- 19,698
- Alabamamania
After a couple of weeks of staying decidedly local in my work pursuits, I decided that last Monday would be a great idea to take a day off from the hustle and or bustle of everyday life. Thus, I crammed myself into an automobile in search of exploration and capturing images with a lens-based image sensor, since my noggin can be rather unreliable. I seek peace and quiet, and sometimes you have to go some distance to get to it. Florida’s Everglades is just that type of place, a virtually uninhabited land where nature’s population is mostly left alone.
Florida’s Everglades are a massive area of the state that is nearly perpetually under water. Marjorie Stoneman Douglas famously called it the “River of Grass”, and where there is perpetual water over land, there is mud. The mud makes it possible for trees to grow, for birds to nest, photosynthesis to give us oxygen. Eventually, the by-product of these stately and elegant plants becomes harvested lumber, which in turn becomes non-mechanical pencils.
But to get there, you have to cross a few roads hither and yon (where is Yon…the Orient?) and then as the great masters say, you are where you no longer have been. I start out on US Route 27 for a spell, and as we pass the county line, I make a right onto Krome Avenue. I suppose since the "H" is silent in the word "chrome", you might as well spell it with a "K". Krome is also a very dull road, don't let the name fool you…the only thing that shines is the occasional sunlight.
There is one interesting place, the site of the AT&T ship-to-shore transmitter. It even had the call letters WOM, and there were three stations nationwide. AT&T disbanded this service in 1999, leaving this impressive tower to GTP (global telecommunications partnership).
At the intersection of Tamiami Trail and Krome, I got out for gas at Dade Corners. This is one of those quirky general stores that you rarely see anymore, since Wal-Mart and other megalithic gas stations popped up everywhere. You can get gas, a sub sandwich, ammunition, an alligator head, a belt buckle, and tickets for airboat rides. I settled on a Red Bull.
Tamiami Trail was created around 1920 as a means to cross the southern portion of the state. The time, effort, cost and human toll was actually quite staggering…malaria, heat stroke, large reptiles, flooding, and lack of any services make it a difficult process to complete. Most of the western portion was completed, but the segment across the width of the state had yet to be completed.
First stop along the Tamiami was the hamlet of Coopertown; Population: 0008. If you want to eat alligator, opossum, or frogs, then this is the place to get your grub on. Or you can have an airboat tour, see some exhibits, or use the wooden bridge across the Tamiami Canal for a look.
Putting my faith in mechanical engineering and county building codes, I crossed the bridge for a few photos. Despite a few creaks and wobbles from the planks, I thankfully did not chum the waters with a certain large non-native Floridian species.
Despite what you may think, gators do not typically attack humans. Like bears, they may sniff around, but will only attack if startled, protecting their young, or while eating. They are generally shy of people unless interrupted. However, they do not like to be startled for any reason, and tripping over a gator, or accidentally stepping on one can have potentially lethal consequences. They will not jump out of the water like a dolphin, but they will crawl up quickly enough to attack. Basically, if they’re left alone to chill out in the water, you can safely view them from land from a few feet away. If you’re both sharing the same piece of land or water, you’d best get going, unless you know how to wrestle one of them (not recommended).
Today’s alignment of the road was partially financed by Barron Collier, who get a county named after him for buying up a lot of land. The county below it is “mainland” Monroe County, and James Jaudon’s Chevelier Corporation bought it, so land sites would be parceled up and sold. Collier was more interested in the farming rights, and Chevelier was going to sell the parcels. Collier proposed that the roadway, which had now run out of funding, go though his lands if he would foot the bill. As for the Chevelier Corporation, they hadn’t sold much land in the swamp lands, and had spent their time and energy creating another route for the proposed Tamiami Trail.
(If this is getting boring, how about a photo of a Chevy Camaro with a lift kit?)
Even though Collier won out, don’t feel too sorry for Mister Jaudon…his nearly useless parcels of swampland would eventually be bought up by the Department of the Interior to become Everglades National Park. The Tamiami Trail just misses going though Monroe County by a hair. Jaudon was left with a road to nowhere, although the route was connected on both ends by US Route 94 (now labeled US 41), creating a loop road. Being the insightful types that they were, the name Loop Road stuck. So it’s the twice-removed unloved stepchild of Tamiami Trail, though. Instead of being called US 94, it eventually became State Road 94. Due to a profound lack of maintenance, it turned over to county control, and became County Road 94. Now, it’s not even considered that, it’s a park road, and maintenance belongs to the Department of the Interior. It is not in the best of shape, to say the least.
