Florida Keys
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![[Watch Your Step]](under_construction.gif)
Florida Keys
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Homestead, which bore the brunt of Hurricane Andrew, is still mainland and not in the Keys. But this is a subjective wander-about and I include it here because when I hit Homestead I can feel the weight of Miami and the metropolitan SE sprawl fall away. It's a clear transition point to me.
The area around Homestead is farm country, providing year-round produce for Florida and the rest of the country. It also has a new auto racing facility, which was built amid much talk of scandal, influence-peddling and powerful people applying pressure. Carl Hiaasen has followed this story closely.
There are two ways into the Keys from Homestead. The quickest way (unless the traffic is backed up) is down Route 1, a dangerous three-lane road (middle lane is alternate passing, often ignored) that goes through very flat land, dotted along the way by many osprey nests constructed on special poles the state has provided along the road. Kingfishers also love to sit on the wires, checking things out.
I prefer the road less taken and opt for the Card Sound Road approach to the Keys. The turnoff from Route 1 is just south of Homestead and as soon as you swing off onto it you're in a different world. The narrow two-lane road is lined by closely packed mangroves, the taller trees still showing hurricane damage.
Mangroves are linked in my mind with the Keys, I guess because it is in this fragile yet tenacious environment that their life cycle and the part they play in ecology of the region is most apparent. [INSERT mangrove information].
Just before Card Sound a group of nautical squatters have carved a ramshackle community out of bureaucratic cowardice. Although most of the boats, or piles of scrap wood stacked up to look like boats, will never again sail, they are considered to be temporarily moored there and eligible to tap into the electricity and water. Apparently they are on the dividing line between two governmental jurisdictions and neither one wants to take the heat for displacing these colorful and essentially harmless squatters.
Immediately following is Alabama Jack's, a rambling bar/restaurant that hangs out over the water. Loud and hard-rocking at night, it's quiet and restful during the day. I like the tables on the outside, overlooking the water and thick mangroves. Looking down,you can see fish swimming under your feet through the spaces between boards. Alabama Jack's has a dock around back and at times it seems they get as many customers by boat as by car. It's a great place for people-watching as well as eyeballing the surrounding natural wonders.
There are no other businesses to speak of for miles in any direction. Florida has lots of these little places hidden away, places where people have put their roots down to do what they feel like doing. I like these spots and seek them out. At night the loud music drifts out across the wilderness, giving an odd temporary patina of human existence over the silent mangroves and gently slapping water.
The bridge over Card Sound (toll $1) is one of my favorite bridges in the world. Carl Hiaasen must like it, too, as it appears in several of his books. In STORMY WEATHER, Skink rides out a hurricane while lashed to the side.
From the top of the Card Sound Bridge everything opens up: endless water to the horizon in almost every direction, the narrow, fragile islands stretching over 100 miles down to Key West, and at the foot of the bridge is -- you guessed it -- more mangroves.
These are special mangroves, though, one of only two habitats in the United States for the American Crocodile. In the states they live in a pretty narrow ecological niche and are very sensitive to environmental changes. Chain link fences line the road here, keeping people away from the crocodiles and the crocodiles away from the cars.
This is now Key Largo, and as Card Sound Road rejoins Route 1 you are entering the Upper Keys on the Overseas Highway. From here on, there is only one way down to Key West, the end of the road.
In many ways, I don't feel like I'm in the Keys when I drive through Key Largo. It's too built up for my taste, and too wide. If I can't see or smell the water, it's not really the Keys to me. Yet here you see the first of the tacky trappings characteristic of the Keys. Huge sculptures, usually of giant multicolored fish, boats or menacing crustaceans stand in front of businesses. Residences start sporting manatee mailboxes by the road. These realistic replicas, about five feet tall, stand on their tails and hold a mailbox in their front flippers. It is traditional to dress them up for holidays. Around Halloween they become witches, warlocks and goblins; at Christmas they wear Santa hats and reindeer antlers; around Easter they sprout bunny ears. They are so tacky they're cool. I want one.
Locations in the Keys are indicated by Mile Markers, which measure the distance to the end of the road in Key West. These are used by locals and businesses to indicate addresses instead of street numbers. Mile Markers are noted by signs along the road and the abbreviation is MM. For instance, John Pennekamp State Park is in Key Largo at MM 102.5.
