This Offbeat Life
New Economy Cooking
Backpacking by Bus

Tour Florida on a Sandal-strap Budget

text & pictures by Gail Boysen

The month of February has seen fit to string me over nearly the entire state of Florida (and that's a lot of state!) in a series of weekend necessities and one day get-aways. Let me give you a personalized tour book guide on where you, too can "Get Lost" in Florida without losing your shirt, unless you really want to.

Home Base:
Ocklawaha, North Central Florida.

Allow me to introduce you to the hub of my adventures; Ocklawaha. (A town not found on most maps, much less in any guidebook) Just think of a laughing Indian and you can pronounce it (Auk-law-wa-haw). Our moss-laden, ancient oak-lined Main Street borders the southeastern end of the Ocala National Forest and the northern shores of beautiful Lake Weir. We boast two - count 'em - two flashing stoplights, a gas station, post office and a corner grocer of sorts. Of course no community would be complete without at least 5 churches, a local diner and a bona fides police station, though I have never seen an Ocklawaha police car.

We have two claims to fame here in the heart of this sandbar. (Three, if you count me, but I don't think they are) Neither of them is very flattering, but both have gained national recognition at one time or another. The most flamboyant is the successful man hunt, corner and shoot-out between the FBI and the notorious gangster known as Ma Barker, who had taken refuge in this obscure Central Florida town. In January, the City Hall hosts the annual reenactment of the 1935 showdown that shattered the peace of this sleepy town. A shower of some 3,000 rounds of ammunition became the longest gun battle in FBI history, lasting nearly 4 hours. The good guys won, putting an end to the bank robberies and kidnappings this gang routinely conducted, and thus began the close of the gangster era. Ocklawaha was catapulted into the national limelight. Just the kind of publicity that makes you pack up the dog, your 2.5 kids and move the family down here, isn't it?

Then there is the Florida barge canal project. Yep, the Army Corps of Engineers with the blessing of F.D.R. wanted to cut Florida in half, allowing shipping from the Gulf to feed the Atlantic without taking a tour of Cuban waters through the Florida Straits. Good idea? Never happened. However, we have a monolithic embarrassment as evidence that it was more than a dream. The Ocklawaha bridge project employed some 3,500 men at any given time and paid them a pittance, even by the standards of the day, of $35 a month. Rumor is, they got what they paid for. Construction commenced in 1935 (does this sound hokey with the "35's" or what?) to build the camelback bridge that soars some 40 feet (maybe that's 35 feet?) over a river that you can flick a potato chip across. The canal was never completed, but if you like viewing the tops of trees as you cross over a river that you simply have to take on faith is there because you can't see it, have I got a bridge for you.

It's from these humble beginnings, I take my treks as spokes on a really deformed wagon wheel, to the sights, sounds, tastes and oddities of Florida's lesser known places. Glad you could join me, bring some sunscreen and your flip-flops.

First leg:
February 5 and 6. Tampa and Palm Harbor, West Coast.

Being of the cyber generation, meeting people of all kinds on the Internet has become quite an adventure. A first time meeting with a new friend who lives in Tampa was my first stop of the month. Oh my god, yes - a cyber date! A rather nice one I might add, but that is not the crux of my story. As I pulled into town I spied parade floats filing down the main drag, not parading, but hurrying off to parade. Ushered and escorted by Tampa's finest; flashy, sparkly, and grandiose (the floats, not the cops), these floats silently passed by; devoid of the waving beauty queens and grinning pirates, but a delight none the less. A free parade and no crowds to fight with for a view, what fun! This spicy combination of Pirate invasions upon the doubloon littered coast and the licentious thrills of Mardi Gras beading has come to be known as the Gasparilla of Tampa Bay. Hundreds of boats, bedecked with Pirates and gypsies, arrive in the bay at dawn; loud and playful as they portray the pillaging scoundrels of the West Coast's pirateering history. Buccaneers and wenches, bawdy with drink, swagger in the streets as parade participants throw beads, stickers, tokens and kisses to yammering crowds. A feast for the eyes, ears and taste buds. Next year, this event will be coupled with the Super Bowl. I'm glad I'm not part of that planning committee. I'm buying stock in Anhaeuser Busch, the local brewery (and owners of half the theme parks in Florida), and letting it ride. We watched the festivities from the security of the living room teevee, safe from the marauding throngs, avoiding a kidnapping that surely would have been blamed on my Internet friend if anything had happened to me.

We supped at a great little Cuban restaurant and shared picadillo, plantains (Good Cuban food is not just in Miami anymore) and good conversation. Free entertainment included, besides several loud and beaded participants, the same floats that passed by earlier, empty again and headed home for the night.

The evening was rounded up with a sunset walk on the causeway as the cloudless blue of the sky gave way to wisps of a purpleing and golden haze on the horizon. Across the water on one side is Tampa and the other is St. Petersburg, all lit and glimmering on the water. Girls, if you want to travel cheap, get a date. Guys, if you want to travel cheap, go alone. We always seem to evoke the chivalry in you to pay for everything, though not always intentionally. Sorry, that's just the way it works out sometimes.

My planned travel home that evening was rerouted up the coast a few miles to meet up with another friend (Yes, another Internet friend, but of longer standing) for a Sunday of junkin' in the flea markets. You won't find any of these in your fancy tour book, but if you want a true flavor for the area, you have to stop in and meet the natives. Passion for junkin' is a quest to find serendipity. Perhaps it is rooted even deeper in our long lost necessity to gather and hunt for the basics of life--food, shelter, and warmth. Now that these needs are met with a stop at the corner grocer or the flip of a switch, this instinct languishes. How do we redirect our primal need to hunt and gather? Junkin'. I realize that this is a purely indulgent hobby that not everyone shares and perhaps comparing it to filling needs such as sustenance or shelter is stretching it a bit. However, if you have ever been in a room with avid collectors, you'll witness frenzy not wholly unlike chumming for sharks.

There is nothing like digging through a box of old coins, my fingers blackened with the age of dirty money, or spying an impacted Confederate belt buckle that prevented the lead ball from completing its intended task. Maybe a lost document hidden behind a poster frame or a misunderstood and forgotten piece of fine porcelain that has seen more years than my Grandmother. These are the things that feed the hunt for junk. For less than $30.00 (again with that chivalry thing, his money not mine) we both came away with a bag of treasures that we pondered under the shade of an oak tree in a park on a most wonderfully sunny afternoon.

Life's short and to be totally cliché, eat dessert first. We did. Two scoops of ice cream before dinner is the only way to go. When you do it that way, you also get a free lunch for next week, because you can't eat all your dinner - how's that for planning ahead? I finally had to leave the coast to return to my cabin in the wood, but not before taking one last deep breath of the salted air.

• Total miles: 205
• Total costs: $92.00
• $75.00 for nice but poorly located hotel.
• $0.00 for meals. That date thing works nicely; you should try it.
• $5.00 for great ice cream, 31 flavors narrowed down to two.
• $12.00 for a tank of gas, which by the time you read this will be $24.00 as gas prices rise before my eyes!
  

Part II - Percussion and Concussion