This was the only vehicle I passed...sort of.
The first section of the route isn’t very scenic, it’s a residential neighborhood for the Miccosukee Indian Tribe. Fortunately, that section of the road is paved, and although narrow, it isn’t heavily travelled. Then there’s the section that belongs to the Park Service. There are lots of Private Property signs, so you really should be careful where you step and what you do.
The first curiosity is the ghost town of Pinecrest. There’s probably about twenty structures left of the area, nearly all of them in some manner of seclusion; you don’t live out here because you like city life, you live here to get away from nearly everyone. And some city boy in a little car probably isn’t going to impress them much, although generally, if you leave people and their stuff alone, you’ll get the same hospitality in return.
Pinecrest was never heavily populated, although the legend has it that Al Capone once owned land out here. There were others that were “running away from the law”, so to speak, which was perpetuated by the Loop Road being firmly in Monroe County, inaccessible by its own constables due to being landlocked by Collier and Miami-Dade counties on both sides. Nowadays, a state police force would take care of that issue…but a lot of this is more myth and legend, so it sounds good.
So for the first third of Loop Road’s length, there is not difficulty in navigating the roads. You can pull over in a few spots and get close to the plant and wildlife. The serenity and quiet is calming, and save the alligators and a few noisy birds, it is a place to be all alone.
After passing by Pinecrest, the road decided it no longer wanted to be paved, and would rather be gravel and crushed limestone, with lots of mud and water. This was the determining point: When you think of an off-road vehicle, the first thing you think of is a Jeep, or a truck, a rally car, or a swamp buggy. Perhaps a Scion is nearly the last thing you would choose, after a stretch limousine, but just before a low-rider pickup truck. After all, even among Toyota’s all-terrain offerings, there are Land Cruisers, FJ Cruisers, Tundras, Tacomas, and yes, even the LX 470 that are billed as better all-round choices when you leave the pavement.
That’s where bravery and a Scion xD come into play…or at least a refusal of the National Park Service’s suggestion not to proceed due to recent rains. However, despite the little voice telling me to turn around, the conquistador in me decided that pressing on further would be far more interesting. Besides, I think I just wanted to be the first person to travel though the Everglades with a Scion. Having about 6-8 inches of ground clearance should be enough I judged, using the same part of my brain that goads me into having another drink among friends or telling me when to stop using the internet.
Of course, you may walk if you want to...
...medal of honor to this guy, honestly.
The water puddles seemed to be as deep as 8-12 inches, and they spanned the width of the usable road in most places Luckily, there are high and low spots, so no puddle was longer than thirty feet long. The advantages of having a small car meant I could ride right up onto the soft shoulders to traverse Loop Road, where it was usually dry upon a 6-inch width.
I folded up both mirrors to prevent losing them against a tree branch, and rolled down the driver’s window. I didn’t want to run the air conditioning, because I felt the compressor pulley probably wasn’t going function normally with water, sand, and mud dumping onto the belt. Fortunately, it was only about 80 degrees and not terribly humid outside. Every quarter mile or so, there was a raised culvert, so I would let the engine cool down a little and get out and take some more photographs.
After about two miles of this, I saw a black vehicle wandering around in front of me, sort of like the way I was driving to avoid the deepest puddles. Just before I got to the vehicle, a man and woman got out of the car to look around. I drove near by and they waved for attention. I stopped, and looked at my phone…no service. (No surprise, really.) I greeted them, and the couple was just looking around, but they were worried about getting in trouble, as they had a rental car. They were from Switzerland, and were on vacation, and wanted to get a close-up view of the Everglades…I told them just be careful not to walk off the path as there are alligators that will hurt you if you’re bit, and that the mud can be 2-3 feet deep in places. You will have a hard time getting out from wading though the swamp. They also were worried about driving off road…I told them to look for two right-hand turns in a row, and that is when you know you are headed for Tamiami Trail again. I also warned them that there is no gas, services, or food at all for another 40 kilometers (in-head conversion!) so be careful and stay off land marked Private Property. They said they’d be fine…hopefully they made it.
