- 19,627
- Alabamamania
I just bought four new tires and so it's time to test them out. A Sunday drive is in order, but one must break free of the urban sprawl to actually enjoy the driving part. It's 65 degrees Fahrenheit in South Florida, with skies ranging from clear to cloudy to clear again. No rain, low humidity, and a fully-charged iPod.
I didn't bring a map, since I don't need one. But I drew one for you guys and gals. It's not to scale, there's some distortion, but you knew that already.
After about an hour, I'm finally on the open road. No stop lights! No traffic! No distractions! No...uh, how's your car's alignment? One keeps busy looking for the Florida Highway Patrol, since I've gotten a ticket and a warning here before. Your brain says "65" but your foot says "more please".
Around here, they grow stuff. The most powerful drug in the universe. That's right, sugar. They raise cane here. Informally called Muck City, since the soil a dark brown and it's wet and moist. Trucks haul and spill cane all over the place around here.
And this is where it goes: The Glades Sugarhouse. If you're not addicted to sugar, then tell me why it's running at full clip on a Sunday morning? I rest my case.
It smells as good as it looks. It's diaper-riffic! But that's Belle Glade for you: They produce NFL players and sugar. Why are there so many football players from this area of the world? Because there's so many distractions here.
Time to go before I rust.
I start to go north to Lake Okeechobee, along 441. It winds a little bit, and the curves are banked because there's so many trucks. It's rather Daytona-esque. Finally, I get to a favorite spot of mine, Canal Point. The Palm Beach County Canal meets up with Lake Okeechobee at this point, hence the name for this little town.
Furniture and Produce! Canal Point is telling Wal*Mart they're not welcome here. The skies cleared up and the Lexus Owners of Canal Point meeting took place. Maybe not.
The weather was getting nicer. I was kind of wishing for the first time in my life for a motorcycle.
I think I'll wait until my midlife crisis, or if I'm diagnosed with 6 months to live. (Actually, if that's the case, I'm going to take up flying 747s.)
After that, I continued north on Conners Highway, or alternatively, US 441/US 98/SR 700/SR 15.
It's not as confusing as it looks.
Then I stopped at some hole in the wall.
Now we arrive at the sprawling metropolis of Sand Cut, where a census is taken every day. That's easy enough, since the entire town (village?) is composed of three trailer homes.
I'm not sure if "speck" refers to the Speckled Perch in the nearby lake or the mere size of the town. If that's the case, the irony-per-capita ratio is quite high here.
Eventually, I make it to the City of Okeechobee. Naturally, it's alongside Lake Okeechobee, which is Hitichi for "Big Lake". So there you have it: Lake Big Lake. Just like VIN number and PIN number.
The Greater Okeechobee Chamber of Commerce greets you!
So eventually I needed a snack and a Red Bull (yep, even out here...I never would have thought that Thai-Austrian beverages would arrive here in BigAg-land 10 years ago). I saw a cool bass boat on a trailer. But something on it caught my eye:
That's right...Fantasy Fishing.
So I hop on US 98 (it divorced itself from boring 'ol 441 and took SR 700 with it) and I'm chased by a 90's Mercedes SL Convertible (as odd as a Lexus out here) most of the way. I finally come to one of those road that makes going this far out of your way worth the trouble: Highlands County Road 621.
Traffic was nearly non-existent on CR 621; I had the entire road to myself. It's as if this road only exists in my mind since there's almost never any traffic on it. I saw a single pickup truck going in the opposite direction. Perhaps all my speeding tickets have paid for this road and all of its glory.
It goes around Lake Istokpoga (which means "Lake Dead Man in Water" in Hitichi), and it weaves arout and undulates, and it looks like it hasn't been paved nor widened in 40 years, yet there's no potholes, break-up, nor cracking. Whatever civil engineering project built this road built it to last a century, or perhaps a nuclear winter, it seems. What's even more odd is that it is a mere County Road which generally means the funding is less than most road projects. The road has a familiar rumble when going straight, and a roar when I tackle those corners with finesse. You can also get air-time in a few places. Wheee!
This area is the [wikipedia]caladium[/wikipedia] capital of the world. Except they aren't in bloom until July-August. But this area reminds me that some beautiful things never change.
I took a photo of these same four trees in 1997. They look nearly identical, and they still haven't been removed to make room for more crops.
At the end of the road, I spot another gem. A sign from the past, literally:
Long ago, Florida came up with the bright idea of coloring their black-and-white U.S. Highway signs. Since Florida was an obviously colorful place, why not spread a little bit out to the motorists, so they don't get lost? And green was the chosen color for 27. (US 441 was burgundy, and US 98 was black on white, a reverse of what you see today.) There were a few more colors, but around 1993, this practice stopped, and almost all the signs were reverted to plain 'ol black-and-white.
