March 30 – April 1, 2011 We bend toward home…and Ft Myers

Feral, once again, we are the last to leave the campground and begin the journey home.

Getting a little tired of these guys, this time at Big Cypress Swamp.

A pair of eyes watch us, wondering what we are doing next to a jet engine carcass in the swamp.

We drive north off the keys and bend west at Hwy 41, driving the scenic route through the Big Cypress National Preserve, passing many alligator farms and airboat hustlers, but little new; at Bill and Beth’s suggestion, we pull into a park describing itself as an Alligators and Snakes campground, and also as the regional headquarters for skunk-ape research. I tour their “zoo” and find a collection of snakes of all sizes and alligators; one alligator kept in a box little bigger than his dimensions. The grounds have several ponds with at least one wild alligator visible, peering at me as I stand next to a big jet engine inexplicably at the pond’s edge.

We have dinner with Bill and Beth, combining their leftovers with ours, but the after dinner conversation breaks up when we discover ants on everything. All retire to bed glad we are camped off the ground, and hoping these ants don’t find their way in.

The next day we split, continuing on our own to Naples on the gulf, which seems pleasant but mostly a community of shopping malls and high-rise condo developments. We pull in to Delnor-Wiggns Pass State Park, a heavily vegetated day-use area on the coast at the base of more high-rise condos, so Marcia can look for seashells. I ask a kayaker if he has seen any manatees, but he says not in at least three weeks, they’ve all moved on. We do too, after a short time on the beach, as it is too windy and the surf rough because of a developing storm.

We settle finally at Ft Myers, which is (among other things) the point where the Intracoastal Waterway crosses Florida. Our camp is The Groves RV Resort, a snowbird haven. Occupancy reached 100% a few weeks ago but a few snowbirds have left; those remaining, as always, greet us in a very friendly fashion. One neighbor is from Chicago and will be going home later in a couple weeks; another is leaving for Wisconsin on Tuesday. They all talk of the snow still at home. Those with motor homes drive home; the others often leave their trailer or fifth wheeler on the site rear-round and simply drive or fly home. They will almost all be gone by the end of April. When they return in November to January they will have a ready-made community as they re-greet friends made the prior year. Not a bad life.

The inside of a mangrove.

Roseate spoonbills and friends at Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge.

Late in the afternoon we drive to the JN “Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge where we see roseate spoonbills in such abundance our few sightings in the Everglades seem less miraculous. There are also several people fishing legally in this wildlife refuge, something I always have difficulty understanding.

There still being some sunlight we drive to Sanibel Island where Marcia joins many others scooping seashells by the handful (while I read in the car), and afterward we go to dinner at a restaurant called The Stone Crab; I’m a little tired of seafood and have a good burger but Marcia has and likes the stone crabs.

A banyon tree at Edison's home in Ft Myers.

A wise man and his shorter friend.

...and other friend.

Great composition, Marcia!

Henry Ford's home is more modest, but then he only spent two weeks a year here.

Inside the Edison home.

These large covered porches are fantastic.

The Edison home in Ft Myers.

Ms. Edison and Ms. Murray discuss their respective upcoming Art in the Garden tours.

 Edison and Ford had winter homes in Ft. Myers, so for $20 each we tour the sites. Edison was here first and built a beautiful, comfortable looking home on the river; Henry, a friend and onetime employee, moved in next door, another comfortable home. Ford generally spent only two weeks a year here, while Edison spent a bit more time. The landscaping is lush as Edison was experimenting with a variety of plants as sources for rubber, and he and his wife just loved plants. This man had an incredible range of interests. Both homes, and the adjoining guesthouse, are far more livable and pleasant looking than the overblown Henry Flagler manse in Palm Beach.

A man and his sloth are hard to separate.

The FMHS band performs downtown.

We drive to Ft Myers’ historic downtown and stumble upon an art walk and music fest, and a very active restaurant scene. We end up liking Fort Myers.

