I’m not an extremist – not in any real sense of that
word. But there is something in my soul that demands that I go to the extreme
corners of our country - and even the earth. Don’t know why. But I just have this insatiable craving
to go to the extreme northwest, the extreme northeast, etc.
We’ve accomplished this goal by making it to Anchor Point
in Alaska – as far to the northwest in North America as it is possible to reach without leaving
the roads. And we have touched the most easterly point in North America by
reaching freezing Cape Spear in Newfoundland. And that doesn't even count the high Himalaya of Bhutan, or the sweltering jungles of Borneo or the dry desert of Namibia.
Today, we parked our home at the most extreme southeast
corner of the country. We made it to Fort Zachary Taylor State Park in Key
West, Florida. This feat involved a sensuous drive along a glittering pearl and
diamond necklace of keys for more than 100 miles. The journey took us over a
ribbon of highway that allowed us to drive, effectively, across the ocean.
We left Key Largo at the northern end of this highway and
wandered southwest on a two-lane road that took us to the jewels of the Florida
Keys: Plantation, Matacumbe, Lignumvitae, Hawks, Fat Deer, Boot, Big Pine,
Cudjoe, Sugarloaf, Rockland, Boca Chica and, finally, Key West.
These keys are connected by impressive bridges, some
running seven miles across the sparkling ocean. The shades of blue and green on
this water stretches my ability to describe them. Sapphire, of course, and that
gave way to cobalt in the deep blue water holes. Then there is Cerulean, Azure,
Aqua, Amethyst, even Robin-egg Blue. The palette is exquisite and the miles
slip away easily and painlessly as we catch our breath with the pure pleasure
of the ceaseless sea.
We arrived at Fort Zachary Taylor at high noon and were
greeted by park rangers and volunteers alike. Because we are a few days early,
they had to find a place for us to park until we can slip into our home for the
next three months. That was easier said than done. We maneuvered among the palm
trees and gumbo limbo trees. It was too close for comfort and I eventually backed out and parked the rig beside a ranger’s house. We plugged in and settled down
to our new adventure.
First things first: we unmounted our bicycles from the
back of the rig, pumped up the tires and took off to view the park. A
high-sided boat was perched at the entrance to our quarters. Another volunteer
told me this had arrived a few nights before from Cuba with about 20 refugees.
They had filled it with fuel and water, started the 12-cylinder diesel engine
and high-tailed it out of Cuba. All the men jumped ashore and immediately
stripped off their Cuban Army greens, swapping the clothes for tee-shirts and
khaki pants. The army greens were found on the beach later in the night.
We in
the U.S. have this peculiar policy that is exclusive to Cubans. It’s called the
wet-foot-dry-foot policy. If the Cubans make it to shore in the U.S., they are
given $10,000 and welcomed as refugees. If, on the other hand, the Coast Guard
spots their boat and stops them before they can put their foot on American
soil, they are handed back to the Cuban government unless they can prove that
returning to Cuba will result in their death.
So these characters made it through the net and are
winners.
Well, enough of this for the time being. We look forward
to an adventurous time in this most southern point in the mainland U.S.
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| The signpost on our beach lets you know how far away we are from Tokyo, Cancun, Paris, Habana, London, and even Miami. |
