February 11, 2008
We drove a few miles to enter Shark Valley, another Preserve site. It offers a 16 mile tram ride out into the Everglades. However, you can also ride a bike and escape the $16
per person fee. You know what we did. It was a glorious ride. Sixteen miles of paved trail led us along waterways filled with now familiar animal life and grasslands (glades). We rode through in the middle of the day. The alligators, thank God, languished on the shoulder, often a few feet from our path. I never grow tired of the birdlife in this area. It is so varied, so colorful, and so animated. At the midpoint we climbed a 50 foot tower to overlook the everglades. Turtles and fish swam in the water below, just a few feet from the retired alligators. Tonight, they may be their feed.
The ride back, into the wind, was work. But the trip, rewarding.
We had a glimmer of cell phone signal so we drove east toward Miami. When we received “two bars” we pulled into a parking lot and called to make reservations for a campsite for Tuesday and Wednesday. We also, via the laptop, checked our email and banking for necessary updates. And, I sent out the blog, void of pictures.
As we drove back to the campsite, we made two stops. The memorial to the Value Jet crash was beside the road. Artistically and respectfully done. The next stop was at Buffalo Tiger’s (google it) shop. Even though he is the famous chief of Miccosukee, there was no hard sell. We w
ere the only customers. It was as if you walked into a gas station in Colfax, WA. This man, who has had so much influence on the outcome of this area, was working in his shop, at 88 years old. Pictures of him with Nixon, Ford, Castro and others adorned his shop, but he sat working on some wood sculptures. I had read about him and felt blessed to find him in his shop. He readily engaged in conversation and he gazed at me with eyes of comfort and self actualization. As we readied to leave, a car pulled in. A physician, a Native American, I think, entered the shop to administer to his daily needs. An injection was given, a diabetic administration, I think. A tribal custom displayed. I went back and bought his book. How could I not.
We drove a few miles to enter Shark Valley, another Preserve site. It offers a 16 mile tram ride out into the Everglades. However, you can also ride a bike and escape the $16
per person fee. You know what we did. It was a glorious ride. Sixteen miles of paved trail led us along waterways filled with now familiar animal life and grasslands (glades). We rode through in the middle of the day. The alligators, thank God, languished on the shoulder, often a few feet from our path. I never grow tired of the birdlife in this area. It is so varied, so colorful, and so animated. At the midpoint we climbed a 50 foot tower to overlook the everglades. Turtles and fish swam in the water below, just a few feet from the retired alligators. Tonight, they may be their feed.The ride back, into the wind, was work. But the trip, rewarding.
We had a glimmer of cell phone signal so we drove east toward Miami. When we received “two bars” we pulled into a parking lot and called to make reservations for a campsite for Tuesday and Wednesday. We also, via the laptop, checked our email and banking for necessary updates. And, I sent out the blog, void of pictures.
As we drove back to the campsite, we made two stops. The memorial to the Value Jet crash was beside the road. Artistically and respectfully done. The next stop was at Buffalo Tiger’s (google it) shop. Even though he is the famous chief of Miccosukee, there was no hard sell. We w
ere the only customers. It was as if you walked into a gas station in Colfax, WA. This man, who has had so much influence on the outcome of this area, was working in his shop, at 88 years old. Pictures of him with Nixon, Ford, Castro and others adorned his shop, but he sat working on some wood sculptures. I had read about him and felt blessed to find him in his shop. He readily engaged in conversation and he gazed at me with eyes of comfort and self actualization. As we readied to leave, a car pulled in. A physician, a Native American, I think, entered the shop to administer to his daily needs. An injection was given, a diabetic administration, I think. A tribal custom displayed. I went back and bought his book. How could I not. 
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