March 29, 2011 The party’s over…

The storm is gone – the first significant rain we’ve had since Tallahassee. I pull my awning out so it can dry and try to figure out, unsuccessfully, why this particular piece of aluminum keeps becoming stressed to the point that it breaks. John comes over and offers some help and some wire-ties to secure the thing. But this can’t be solved now, so once dry I simply retract it and secure it for the drive home. (Many of us scrambled with our awnings that night, but I’m the only one that seems to have had damage.)

The day is a slow one for most everyone as we wait for the evening’s farewell banquet and the formal end of our Florida Fantasy WBCCI Airstream caravan. The temperature is in the 80s and the humidity has become uncomfortable. Probably time to blow this state.

To kill time, Marcia and I drive to Sombrero, a Marathon Key beach on the Atlantic side, for lunch and some brief beach time. White sands, no admission charges, and no crowd – the only complaint might be that there is little shade, we are far south, it is about noon, and we are gonna get sunburned.

We walk on to the sand and before us on the narrow beach is a twenty-something woman with a great tan and very white breasts; this I know because she is not wearing a top. Marcia plants herself about twenty feet behind the woman and gives me a look and smile, thinking I will be a bit uncomfortable. I am a bit. We place our full-size folding chairs in the sand, pull out our books, and get some sun in a pleasant breeze.

Between paragraphs I gaze to the ocean. I’m rewarded with the sight of a 3-foot very oval fish leaping into the air and back into the sea. This just isn’t California in many ways.

After a half-hour I get nervous about my exposure without sunscreen and we leave. As we leave I tell Marcia I’m also concerned the topless woman will sunburn but that conversation goes nowhere. If life had taken a different pace, she could have been my daughter or granddaughter, so my concerns are warranted.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in camp getting the trailer in order for our long trip home.

The farewell banquet is at the Key Colony Inn where we all converge about 4:30 PM. Dinner is okay to good but the company great, our fellow caravaners cleaned up and in their best clothes. Everybody is saying their goodbyes, particularly to Al and Gracie, as this is the next-to-last caravan they will be leading in a 20-year unpaid career of doing this (their last is Newfoundland this summer).

We have made many new friends and look forward to seeing them again in California or somewhere down the road.  As Airstreamers frequently say, have a good trip and keep the shinny side up.

March 25 – 29, 2011 We head down the keys...

It is 126 miles from Florida City to Key West, mostly on Hwy 1 with one lane in each direction and a paint stripe separating the traffic.  And Floridians are not shy about passing into oncoming traffic.

It is a series of keys or islands connected by bridges, the longest bridge being 7 miles.

Historically these islands were connected only by boat until Henry Flagler completed his railway in 1912, using a special German concrete that would harden under water. In the 1930s a hurricane put the railway out of business and killed over 400 people.  The state got the old railbed and by1939 a very narrow auto road was built on the remains, the track refashioned as guardrails. This road was replaced by the current one in 1982, but it remains in discontinuous sections, sometimes not touching land at either end. Some sections that touch land have been refurbished for recreation – fishing, walking, and bicycling.

One of many bridges.

A small mangrove.

Sunshine Key RV Park - we pay a lot less but the rack rate is around $90 in season.

After Florida City Al has become very cautious about promising anything with regards to campground service, and advises us to dump our tanks before hitting the road. We take our chances and go loaded, and arrive at the Sunshine Key RV Resort on Big Pine Key about 2PM, passing the time on an earlier key with lunch and a game of joker with Mike, Jane, John and Elain – guys won. We also win at Sunshine Key, both in a second round of Joker and in having full 3-point hook-ups. That evening Jane and Mike prepare a great pork roast and we go to bed satisfied.

March 26, 2011 We ride the Whale to Key West…

Sleep is rather uneven. The daytime temperature is probably now in the low 80s but nighttime never falls out of the 70s, and it is mildly humid. There is a steady breeze to provide cooling outdoors, and our fans keep the air moving inside the trailer. No need yet for air conditioning.

Early the next morning we ride 39 miles to Key West in the Whale, traveling with John and Elain, and Mike and Jane. The early start is because Al has arranged an 8 AM trolley tour of Key West, with on-and-off privileges for today and tomorrow.

Nice Key West architecture.

