The Kiel family has a custom of photographing any NFL or Major League Baseball stadium we come across in our travels. It's odd, since we're moderate sports fans, having purged the Packer pathogen from our souls. For example, if the weather is nice on a Sunday, we can actually go outside or do something away from home. Anyhoo, above we see Dolphin Stadium, a.k.a. Pro Player Stadium, a.k.a. Joe Robbie Stadium, home of the Miami Dolphins and Florida Marlins. Notice the typical suburban (northern Miami-Dade Co.) large parking lot setting for modern stadia (
I chose the second plural option 'cause it sounds cool).
Now, behold the classic sports venue,
Miami's Orange Bowl. Ensconced firmly in an urban neighborhood, the surrounding apartments hug the property similar to
Madison's Camp Randall Stadium, except here it's on all four sides. I was a rabid NFL fan as a kid and the many editions of Super Bowl chronicle magazines jumped into my head as I gazed at this marvel, currently home to the University of Miami Punks, er...uh,
Hurricanes (conveniently located near a local police precinct). Home to Super Bowls II, III, V, X, and XIII, only the Louisiana Superdome ranks higher with six championships. But with its age, setting, and better facilities elsewhere, I'm sure it's done. Still, you can sense
Griese throwing to Warfield and the Csonka-Kiick combo crushing defenses on the way to an undefeated season. Okay, I guess I
am a bit of a fan.
Hooray! I've now been to the north AND the south ends of Highway 41. The sign reads "EAST" because it swings east/west between Naples and Miami. Non-Wisconsinites may not understand that 41 is the lifeblood of my home in Neenah. Lori and I once drove to Copper Harbor, MI in college and tripped upon the north end landmark.
Think I'm a geek? Then check this dude's website about Hwy 41 (click
here). Geek I may be, but that dude's something else. However, I used his references to see if Miami or South Beach was the correct spot.
Speaking of "South Beach," (Miami Beach) I drove through the
über-hip district and immediately remembered why I am a greenhorn from flyover country and have zero desire to stay longer than the time it took to cross over to Miami proper.
A gallon of gas in Pembroke Pines (where I began the morning) sold for $2.78. The lone station wedged into a lot in South Beach charged $3.42! But when you play in South Beach, you can afford to have your cabana boy Humberto fill your Tesla for you. Reminds me of those Miller High Life ads: "Eleven dollars for a hamburger? Y'all must be crazy."
After South Beach (it took 20 minutes to crawl through pedestrians who took themselves way too seriously on our cultural march to Gomorrah), I literally put the iPod on the Miami Vice theme and videotaped the approaching skyline. Geeky? Yes. Way cool? Oh you better believe it!
Here's me standing at the corner of Highway 41 ending at U.S. 1. The car behind me is finishing 41, pointing east.
That sound you heard the last few months was the
crashing of the south Florida condo market, especially South Beach. However, scenes like the building above shot up
everywhere. I took this photo from the lot of a pizzeria I had lunch at and six more half finished buildings surrounded me.
Alas, I wound my way to Florida's Turnpike and the exit near Homestead Air Reserve Base that leads to
Everglades National Park. After visiting the visitor center, I drove the 39 miles to the endpoint at
Flamingo, Florida on the Gulf/Ocean as it were.
This little one accosted me on the way into the visitor center. Brilliant color.
The visitor center displayed a diagram of the flow of the Everglades in 1870 and as of 2001. It used to begin near Orlando! It's actually a flowing river. These days, the water has to be pumped southward to keep the system alive. The urge to prevent flooding at Lake Okeechobee led to dams, etc. that interrupted the cycle. It's working, however, the pump stations have to go on indefinitely.
The scenery deceived. Apparent grassland (above) is actually shallow, slowly flowing water (below). Park personnel and the guy at the air boat outfit made sure to remind us that this is not a swamp. Swamps are stagnant and go nowhere, like original thought in Congress.
I made it to "Flamingo," the end of the road. The little marina nearby teemed with boaters, but this visitor center seemed overgrown and a relic of a bygone era. Evidently Hurricane Wilma whacked the area in 2005. I stepped into the unlocked desk area which displayed a marker board with a message from three days earlier. The old style structure reminded me of a Jetsons 1940s-60s architecture. I thought back to my grandparents who often flew off to Florida for vacations in the 1970s. It seemed the kind of spot folks like them might have snapped photos and ate lunch.
A spectacularly violent storm system slowed my progress enroute to and away from Flamingo. As the rain stalled at the visitor center, some incredibly constant lightning put on a show in the Florida Straits to the south here.
And geez. On the way back to Pembroke Pines and Robert's house, Mr. Tourist with no change came upon this choice. I skipped it and asked the next toll booth human worker what my sentence would be. She ensured that they don't do anything, "till the third or fourth time." I'm sure that's exactly how the state statute reads, eh? Avis hasn't called me yet with the threatened $100 fine :-) HF1
As my wise friend Dan wrote, this is the streakiest team in the world and Ned Yost is akin to Mike Sherman: His shortcomings as the field boss are masked by talented players. One player whose talent left his body along with the last remnants of synthetic substances is Eric Gagne, who wears #38 as sort of a goal for how many home runs opposing teams will hit off of him this year, or perhaps month. Thank goodness for the excellent starting pitching of CC Sabathia and Ben Sheets (#15). 
Here he enjoys some time with the youngins.