On my way, I ran over something that make a mighty clunk underneath the car, I looked back and saw a large branch about 5 inches in diameter was in the road, but it was nearly the same color as the road, so I’d missed missing it. Some of the potholes were so deep in places that I hit my head on the roof of the car twice when going over them. Loop Road’s posted speed limit in this section is 25 miles per hour, incidentally. There’s actually some sections with 15 mph (the residential sections) and even a posted 30 mph and 40 mph in places, although I doubt anyone’s checking. However, in the muddy sections, you’re usually cruising at 5-10, at best. I engine braked nearly the entire time though this route.
Eventually, I reach Sweetwater Strand, and that part is a little higher above water level, and is a lot drier. Mostly smooth sailing driving from here, although at a sea level of 2-3 feet below, you’re just an afternoon rain storm away from being the S.S. Minnow. Finally made it to the Gator Hook campground site, with its high ground and a place to stop and rest.
Loop Road continues another two miles, and then terminates at Tamiami Trail, which is a location called Monroe Station. This used to be a lodge and restaurant, a place to refill your tank, and for a local police officer to call his station. Hurricane Wilma damaged it beyond recognition, and it has not been rebuit to its former glory since. Now it's merely a small wildlife check station, and a place for travelers to park their trucks and trailers.
Preferrable mode of transport?
...one of these things, is not like the others...
Heading west, I stop by the Ochopee Post Office. It's the smallest one in the nation:
So I head back up State Road 29, to Copeland. These towns appeared shortly after the Tamiami Trail was completed; mostly for agriculture or for logging enterprises. Copeland was a sawmill town, but deforestation occurred, and combined with the difficulty in cutting trees in waist (in some cases, neck) deep water was rather dangerous; the demand for lumber slowed as well in post-WWII America. With the preserve restrictions in place, the factory town gradually disappeared. The general store closed for good a few years ago. About 100-200 people still live in the area, which has yet to be explored by modern land developers.
A little further up the road is Jerome, another former factory town. This was the site of the C.J.Jones lumber mill, which became one of the largest mills in the nation, with hundreds of employees operating the rail lines, sawmill, and cutting the vast amount of trees in the area. By 1956, the supply of trees decreased, and the difficulty in hauling the fallen trees only increased costs, so the owners sold the mill.
In about 20,000 years, this road will be suitable for automobiles such as mine:
What happened next is a source of mystery: During disassembly of the mill, the story goes that an errant acetylene torch kindled some wood, and the mill burned to the ground. Unfortunately, the flames also spread to a large vat of creosote. Once ignited, the vat literally exploded, creating a tarry mess that eventually seeped into the soil and water.
Generations of townsfolk passed by, assumed the swamp water was a normal byproduct of having no municipal water treatment facilities. It wasn't until 1989 that a visitor realized that the drinking water was suspiciously sub-par. The mysteriously high mounts of illnesses, tumors, and cancers per capita suddenly made many residents uneasy. The feds declared the area a Superfund site, due to high levels of toxins caused by creosote in the soil and water.
...But it looks so calm...
A multi-million dollar lawsuit against the original landowners was eventually settled, and many of the residents moved away in fear for their health. But approximately 10-20 people, many life-long residents, or those looking to get away from busier places, have stayed put. Jerome may eventually become a ghost town as it borders the Big Cypress Natural Preserve overlooked by state and federal bureaus, as well as whatever the Environmental Protection Agency decides to do with it the land itself...Screwed doesn't begin to tell the story...
Up next is Deep Lake, and to be honest, there's nothing left. An abandoned prison (I'll leave the exploration to someone else) a fire station and yes, a deep lake are all that is left of the town; it was originally a very marginal place in which to grow grapefruit. Barron Collier first settled this area and built his mansion here about 100 years ago.
...Nightmare fuel.
In order to transport the crops, they made their own railway, since there was no road at the time. The "locomotive" was actually an old Ford Model A with the wheels flanged to fit the unique rail gauge. Flooding became a problem, so the town did not last much longer.