Tom contemplates a fence with hearts and wine bottles intertwined.

Key West is a wonderful place in many ways but this is unfortunately known by far too many people. It isn’t so much that the town is crowded this time of year, although it is; the problem is more one of too many costly attractions, and too many distractions from finding the town’s essence.

We get off the trolley near Mallory Square, roughly half way through the tour. This area is a mix of beautiful historic buildings, such as the old customs house (standard US design, including steep roof so snow will slide off) and waterside warehouses converted into tourist stores. There are also rustic looking modern constructions fronted with fiberglass larger-than-life statues of unnamed Key West characters. One houses a tall platform that would be great for an overview but you must pay an entrance fee to their “museum” for access.

Instead, faced with such bounty of choices, we pay $12+ each to go to Mel Fisher’s treasure museum and store. Somebody once made off with a large piece of gold so we must enter with hats off to be photographed. Displayed are gold, silver, and copper items recovered mostly in the 1980s from Spanish wrecks off Florida dating to the 1600s. Fisher also found an old slaver and displays shackles from that recovery. At the store you can purchase recovered items (old coins, encrusted iron, jewelry made from recovered items) paying anywhere from hundreds to many thousands of dollars. There is also an “investor relations” office if you wish to fund his (actually, he is now dead) continuing treasure hunts. Fisher’s operation employs archeologists but the profession doesn’t much like Fisher’s methods.

Yes, the artist is also the art.

We move on but I’m unwilling to apply the enthusiasm necessary to convince my pod to spend $9 each for the museum in the nearby customs house, although I recall it was pretty good. While the pod is milling about trying to decide its next step, I quickly visit the customs house gift shop and buy an interesting looking book on Flagler, and view some interesting sculptures nearby.

Hemmingway's house.

Count 'em.

Rejoining the pod, we walk to the Little White House on an old Coast Guard base, a favorite of Truman and also enjoyed by a number of other presidents. Tours are once hourly so we decide first to go the lunch at Blue Heaven, a popular place maybe a half-mile off. Of course, they won’t even consider seating us for over an hour so we leave our name and walk on to the old Hemingway house. This is another $12 each and is interesting, although we mostly self-guide as the tour guide is not very good. We do learn, however, that there are over 40 cats on the premises, descended from the six-toed cats Hemingway originally had as pets.

Photo by Bob Vasser

Returning to the Blue Heaven we wait an additional hour before eventually being served by a smart maybe 26-year-old Ukrainian. This is quite a detour in a young life. We don’t know the whole story but she received a law degree in the Ukraine and married a Nicaraguan. Not clear on how she ended up in Key West cheerfully waiting tables, or what happened to the Nicaraguan. She is sharp and tends our table well.

Truman relaxing at the Little White House.

Tourists in line to be photographed at the southernmost point  in the continental  US.

The southernmost idiot in the continental US.

He is no better from the backside.

We finally catch the very good $12/each tour of the Little White House (no inside photos allowed) and walk some more to grab our trolley for the second half of the tour. John hops off at our morning starting point to recover his car and bring it closer to Mallory Point where we plan to finish the evening, and the rest of us get off for photos at the monument celebrating the southern most point in the continental US, only 90 miles from Cuba.

Just ignore us.

Henry Flagler is the one with the green nose.

Add caption

Later, back in Mallory Square, we are exhausted but determined to wait the hour-and-a-half until sunset, as they are reputed to be beautiful and we are told the people in the square do crazy things. Trying to even things out a bit with John and Elain, Mike and I buy ice cream and lemonade and wine coolers for the group; we add in a plate of conch fritters, since none of us has sampled conch, a local favorite. This, inevitably, doesn’t have the intended purpose as we learn John is allergic to shellfish and Elain just isn’t in the mood. I think I ended up eating 3 of the 7 fritters, which were again, okay.

