November 24, 2015
Yesteryear
One year ago today: November 24, 2014, the freaky map.
Five years ago today: November 24, 2010, the smart divorcee myth.
Nine years ago today: November 24, 2006, Thanksgiving in the Gables.
Random years ago today: November 24, 2007, 10 points below reality.
MORNING
I told you something came up and by 7:00AM JZ and I were lost at the end of Belvedere in West Palm Beach trying to find a shortcut to SR 710 (State Road). We made it to Bartow, Florida, where we talked to some farm cows, met a lady ex-cop with a $400,000 restaurant, and got mistaken for dog catchers. And got engrossed in such a technical conversation about money that on the return trip, we overshot our turnoff by 15 miles and had to double back.
Here’s the day in chrono order. The usual run up I-95 to get out of the city resulted in once again a turn to early. This got us ten miles west of West Palm near an abandoned summer camp, or something. JZ had never seen a pumping station so it took an hour to get him back on the Indiantown Road. By now, we’d had so much coffee that we did not stop at the Serendipity. I showed him the shop where I bought the band saw last year in Okeechobee, how is that for excitement. (Actually, I insist every 90 minutes we stop and walk around.)
Now due to Trent’s description of last week, we took the route through Lake Placid. An interesting town with lakes and hills. Hills are not natural in Florida, which got us discussing matters. We drove to the old town center and walked around a train museum. And a thrift store where I could not afford anything. All of these stops were heavily photographed and we took a side road to Walaucha, entering Bartow from the south on Highway 17.
This trip is nearly four hours long, during which JZ postulated that the hills around Zephyr and Placid must have catastrophic origins. There are no other hills in Florida. Drawing a mental line through both, I added that the eastern shore of Lake Okeechobee is an unusually well-defined semi-circle. We now have a theory the landscape was altered by a meteor impact.
I am not in any way suggesting we are the first to come up with this idea, only that in our vast experience, neither of us ever heard of such a thing and the idea was independently formulated by us as we drove down a steep hill toward Lake Placid and noted how out-of-place that was.
Then I hauled out four maps for an aerial view, one of which is shown here. I’d say it is now pretty obvious that lake is not natural. You can imagine how it plowed into the terrain from the east and a forty-five degree angle and rumpled the terrain with ejecta all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. Add a few eons of erosion and there is Florida’s Crater Lake.
[Author's note: this is unrelated to the crater I spotted north of Arcadia. Although in the same area, that crater is much older and would have impacted almost vertically. I surmise they are not related.]
NOON
By keeping off the freeways, we saw all manner of non-touristy sights, including the train museum (it was closed) in Lake Placid and a fully furnished dollhouse. All the doors and windows worked, and it was fully furnished inside. Wow, dolls grew up in a nicer house than I did. The display was really impressive. I found a fantastic pair of cowboy boots, but they were a half size too small.
I’ll tell you what was bizarre. There is a bench outside the door museum with a plaque. It was weather worn just enough so the lettering read out my pal’s full name. In memory of, it said, but he insisted for a good five minutes that he was not dead yet. I told him I’d have to think that one over. There he is. Standing by the truck way down the road.
We took the country lane to Zolfo, where three months ago we had turned the opposite direction to visit Avon Park, a town we did not like. Then north to Walaucha (Wall-UCK-ah) where we stopped for a huge tray of veggies. And nearly died at all the women we saw of a particular race and culture. You just don’t get that in south Florida any more. We gotta get out of that concrete jungle. We headed north again into Bartow. It’s smaller than I remember, the one time I was there before, driving west. I barely remembered the place, it looks a lot like Naples last trip.
With luck, we found the best coffee shop in years, the Magnolia. It’s on a sidestreet and the owner, not being local, was completely well-versed about what and where of the town. That’s the lady cop just mentioned. Following her directions we toured the south west area, mostly fixer-uppers that have already been fixer-uppered. And for the information you need but cannot get elsewhere, you want to stay to the west of Highway 17. You do not want to live on the east side.
This data is largely the justification for making these trips. You cannot legally get the information from any official source. And the Zillow crime stats are relative. It might show green in a high crime district simply because the area is underpopulated.
However, for reasons unexplained, we did not take to Bartow. Maybe it is just too small, but it also has an almost creepy atmosphere. The largest single operation in town is the cemetery. But I don’t mean creepy in a sinister way. Just, well, take this one incident. As we slowly drove past the for-sale-by-owner places, these two ladies yelled as us, asking if we wanted a job. We stopped, thinking they wanted their ratty yard cleaned up. Nope, there was an “unleashed pitbull” on the loose and they wanted us to nab it. We hauled ass.
Here is a photo of the hill we were driving down when the meteor hypothesis hit us. You know, if we are first on that, we would like the theory to be called ours. On the way there, we got lost on a small country dirt road. That is something to watch for in this state. A four-lane highway with imported palms within two miles peters out into a single dead-end pumping station in the wilderness. Fortunately, JZ has learned to consider all this as just part of the next adventure.
EVENING
We left Bartow in the dusk and drove the eleven miles up to Winter Haven. And found that stretch of pavement went through a much nicer area than Bartow itself. It plain seems nicer. We continued into the city, doing a quick tour of the only part I know, the train station. A coffee at the BK and we headed back along Highway 60 via Yeehaw Junction, to Vero Beach, and a high-speed dash home. JZ wants to buy anything we can get, I’m saying wait for me to buy first so he can test the water.
He does not understand by the time we left the Magnolia (coffeeshop) the phone lines in Bartow were alive, burning off the hook. There’s two strangers in town reading real estate ads. And the one is a blabbermouth who told the café waitress how much cash money they were looking to spend. This photo shows the best place we could find. I rejected in out of hand, the south-facing exterior wall was slightly warped and it just looked like the neighbors were a little too rough-and-tumble.
Don’t read too much into the visuals on these houses. Our search criteria includes abandoned places and rehabs. Almost any place we touch well double in value in now time after we go to work. Driving west toward Bartow, we passed a field of what JZ calls “northern sparrows”. They took flight and that was the single largest flock of birds I have ever seen. Odd, it isn’t migration season. But I would estimate that after I noticed the cloud, we drove past at least 400,000 birds. And I know more about what 400,000 looks like than anybody you will ever meet. It’s a long story.
In all, neither of us took to Bartow. But as a base of operations in January, we have ironed out some preliminary plans to rent a place for a month. Then, from there, begin to systematically comb the area for the best possible deal. I’ve already allocated the money. We recognize the limitations and distractions of these day trips and realize we need boots on the ground to find the bargains. Outside of $40 for gas, the entire cost of the run there and back came to less than $25, and I don’t skimp on the road. We do not, at those prices, overlook that fact that this kind of travel is excellent cheap entertainment for us.
Last Laugh
Maybe 2,100 birds.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Return Home
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
