas and was picked up by a helpful stranger. When this stranger found out that our wood-carving friend was a Christian, his response was to unplug the spark wires on his Yamaha before driving away. Fortunately the biker knew his machine well enough to find the problem when it didn't start, but he left with the knowledge that the world contained one more strange asshole.

From the convention/flea we wandered into downtown Mount Dora, and found an adorable town reminiscent of Cape Cod. There was a small harbor offering lake tours, an upstairs coffee shop that was clearly a converted home, and shops full of spices and teas and ice cream and art. There was a wine cellar with a small, homey bar, where we met a couple of bikers who invited us to return for a town-wide art show the following weekend.

The Springs of Orlando

Staying with locals is a great way to get an inside view of a city. My only previous experience with Orlando was a tour of Full Sail University when I was college-shopping at age 17. Tyson took us to Universal Springs one evening after the kids went to bed, and we wandered around the pond and through the chocolate shop.

Disney is like a foreign language to me, but I got my amusement from watching Rogue. She bounced and squealed like a kid in a candy shop, possibly because she is a kid and we were in a candy shop. She and Tyson nerded out about Disney lore and movie history while I admired the decor and the fountain. And of course there was Bumblebee everywhere.

On Friday we went to Disney Springs and stopped by the Cirque building to watch the trapeze artists working out. Two days a week they open the theater to observers during a practice session; it's not a performance, but it's free, and it's fascinating in a different way than watching a choreographed show. Afterward we went for a drink and a snack at the House of Blues while we waited for Tyson and family.

Over tater tots that were more like nachos for all the cheese and other accessories thrown over them, we admitted that we were both having doubts about the shenanigans we'd gotten ourselves into.

It occurred to me to do this in the first place, this homeless-on-a-motorcycle thing, because at the end of all my previous long bike trips I haven't wanted to come home. So why not just call it off and never come home? Get rid of the "home" thing and the "job" thing; problem solved.

But when there's no end date in site, no crash pad to huddle up in, and no source of steady money, one important things changes: the worries come along for the ride in a way that they normally don't. I had some cash saved up, but when Bee decided to need a glut of new parts in the first two weeks of January, she gobbled up a large chunk of it. What I have left is unimpressive at best, and Rogue is in a similar situation. We were planning to find work on the road but we have to leave Florida again in a few days to head back to Philly, so we can't doing anything that requires more than a few days.

What's getting us by right now is mystery shopping. I can't go into too much detail because that could ruin the "mystery" part, but we contract with a bunch of companies who reimburse us to eat at certain places (and have other customer service interactions) and give feedback on our experiences. We've had several nice meals and expensive drinks as part of the business, and it's great.

When Tyson, Jessie, and their three adorable kids showed up, we took a walk down the shopping trail and through the Coca-Cola museum. It was chilly, and I lent my armored jacket to Braeleigh, who wore it like a dress. I wish I'd gotten a picture; it came most of the way to her ankles and probably could've gone around her twice.

There was a rap battle going on outside the museum, a host of awesome geeky and arty shops to browse through, and eventually a large order of Chinese takeout back at the house. We failed to get pictures of the group of us, but we'll be back that way soon to remedy the situation.