Part 4: Who is that dude?

Our next leg takes us toward Homestead and point seven, Flamingo Visitor Center in Everglades National Park to look for a plaque. Getting into the Homestead area, we head south, looking for gas. We decide on a Shell station and pull in. Getting off the bikes and fueling we talk briefly. Both Mike and I need to hit the facilities. We notice that the station has a drawer to pay through and the door is baracaded. Maybe we will be lucky and they have outside restrooms...nope, no dice. So now we head back on the road, bladders full and toward Flamingo.

The road to Flamingo is probably a very pretty sight in the day light. At 0130 not so much. The actual road into the park is two lanes with trees on each side, I have no idea what type but they make a nice tunnel. The view never changes: road in front, tunnel to the sides. I'm getting tired, been up for 20 1/2 hours now and this view is driving me insane.

R: Mike, can you hear me?
M: Yeah
R: Nice view
M: Yeah, boring as heck
R: Keep talking dude cause I'm about to fall asleep
M: Me too. Pull over if you have too
R: Don't see that happening, no place to do it. If we have to we will.

So we continue on, Greta telling us that we are slowly, ever so slowly getting closer. The speed limit is 35/45 but we up it a little but not much. The road is, shall we say it PC, not the best. We endeavor to reach the end.

Lights, parking lot to our left, buildings...is that it? Mike's GPS says we have to go further, mine says turn...NOW! I tell Mike that Greta says turn around. He says go for it. So we execute a U-turn worthy of the Long Riders and we are in the lot. I head toward the visitors center, not having a clue what we are looking for.

We park our bikes next to the sidewalk in front of the visitors center and dismount. The time is now 0230 or there about. It is about 45 out and we are about spent. Both of us looking around for the plaque and find it straight ahead. Cameras out, flags out, pictures taken. I head back to the bike to put my camera away. Where is Mike? Hello? Mike? Out of the bushes pops Mike, looking refreshed. Ahhh, ok, I understand. Like the plan.

At this point we both decide that liners in the pants are in order. So back into the bags to get them. Off come the riding pants and we are both now putting liners in our pants, standing in the 45 degree warmth...refreshing! A good wake up for both of us, if not a little chilly.

The bikes and we are now ready to continue to the eighth point, the Card Sound Toll Booth, off US 1, just north of Key Largo. As we head out of the parking lot I notice a number of cars and trucks, not many but a few. Getting closer to the exit I look over in the trees to my right.

R: What the heck?
M: What?
R: Look over there. Some dude is staring at us.
M: What the heck?
R: Dude, we are out of here...now!

I hit the gas a little harder than normal and we are off. The conversation over the next few miles consists of numerous off the cuff and off color comments about our voyeur in the woods. I won't recount any now but they kept us laughing for 47 miles out of the tunnel.

As we head back into the real world I'm in the lead. We travel through town and head toward the entrance to Card Sound toll road. Down the two lane we go. I swerve to miss some type of critter in the road, probably an armadillo I think. We continue on with heightened awareness of our route.

When we pull up to the sound toll booth, the lovely lady at the gate greets us and we strike up a conversation with her about the ride. Pictures are taken and the conversation turns to a fellow rider that isn't too far ahead of us. Did he purposefully start late or did he have trouble like me? Hmmm...if he started with the group there is no way he is going to make it because it is around 0400 now.

Mounting our trusty machines, we wave goodbye to the nice lady and head toward the Crocodile Lake National Refuge, our next destination. Mike is in lead now and this is what I hear for the next 10-15 miles:

M: Two deer on right
R: Huh?
M: Another deer, keep your eyes open
R: Um, ok (I have yet to see the first two)
M: Dang, a bunch of rabbits
R: Wow (what rabbits, man, I'm still looking for the two deer)

At Crocodile Lake, we get ready for the pictures, but there is one problem...the flash makes the sign wash out or without flash, you can't see the flags. Dang, this is a PITA to get. Mike finally gets it figured out and we got the pictures. Glad he understands those digital cameras or we'd still be there.

We make the decision that I will lead up to a gas stop somewhere on the Florida Turnpike on the next to last leg to Daytona and a picture of alligators at a mini-golf place on A1-A. Onward trusty steeds, we have miles to do before we sleep.

Up on the greatness that is the Florida Turnpike we decide that the first available gas stop is what we need because both of us need a break and something to drink. It is now about 0500. We fuel the bikes, get some coffee to take off some of the chill of the night and find someplace to sit and stretch. Mike calls Nat to fill her in on the ride (she gets up early) and I talk to the lady working in the convenience store, enjoying the heated space.

Back on the bikes again and heading out of the Dade/Broward area with a goal of getting out of the area before the traffic gets too bad from rush hour. I tell Mike that we will make our next stop somewhere north of Palm Beach and then get over on I-95. He is in agreement and we make haste north.

Our exit off the turnpike is in the Jupiter area, at around 0700. We are now in sunlight and heading toward McD's for a bite to eat and gas up again. As we sit down at a booth, I look up at the images on the flat screen and see scenes of the earthquake in Japan. What the heck? Mike and I sit in stunned silence, not knowing what has transpired and unable to comprehend the images we are seeing. We finish our rest stop and head to the bikes, in silence.

North, north to Alaska...oh wait, to Daytona we go. I-95 is probably the absolute worst interstate to travel on. Everybody is in such a hurry...us included. We go with the flow of traffic, riding with Mike in lead and running with bikes from time to time heading toward Trailer Week in Daytona. We pass bikes on trailers. One time I think that Mike's Connie blipped a little at one of the bikes on a trailer, mocking it...honestly.

We did see one sight that I have to share. We were fast approaching what appeared to be a small bike, probably a 650-750cc bike heading north. It had saddle bags...not on the bike but on the passenger! The poor bike was obviously overloaded with people weight. Needless to say, the conversation became filled with many comments about the poor bike.

Getting into Daytona wasn't too bad. We hit some traffic and slowly made our way to the mini golf destination. We noted the six guys out admiring each other's trailers...what happened to Bike Week anyway? Is it all about your trailer now? Guess so for some. We found our alligators, I took both cameras and got the picture in bright sunlight at about 1000 or so. Back to A1-A and toward I-95 again.

Gretta wanted us to take US 1 to I-95 but I knew that was a bad idea because everyone was heading out toward Destination Daytona that morning. So we head out SR 40 and onto I-95 and the end of the ride. One more fuel up for Mike, the KawaTanker would make it with fuel on board, before we get to Jacksonville and end our ride.

When we get to our exit in Jacksonville, we go to the Cheveron station that was the scene of our second start and fill back up to end our ride. The time stamp on the receipt was 1159...almost 30 full hours since we had gotten up on Thursday and 1945 after we had started our second attempt. We were done! Now to the hotel and confirmation of the ride.

As we got into the hotel, we musta looked great. I know I felt a sudden surge of energy but I know I was tired to the bone. Mike and I headed to the check in and a short wait before we could have the ride confirmed and accepted. I talked briefly with the gentleman at the table, discussing the receipts and pictures, explaining why we had to restart and he congratulated both of us.

I spied Mike Kneebone, the IBA president and king of all things IBA. I told him I never wanted the #1 again and we both laughed. We had kept him abreast of our trials and he was glad to hear our brief recount of the ride we experienced, laughing about the life vest and the creeper in the woods.

With handshakes around and a decision to head back home, we got back on our mounts and headed the 130 miles or so back to home, warm showers and a real meal. Gator 1000 now finished and a tale to tell all our friends.