Category Archives: Travel

HOW TO VACATION IN KEY WEST

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Sloppy Joe's Bar on Duval St Key West

🌴 What Not to Do in Key West

A Dustyroads Survival Guide for America’s Favorite Tropical Fever Dream

🌞 Key West: Where Logic Takes a Vacation and Never Comes Back

Helicopter over US1 in the Florday KeysYou’ve made it to the Keys, bless your brave little soul. You survived the iguana speed bumps of Islamorada, the deer gangs of Big Pine Key, and the “is this road drunk or am I?” experience of US‑1. At one point I even saw a helicopter hovering over the highway like it was checking on the mental stability of everyone making that drive — and honestly, fair And now, as your reward, you get to watch a sunburned housecat with emotional baggage square up against an iguana on Duval Street like it’s pay‑per‑view.

A few steps later, there’s a man painted head‑to‑toe in metallic gold, perched on a milk crate, silently judging everyone who doesn’t understand why this week’s unofficial island theme is “neon pineapple serenity.”

Key West is America’s last surreal fever dream — a tropical snow globe someone shook too hard and then decided to live inside. It clings to the bottom of Florida like a barnacle with seniority and a strong union.

Reality shows up, gets carded, and is politely escorted out by a man in unicorn pajamas who also owns three hotels and a scooter rental business.Concg Replublic flag , the flag od Key West. Blue backgrouns with sun

Keep your shoes on. Something in the sand probably bites. So before you wander too far into the Conch Republic, here are a few things to keep in mind — little survival tips to help you enjoy the island without becoming part of its folklore.

🐔 1. Don’t Start Anything with the Chickens

Key West Rooster expresses his displeasureKey West chickens are not pets. They are tiny feathered authority figures with generational confidence and zero fear of humans. Their ancestors arrived decades ago, decided the island was theirs, and never once paid rent.

The roosters strut like elected officials. The hens? The hens are the real muscle. I met a couple built like linebackers — broad‑shouldered ladies who looked ready to write me a citation.

Try to shoo one and you’ll get a stare so intense it’ll make you rethink every decision you’ve made since 1998.

Get too close to their chicks and you’ll find yourself sprinting toward a hotel lobby like you’re being chased by a very small, very angry HOA board.

Respect the chickens. They run the island. You’re just visiting.

🦎 2. Don’t Expect a Real Beachsandy beach with palm trees

You might arrive thinking, “Island, ocean, sunshine — perfect beach day,” and you may even bring an inflatable flamingo with the kind of optimism usually reserved for lottery winners. But Key West doesn’t care. None of that matters.

Key West is coral, seaweed, and sharp prehistoric things that do not care about your vacation fantasies.

If you want soft, powdery sand, grab the next boat to the Bahamas. If you want coral shards that slice through flip‑flops like warm butter, try Key Largo. I did. Once. I still have emotional scars.

Smathers? Man‑made. Higgs? Acceptable if you enjoy sea lettuce and the faint aroma of sunscreen mixed with toddler rebellion.

Key West isn’t a beach destination. It’s a vibe — and the vibe is “We tried. Sort of.”

🍹 3. Don’t Go Looking for Jimmy Buffett’s House

Colorful Margaritaville sign with Jimmy Buffet's namePeople come to Key West convinced Jimmy Buffett is still tucked away somewhere, strumming a guitar and handing out margaritas like party favors.

But Jimmy Buffett doesn’t live at an address. He lives in a mood.

If you really want to find him, you don’t need a map — you need a blender, a porch chair, and absolutely no guilt about doing nothing for the rest of the afternoon.

Where does he live?

Margaritaville. Population: anyone who’s decided they’re done with stress for the day.

Directions?Spilled salt shaker

First star to the right and straight on ’til morning. Bring sunscreen. And a salt shaker — you never know when you’ll lose it.

So pour your margarita, take a breath, and remember: It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

🚫🚗 4. Don’t Try to Drive on Duval

Sweet heavenly biscuits, do not attempt to drive on Duval Street. It’s not a street — it’s a living organism made of tourists, glitter, questionable decisions, and humidity.