The road continues to Miles City, which isn't really a city, but it is miles away from anything. Now, its time to head for home; via Alligator Alley. Although likely the only stretch of Interstate highway locally referred to as an alley, it has also gained notoriety as Florida's Autobahn. Eighty-six miles without any curves, only two real exits (save the rest areas). Despite the straights, it can be very scenic, as well as infested with alligators, mosquitoes, and the Florida Highway Patrol.
...and then I washed the car.
Florida’s Everglades are a massive area of the state that is nearly perpetually under water. Marjorie Stoneman Douglas famously called it the “River of Grass”, and where there is perpetual water over land, there is mud. The mud makes it possible for trees to grow, for birds to nest, photosynthesis to give us oxygen. Eventually, the by-product of these stately and elegant plants becomes harvested lumber, which in turn becomes non-mechanical pencils.
But to get there, you have to cross a few roads hither and yon (where is Yon…the Orient?) and then as the great masters say, you are where you no longer have been. I start out on US Route 27 for a spell, and as we pass the county line, I make a right onto Krome Avenue. I suppose since the "H" is silent in the word "chrome", you might as well spell it with a "K". Krome is also a very dull road, don't let the name fool you…the only thing that shines is the occasional sunlight.
There is one interesting place, the site of the AT&T ship-to-shore transmitter. It even had the call letters WOM, and there were three stations nationwide. AT&T disbanded this service in 1999, leaving this impressive tower to GTP (global telecommunications partnership).
At the intersection of Tamiami Trail and Krome, I got out for gas at Dade Corners. This is one of those quirky general stores that you rarely see anymore, since Wal-Mart and other megalithic gas stations popped up everywhere. You can get gas, a sub sandwich, ammunition, an alligator head, a belt buckle, and tickets for airboat rides. I settled on a Red Bull.
Tamiami Trail was created around 1920 as a means to cross the southern portion of the state. The time, effort, cost and human toll was actually quite staggering…malaria, heat stroke, large reptiles, flooding, and lack of any services make it a difficult process to complete. Most of the western portion was completed, but the segment across the width of the state had yet to be completed.
First stop along the Tamiami was the hamlet of Coopertown; Population: 0008. If you want to eat alligator, opossum, or frogs, then this is the place to get your grub on. Or you can have an airboat tour, see some exhibits, or use the wooden bridge across the Tamiami Canal for a look.
Putting my faith in mechanical engineering and county building codes, I crossed the bridge for a few photos. Despite a few creaks and wobbles from the planks, I thankfully did not chum the waters with a certain large non-native Floridian species.
Despite what you may think, gators do not typically attack humans. Like bears, they may sniff around, but will only attack if startled, protecting their young, or while eating. They are generally shy of people unless interrupted. However, they do not like to be startled for any reason, and tripping over a gator, or accidentally stepping on one can have potentially lethal consequences. They will not jump out of the water like a dolphin, but they will crawl up quickly enough to attack. Basically, if they’re left alone to chill out in the water, you can safely view them from land from a few feet away. If you’re both sharing the same piece of land or water, you’d best get going, unless you know how to wrestle one of them (not recommended).
Today’s alignment of the road was partially financed by Barron Collier, who get a county named after him for buying up a lot of land. The county below it is “mainland” Monroe County, and James Jaudon’s Chevelier Corporation bought it, so land sites would be parceled up and sold. Collier was more interested in the farming rights, and Chevelier was going to sell the parcels. Collier proposed that the roadway, which had now run out of funding, go though his lands if he would foot the bill. As for the Chevelier Corporation, they hadn’t sold much land in the swamp lands, and had spent their time and energy creating another route for the proposed Tamiami Trail.
(If this is getting boring, how about a photo of a Chevy Camaro with a lift kit?)
Even though Collier won out, don’t feel too sorry for Mister Jaudon…his nearly useless parcels of swampland would eventually be bought up by the Department of the Interior to become Everglades National Park. The Tamiami Trail just misses going though Monroe County by a hair. Jaudon was left with a road to nowhere, although the route was connected on both ends by US Route 94 (now labeled US 41), creating a loop road. Being the insightful types that they were, the name Loop Road stuck. So it’s the twice-removed unloved stepchild of Tamiami Trail, though. Instead of being called US 94, it eventually became State Road 94. Due to a profound lack of maintenance, it turned over to county control, and became County Road 94. Now, it’s not even considered that, it’s a park road, and maintenance belongs to the Department of the Interior. It is not in the best of shape, to say the least.