As for people doing crazy things at sunset, I can report only that a couple chose to have their wedding at sunset on Mallory Square. This was a mistake on many levels, as everyone had to wear sunglasses and squint, and two party boats came nosily by just as they were reciting their vows. Meanwhile, in the crowded square, people were entertained by people, with hats out, juggling or doing acrobatic tricks. Rather like the Pier 39 area or Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco. (Later, someone in our campground tells us that in late April, when most of the tourists have left, the town develops a little more of a personality not based so much on the dollar. Races down Duval Street on bed frames, transvestites, etc. Again, San Francisco.)

After a walk to the car John drives us the 35 miles back to our campground key, Marcia mentioning that she can hear a funny rattle. Early the next morning I go outside and find John in overalls under his Suburban looking for the rattle, which turns out to be a loosening connection on a shock absorber.

March 27, 2011 A day at leisure in the keys…

Several trucks of us converge on Crazydays for lunch on a key just north of our campground. Marcia and I share a very good macadamia nut grouper sandwich.

Donna, Jane, Pat and Marcia enjoy the gulf.

Art, Harold, Ed, Susan and Mike.

The ladies from the old bridge.

In the afternoon we ride with Mike and Jane a very short distance south to Bahia Honda State Park, a nice stretch of white sandy beach. Donna and Harold found the place so there are many familiar faces as we pull in. Art loans me his rented facemask but in a swim over my head on the gulf side I see nothing living except grass on the bottom, and the water is cool. I walk barefoot the maybe 100 yards (as the crow flies, not the feet walk) to the Atlantic side and find the water warmer and shallow, no waves at all (the beach is probably facing south). I walk out until the water becomes darker and begin swimming on my back, but soon think better of it as I imagine bumping into a Portuguese Man-o-War; as I turn around my feet hit the bottom, and I realize this water is still only three feet deep, with lot of grass. I see people standing easily 75 yards out from me. Forget it.

Marcia and Denise drove this old road in 1972 on their famous trip around the US.

The state later added the water pipe at the abandoned track level and the road at the top.

A section of the old road from the new road.

In this section the old road looks odder.

Later Mike and I explore the old bridge.

March 28, 2011 We visit the Pigeon Key work camp…

Gracie, Harold, Gary and Larry on the trip to Pigeon Key.

Photo taken by Kathy Warren.

64 workers bunked here during railway construction.

The less skilled workers lived in tents.

Entertaining myself while waiting for the DVD on building the railroad.

Today we take a short boat ride to Pigeon Key, which was an old work camp for the building of the railway; later it became a toll collection site for the road. A small museum and slim sun-damaged docent from the Netherlands tell us probably more than we all really want to know about Flagler and the railway, but very interesting. Interesting fact: at the time Flagler proposed extending the railway through the keys to Key West, Key West was the largest city in Florida.

Mike is looking for a CB antenna so we stop at two Radio Shacks, each of which has a neighboring Beall’s Outlet. Mike gets nothing and the guys come away with $13 shirts.

For lunch we head off in the Whale for the No Name Bar on Deer Key for great pizza and atmosphere. This place has been here since the ‘30s when it featured an upstairs brothel, like all places of historic interest. Today dollar bills are stapled to virtually every inch of the walls and ceilings, enough so to give a fire captain nightmares. (We understand the owner tried to donate the bills during the 9-11 crisis but a local bank stepped in and donated twice the amount on the condition the owner left the bills in place.)

After a couple games of Joker that night under our awning we prepare for sleep. The forecast is 40% chance of thundershowers but I can see stars and things seem calm. I bring in our chairs just in case.

Not more than 45 minutes later we are reading in bed and Marcia asks me why the trailer moved. I give her one of those you’re crazy looks when suddenly we hear noise and feel movement. I dash to the door and look out and it is blowing hard and very humid. The wind is whipping my awning enough to cause the trailer to shake.

I throw on some pants and start retracting my awning in darkness lit by occasional flashes of lightening, but it sticks. I make several attempts trying to find the problem. Marcia emerges from the trailer and I have her hold the awning strap while I investigate, and finally get it to retract, although not completely. I then notice a retainers claw has broken, for the third time since we’ve had the trailer. With rain beginning to fall we retreat to the trailer and drown out the sound of the rain with the white noise of our air conditioner, not sleeping well but sleeping.