July 11, 2004

           JZ and I went to Marco Island. It was your classic day trip, something utterly new to JZ. We drove west on Tamiami Trail (Tampa-Miami) straight through the alligator fields. The following is an account of what I recall from this trip ten years later. (This anonymized picture is four years later, in 2008, when in happier times, Wallace and I visited Naples Beach.)

           Rewind to 2004. The alligator population, which we are told was endangered, has certainly rebounded. The roadside swamp is teeming with them. I don’t know, but most seem to be around five feet long. We drove my Cadillac, taking a few side roads through the remote areas JZ didn’t know were there. I’ve recorded elsewhere how he normally only travels with his family group. He is taken aback by my willingness to leave town with less than $100 in my pocket.

           No destination was planned. We drove through Everglades City, wondering at the strange house designs. We discovered later it was due to regular flooding. There were also these cheap-ass “retirement” homes we saw for the first time. They are called “estates” but in reality, they are packed ten or so to the acre.
           We had left without breakfast, so we took the east entrance to the island, not the big bridge shown on postcards. JZ knew there was a Burger King. There was also an excellent dollar store, he went crazy stalking up on you name it. However, when we returned a year later, the store had been closed by the plaza owner for selling food products that competed with their anchor clients.

           JZ had visited the area with his dad and brothers, so he was the tour guide. Marco Island, expensive as it is, doesn’t appear that swank. Just my opinion. We eventually wound up near the main bridge, there is a side road to the beach which consists almost entirely of crushed coral and broken seashells. This was the origin of the “sand hieroglyphics” which are the zig-zag patterns of tire tracks over the beach. Unlike sand, the coral keeps its shape until washed away. (These were also some of my earliest digital photos.)

           There is a long jetty, JZ raced to the end while I was just able to waddle out far enough for a view. I watched the fishermen and pelicans, but was in weakened condition, I mostly stood around. We did notice a jet-ski accident, but this may have been one of the other times we eventually returned to Marco Island. This lady had flipped her rental jet-ski and was getting exhausted while her “instruction” just laughed. I remember thinking how if she went under, I would have tried to save her. Fortunately the Coast Guard showed.
           We drove up to Naples, it was windy, so we looked at the beach, then returned to a Hotel on the south beach of Marco Island for munchies. A nice resort with a Tiki bar. It was summer, so the inevitable rainstorm had us holed up in a stairwell with the staff. We drove back out to the main road and here is where memory fails.

           At least one of the times we were at that junction, we stopped for gas and there is or was a biker bar in the jungle. Two biker mommas saw us in the truck and flashed us their boobs. JZ, terrified the bikers would blame us, high-tailed us out of there. We went ten miles down the road to the next station and told the ladies there what had happened. They promptly hiked up their tops and said, “Like this?”
           Back then, the Everglades was the Everglades. It was Old Florida and that is gone.

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