This was the only vehicle I passed...sort of.
The first section of the route isn’t very scenic, it’s a residential neighborhood for the Miccosukee Indian Tribe. Fortunately, that section of the road is paved, and although narrow, it isn’t heavily travelled. Then there’s the section that belongs to the Park Service. There are lots of Private Property signs, so you really should be careful where you step and what you do.
The first curiosity is the ghost town of Pinecrest. There’s probably about twenty structures left of the area, nearly all of them in some manner of seclusion; you don’t live out here because you like city life, you live here to get away from nearly everyone. And some city boy in a little car probably isn’t going to impress them much, although generally, if you leave people and their stuff alone, you’ll get the same hospitality in return.
Pinecrest was never heavily populated, although the legend has it that Al Capone once owned land out here. There were others that were “running away from the law”, so to speak, which was perpetuated by the Loop Road being firmly in Monroe County, inaccessible by its own constables due to being landlocked by Collier and Miami-Dade counties on both sides. Nowadays, a state police force would take care of that issue…but a lot of this is more myth and legend, so it sounds good.
So for the first third of Loop Road’s length, there is not difficulty in navigating the roads. You can pull over in a few spots and get close to the plant and wildlife. The serenity and quiet is calming, and save the alligators and a few noisy birds, it is a place to be all alone.
After passing by Pinecrest, the road decided it no longer wanted to be paved, and would rather be gravel and crushed limestone, with lots of mud and water. This was the determining point: When you think of an off-road vehicle, the first thing you think of is a Jeep, or a truck, a rally car, or a swamp buggy. Perhaps a Scion is nearly the last thing you would choose, after a stretch limousine, but just before a low-rider pickup truck. After all, even among Toyota’s all-terrain offerings, there are Land Cruisers, FJ Cruisers, Tundras, Tacomas, and yes, even the LX 470 that are billed as better all-round choices when you leave the pavement.
That’s where bravery and a Scion xD come into play…or at least a refusal of the National Park Service’s suggestion not to proceed due to recent rains. However, despite the little voice telling me to turn around, the conquistador in me decided that pressing on further would be far more interesting. Besides, I think I just wanted to be the first person to travel though the Everglades with a Scion. Having about 6-8 inches of ground clearance should be enough I judged, using the same part of my brain that goads me into having another drink among friends or telling me when to stop using the internet.
Of course, you may walk if you want to...
...medal of honor to this guy, honestly.
The water puddles seemed to be as deep as 8-12 inches, and they spanned the width of the usable road in most places Luckily, there are high and low spots, so no puddle was longer than thirty feet long. The advantages of having a small car meant I could ride right up onto the soft shoulders to traverse Loop Road, where it was usually dry upon a 6-inch width.
I folded up both mirrors to prevent losing them against a tree branch, and rolled down the driver’s window. I didn’t want to run the air conditioning, because I felt the compressor pulley probably wasn’t going function normally with water, sand, and mud dumping onto the belt. Fortunately, it was only about 80 degrees and not terribly humid outside. Every quarter mile or so, there was a raised culvert, so I would let the engine cool down a little and get out and take some more photographs.
After about two miles of this, I saw a black vehicle wandering around in front of me, sort of like the way I was driving to avoid the deepest puddles. Just before I got to the vehicle, a man and woman got out of the car to look around. I drove near by and they waved for attention. I stopped, and looked at my phone…no service. (No surprise, really.) I greeted them, and the couple was just looking around, but they were worried about getting in trouble, as they had a rental car. They were from Switzerland, and were on vacation, and wanted to get a close-up view of the Everglades…I told them just be careful not to walk off the path as there are alligators that will hurt you if you’re bit, and that the mud can be 2-3 feet deep in places. You will have a hard time getting out from wading though the swamp. They also were worried about driving off road…I told them to look for two right-hand turns in a row, and that is when you know you are headed for Tamiami Trail again. I also warned them that there is no gas, services, or food at all for another 40 kilometers (in-head conversion!) so be careful and stay off land marked Private Property. They said they’d be fine…hopefully they made it.