Legend has it that federal spending money was withheld. Who knows? Maybe someone complained. Talk to the Florida Department of Transportation or consult your AASHTO manual for details. Anyhow, a few signs can still be found, but they're probably all faded. Road signs typically last about 10 years before they're stolen, mutilated by automobiles, shot at, or faded in Florida. This fine example of floridavia federalii was erected in 1978, according to the sticker on the back of it, so it's evaded authorities for over twenty years now. Maybe someone has grafted the other half of it for their garage.
So now onto US 27, and we catch a glimpse of Sebring. Bet you can't wait to see me tear up Sebring International Raceway!
Crap, I left my Superlicense at home. But Zolfo Springs is the other way! It's Italian for "sulfur", because that's when people mined when that town was formed. Zolfo Springs does not smell as bad as the Glades Sugarhouse.
However, we're going to Crewsville, another little town with a big heart. And fun-to-drive on roads. I wouldn't mind living there. It's super-quiet and nobody bothers you out there. People wave to you when you drive by or get out of your car.
I'm in front of the Crewsville Baptist Church and Cemetery. The only business in town is the Heart of Florida greenhouse. No general store, no crossroads, no post office, nothing. Now that you know about it, make a Wikipedia article about Crewsville, since there's nothing on the internet about the town. Tell 'em I sent you.
The road winds some more, dips and there's almost nothing but orange groves and dairy farming here. Fortunately, the cows are a few miles to the south, so driving around with your windows down isn't a scarifice of one of your senses. The road ends at Sweetwater, and the downtown area is quite congested:
The tough part is deciding to get left or right, since the road is fun in either direction. It's sort of like having your choice of red pill or red pill. I drove west (left) and took on more curves on County Road 634.
I looked at my watch and realized I had to take less pictures if I was to get home by 7:00pm, as promised. Sweetwater road has lots of curves, so camera and stering wheels dont mix. Imagine the curvy bits of road between the Nurburgring's Karusell but before Teirgarten. Yea, like that...not flat.
It ends at US 17 (which would be a yellow sign, if it were 1992). So I head south. Arcadia is the only major town there, and if Sage and Omnis want to set up headquarters there, they'll have a loyal following:
That's right: Ron Paul will allow me to shoot pictures at 20 mph on a wide road because I take personal responsibility for my actions. There's also the Joshua Creek in this area, just a few miles south. It flows into Lake Katherine. Isn't that sweet?
Sun's getting lower. Bugs getting on windshield. There's a very Le Mans-ish feel to it...windows down and the familiar growl from my 3.0 liters of I6 fury.
I head down US 17 'til it meets with County Road 74. But just after that, I needed gas...I'm down to 1/8 of a tank. 93 Octane is only $3.25/gallon here, about 30 cents less. Fuel mileage is not bad, since I haven't turned on the A/C for the entire trip. I also pick up another energy drink, a "...Lost" beverage, which tastes like a combination of Robitussin and Switzer's red chewy twists.
While sipping my beverage on CR 74, I passed by "Strasse Street". In my car-automobile. This roadside has lots of pine trees and saw palmetto bushes. It's mesmerizing as the light flickers though them while cruising along, and it's more of the same as I come to the two-way stop with blinking lights. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. It's transcendental, as I come to an intersection with nothing at any corner but the blinking lights. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Must turn right.
State Road 31 is much the same, but it leads to CR 78, which the last of the fun roads. Consider a road geometrically shaped like the Hungaroring, yet lined with trees and ranches. This road keeps you on your toes, as no two curves seem to be alike.
At the end of the road, I reach La Belle. (She's kin to Ma Bell.) I really have to find a suitable bladder discharge zone, and the first gas station was in use, the next was "Out of Order". Finally, a McDonald's (I believe they serve Scottish food?) was open and apparently, the Sunday evening hangout of choice for La Bellians.
Out the door, onward to uneventful State Road 80, then onto US 27 (been there, done that dozens of times) and weaving my way to South Bay and Belle Glade again. This time, the road is under construction. A dualie manages to hit one of the barricades, neatly wedging it between his left-front wheel and holding up traffic that's down to one lane to begin with. I suppose he was thinking of Fantasy Fishing at the time, and lost control at 10 miles an hour. I weaved around this goofy mess and headed home.
I was hungry, so I turnpike'd it home.
The Uniroyal tires held up great; I thought they'd be disappointing since they were far cheaper than the Bridgestones I had before. Much more response and handling across the board, and far less twitchy-ness when hitting the occasional patch of dirt kicked up on some tight corners.