On my way, I ran over something that make a mighty clunk underneath the car, I looked back and saw a large branch about 5 inches in diameter was in the road, but it was nearly the same color as the road, so I’d missed missing it. Some of the potholes were so deep in places that I hit my head on the roof of the car twice when going over them. Loop Road’s posted speed limit in this section is 25 miles per hour, incidentally. There’s actually some sections with 15 mph (the residential sections) and even a posted 30 mph and 40 mph in places, although I doubt anyone’s checking. However, in the muddy sections, you’re usually cruising at 5-10, at best. I engine braked nearly the entire time though this route.
Eventually, I reach Sweetwater Strand, and that part is a little higher above water level, and is a lot drier. Mostly smooth sailing driving from here, although at a sea level of 2-3 feet below, you’re just an afternoon rain storm away from being the S.S. Minnow. Finally made it to the Gator Hook campground site, with its high ground and a place to stop and rest.
Loop Road continues another two miles, and then terminates at Tamiami Trail, which is a location called Monroe Station. This used to be a lodge and restaurant, a place to refill your tank, and for a local police officer to call his station. Hurricane Wilma damaged it beyond recognition, and it has not been rebuit to its former glory since. Now it's merely a small wildlife check station, and a place for travelers to park their trucks and trailers.
Preferrable mode of transport?
...one of these things, is not like the others...
Heading west, I stop by the Ochopee Post Office. It's the smallest one in the nation:
So I head back up State Road 29, to Copeland. These towns appeared shortly after the Tamiami Trail was completed; mostly for agriculture or for logging enterprises. Copeland was a sawmill town, but deforestation occurred, and combined with the difficulty in cutting trees in waist (in some cases, neck) deep water was rather dangerous; the demand for lumber slowed as well in post-WWII America. With the preserve restrictions in place, the factory town gradually disappeared. The general store closed for good a few years ago. About 100-200 people still live in the area, which has yet to be explored by modern land developers.
A little further up the road is Jerome, another former factory town. This was the site of the C.J.Jones lumber mill, which became one of the largest mills in the nation, with hundreds of employees operating the rail lines, sawmill, and cutting the vast amount of trees in the area. By 1956, the supply of trees decreased, and the difficulty in hauling the fallen trees only increased costs, so the owners sold the mill.
In about 20,000 years, this road will be suitable for automobiles such as mine:
What happened next is a source of mystery: During disassembly of the mill, the story goes that an errant acetylene torch kindled some wood, and the mill burned to the ground. Unfortunately, the flames also spread to a large vat of creosote. Once ignited, the vat literally exploded, creating a tarry mess that eventually seeped into the soil and water.
Generations of townsfolk passed by, assumed the swamp water was a normal byproduct of having no municipal water treatment facilities. It wasn't until 1989 that a visitor realized that the drinking water was suspiciously sub-par. The mysteriously high mounts of illnesses, tumors, and cancers per capita suddenly made many residents uneasy. The feds declared the area a Superfund site, due to high levels of toxins caused by creosote in the soil and water.
...But it looks so calm...
A multi-million dollar lawsuit against the original landowners was eventually settled, and many of the residents moved away in fear for their health. But approximately 10-20 people, many life-long residents, or those looking to get away from busier places, have stayed put. Jerome may eventually become a ghost town as it borders the Big Cypress Natural Preserve overlooked by state and federal bureaus, as well as whatever the Environmental Protection Agency decides to do with it the land itself...Screwed doesn't begin to tell the story...
Up next is Deep Lake, and to be honest, there's nothing left. An abandoned prison (I'll leave the exploration to someone else) a fire station and yes, a deep lake are all that is left of the town; it was originally a very marginal place in which to grow grapefruit. Barron Collier first settled this area and built his mansion here about 100 years ago.
...Nightmare fuel.
In order to transport the crops, they made their own railway, since there was no road at the time. The "locomotive" was actually an old Ford Model A with the wheels flanged to fit the unique rail gauge. Flooding became a problem, so the town did not last much longer.
The road continues to Miles City, which isn't really a city, but it is miles away from anything. Now, its time to head for home; via Alligator Alley. Although likely the only stretch of Interstate highway locally referred to as an alley, it has also gained notoriety as Florida's Autobahn. Eighty-six miles without any curves, only two real exits (save the rest areas). Despite the straights, it can be very scenic, as well as infested with alligators, mosquitoes, and the Florida Highway Patrol.
...and then I washed the car.
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