I didn't bring a map, since I don't need one. But I drew one for you guys and gals. It's not to scale, there's some distortion, but you knew that already.
After about an hour, I'm finally on the open road. No stop lights! No traffic! No distractions! No...uh, how's your car's alignment? One keeps busy looking for the Florida Highway Patrol, since I've gotten a ticket and a warning here before. Your brain says "65" but your foot says "more please".
Around here, they grow stuff. The most powerful drug in the universe. That's right, sugar. They raise cane here. Informally called Muck City, since the soil a dark brown and it's wet and moist. Trucks haul and spill cane all over the place around here.
And this is where it goes: The Glades Sugarhouse. If you're not addicted to sugar, then tell me why it's running at full clip on a Sunday morning? I rest my case.
It smells as good as it looks. It's diaper-riffic! But that's Belle Glade for you: They produce NFL players and sugar. Why are there so many football players from this area of the world? Because there's so many distractions here.
Time to go before I rust.
I start to go north to Lake Okeechobee, along 441. It winds a little bit, and the curves are banked because there's so many trucks. It's rather Daytona-esque. Finally, I get to a favorite spot of mine, Canal Point. The Palm Beach County Canal meets up with Lake Okeechobee at this point, hence the name for this little town.
Furniture and Produce! Canal Point is telling Wal*Mart they're not welcome here. The skies cleared up and the Lexus Owners of Canal Point meeting took place. Maybe not.
The weather was getting nicer. I was kind of wishing for the first time in my life for a motorcycle.
I think I'll wait until my midlife crisis, or if I'm diagnosed with 6 months to live. (Actually, if that's the case, I'm going to take up flying 747s.)
After that, I continued north on Conners Highway, or alternatively, US 441/US 98/SR 700/SR 15.
It's not as confusing as it looks.
Then I stopped at some hole in the wall.
Now we arrive at the sprawling metropolis of Sand Cut, where a census is taken every day. That's easy enough, since the entire town (village?) is composed of three trailer homes.
I'm not sure if "speck" refers to the Speckled Perch in the nearby lake or the mere size of the town. If that's the case, the irony-per-capita ratio is quite high here.
Eventually, I make it to the City of Okeechobee. Naturally, it's alongside Lake Okeechobee, which is Hitichi for "Big Lake". So there you have it: Lake Big Lake. Just like VIN number and PIN number.
The Greater Okeechobee Chamber of Commerce greets you!
So eventually I needed a snack and a Red Bull (yep, even out here...I never would have thought that Thai-Austrian beverages would arrive here in BigAg-land 10 years ago). I saw a cool bass boat on a trailer. But something on it caught my eye:
That's right...Fantasy Fishing.
So I hop on US 98 (it divorced itself from boring 'ol 441 and took SR 700 with it) and I'm chased by a 90's Mercedes SL Convertible (as odd as a Lexus out here) most of the way. I finally come to one of those road that makes going this far out of your way worth the trouble: Highlands County Road 621.
Traffic was nearly non-existent on CR 621; I had the entire road to myself. It's as if this road only exists in my mind since there's almost never any traffic on it. I saw a single pickup truck going in the opposite direction. Perhaps all my speeding tickets have paid for this road and all of its glory.
It goes around Lake Istokpoga (which means "Lake Dead Man in Water" in Hitichi), and it weaves arout and undulates, and it looks like it hasn't been paved nor widened in 40 years, yet there's no potholes, break-up, nor cracking. Whatever civil engineering project built this road built it to last a century, or perhaps a nuclear winter, it seems. What's even more odd is that it is a mere County Road which generally means the funding is less than most road projects. The road has a familiar rumble when going straight, and a roar when I tackle those corners with finesse. You can also get air-time in a few places. Wheee!
This area is the [wikipedia]caladium[/wikipedia] capital of the world. Except they aren't in bloom until July-August. But this area reminds me that some beautiful things never change.
I took a photo of these same four trees in 1997. They look nearly identical, and they still haven't been removed to make room for more crops.
At the end of the road, I spot another gem. A sign from the past, literally:
Long ago, Florida came up with the bright idea of coloring their black-and-white U.S. Highway signs. Since Florida was an obviously colorful place, why not spread a little bit out to the motorists, so they don't get lost? And green was the chosen color for 27. (US 441 was burgundy, and US 98 was black on white, a reverse of what you see today.) There were a few more colors, but around 1993, this practice stopped, and almost all the signs were reverted to plain 'ol black-and-white.
Legend has it that federal spending money was withheld. Who knows? Maybe someone complained. Talk to the Florida Department of Transportation or consult your AASHTO manual for details. Anyhow, a few signs can still be found, but they're probably all faded. Road signs typically last about 10 years before they're stolen, mutilated by automobiles, shot at, or faded in Florida. This fine example of floridavia federalii was erected in 1978, according to the sticker on the back of it, so it's evaded authorities for over twenty years now. Maybe someone has grafted the other half of it for their garage.
So now onto US 27, and we catch a glimpse of Sebring. Bet you can't wait to see me tear up Sebring International Raceway!
Crap, I left my Superlicense at home. But Zolfo Springs is the other way! It's Italian for "sulfur", because that's when people mined when that town was formed. Zolfo Springs does not smell as bad as the Glades Sugarhouse.
However, we're going to Crewsville, another little town with a big heart. And fun-to-drive on roads. I wouldn't mind living there. It's super-quiet and nobody bothers you out there. People wave to you when you drive by or get out of your car.
I'm in front of the Crewsville Baptist Church and Cemetery. The only business in town is the Heart of Florida greenhouse. No general store, no crossroads, no post office, nothing. Now that you know about it, make a Wikipedia article about Crewsville, since there's nothing on the internet about the town. Tell 'em I sent you.
The road winds some more, dips and there's almost nothing but orange groves and dairy farming here. Fortunately, the cows are a few miles to the south, so driving around with your windows down isn't a scarifice of one of your senses. The road ends at Sweetwater, and the downtown area is quite congested:
The tough part is deciding to get left or right, since the road is fun in either direction. It's sort of like having your choice of red pill or red pill. I drove west (left) and took on more curves on County Road 634.
I looked at my watch and realized I had to take less pictures if I was to get home by 7:00pm, as promised. Sweetwater road has lots of curves, so camera and stering wheels dont mix. Imagine the curvy bits of road between the Nurburgring's Karusell but before Teirgarten. Yea, like that...not flat.
It ends at US 17 (which would be a yellow sign, if it were 1992). So I head south. Arcadia is the only major town there, and if Sage and Omnis want to set up headquarters there, they'll have a loyal following:
That's right: Ron Paul will allow me to shoot pictures at 20 mph on a wide road because I take personal responsibility for my actions. There's also the Joshua Creek in this area, just a few miles south. It flows into Lake Katherine. Isn't that sweet?
Sun's getting lower. Bugs getting on windshield. There's a very Le Mans-ish feel to it...windows down and the familiar growl from my 3.0 liters of I6 fury.
I head down US 17 'til it meets with County Road 74. But just after that, I needed gas...I'm down to 1/8 of a tank. 93 Octane is only $3.25/gallon here, about 30 cents less. Fuel mileage is not bad, since I haven't turned on the A/C for the entire trip. I also pick up another energy drink, a "...Lost" beverage, which tastes like a combination of Robitussin and Switzer's red chewy twists.
While sipping my beverage on CR 74, I passed by "Strasse Street". In my car-automobile. This roadside has lots of pine trees and saw palmetto bushes. It's mesmerizing as the light flickers though them while cruising along, and it's more of the same as I come to the two-way stop with blinking lights. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. It's transcendental, as I come to an intersection with nothing at any corner but the blinking lights. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Must turn right.
State Road 31 is much the same, but it leads to CR 78, which the last of the fun roads. Consider a road geometrically shaped like the Hungaroring, yet lined with trees and ranches. This road keeps you on your toes, as no two curves seem to be alike.
At the end of the road, I reach La Belle. (She's kin to Ma Bell.) I really have to find a suitable bladder discharge zone, and the first gas station was in use, the next was "Out of Order". Finally, a McDonald's (I believe they serve Scottish food?) was open and apparently, the Sunday evening hangout of choice for La Bellians.
Out the door, onward to uneventful State Road 80, then onto US 27 (been there, done that dozens of times) and weaving my way to South Bay and Belle Glade again. This time, the road is under construction. A dualie manages to hit one of the barricades, neatly wedging it between his left-front wheel and holding up traffic that's down to one lane to begin with. I suppose he was thinking of Fantasy Fishing at the time, and lost control at 10 miles an hour. I weaved around this goofy mess and headed home.
I was hungry, so I turnpike'd it home.
The Uniroyal tires held up great; I thought they'd be disappointing since they were far cheaper than the Bridgestones I had before. Much more response and handling across the board, and far less twitchy-ness when hitting the occasional patch of dirt kicked up on some tight corners.
Sometimes, we just shouldn't translate native place names. They were too busy running away from predators to come up with creative names for their lakes.