You will encounter:

  • People who forgot how sidewalks work
  • People who think Key Lime Pie grants temporary immortality
  • People spiritually, chemically, or Key‑West‑enhanced
  • Outfits that should come with warning labels

And then the performers:

  • Pirates
  • Mimes
  • Pirate‑mimes
  • Fire jugglers
  • Six chihuahuas dressed as mermaids
  • A unicyclist going the wrong way while singing ABBA

Drag Queen in red shoe. Famouse show drop for New Year's eve in Key WestMy best memory? New Year’s Eve on the gay end of Duval — wall‑to‑wall people, electric energy, and the famous drag queen shoe drop. I had a front‑row seat at a show and got dragged onstage to dance with the star. The crowd roared. The island vibrated. It was magic.

Duval is unforgettable. But it is absolutely no place for a car.

Park somewhere sane. Walk like the rest of the dehydrated pilgrims.

🐾 5. Don’t Skip Hemingway’s HouseBlack Polydactl cat looking very judgemental

If you go to Key West and don’t visit Hemingway’s house, the cats will know. They’re polydactyl — extra toes, extra judgment.

These cats are island nobility. They roam the property like tiny monarchs, lounging on furniture and accepting admiration with royal indifference. I have no idea how many there are — just a lot. Enough to suspect they’re running the estate.

The house itself is a sunlit time capsule of Hemingway’s life. You can practically feel unfinished manuscripts drifting around.

And of course, Hemingway made Sloppy Joe’s legendary — looping us right back to Duval Street.

Visit the cats. Pay your respects. They were here long before you.

📍 6. Don’t Expect the Southernmost Point to Be Empty

Southernmost point buoy, Key west FlThe Southernmost Point buoy is a celebrity. The line wraps around the block like it’s handing out concert tickets.

You’ll see:

  • Families in matching shirts
  • Couples trying to look romantic while sweating
  • People arguing about whether Cuba is visible (it’s not)

Take your photo. Smile. Pretend you’re not melting.

Pro tip: Take your picture from the side. No one will know. No one will care.

Go once. Move on. The buoy isn’t going anywhere.

🌅 7. Don’t Miss Mallory Square at SunsetFamouse trained cats of Key West in Malloery Square at sunset

Mallory Square at sunset is Key West’s heartbeat — a nightly circus of jugglers, acrobats, musicians, fire performers, and a cat who jumps through hoops like it’s auditioning for Broadway.

Locals, tourists, dreamers, wanderers — everyone stops, faces the water, and watches the sun drop into the ocean like it’s the final scene of a movie.

When it touches the horizon? The whole square cheers. Every single night.

Grab a drink. Find a railing. Let the sunset remind you why people come here and never want to leave.

🌴 And That’s Key West

Key West is a tangle of contradictions: chickens with seniority, beaches that lie about being beaches, sunsets that put on a full performance, and an island reality that wanders off whenever it feels like it. It’s the place where you danced with a drag queen, dodged coral shards, admired royal cats, and discovered that sometimes the best directions really are “first star to the right.” It lingers long after you leave — loud, strange, unforgettable.

Crowds gather in Mallorty Square, Key west to watch the sun set

Mystical, Magical, Velvet Nights

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Night sky with the Milky Way over Lake George NY

Car traveling on a dirt road with dust billowing out behind itGrowing Up on Dusty Roads

I grew up a country girl. In fact, the name of my blog — Arounddustyroads — comes straight from childhood. Most of the roads around our house were dirt back then. Paving came later. I rode my horse along those back roads, learned to drive on them, and carry a lifetime of memories of dust billowing behind the car as we rattled our way home.

 

The Five Seasons of Country LifeCar stuck in mud during spring mud season

Where I grew up, we didn’t just have spring, summer, fall, and winter. We had a fifth season: mud season. During the spring thaw, the roads turned into deep, sticky traps. Getting stuck in a snowbank was annoying — but getting stuck in the mud was a whole different level of misery. You learned quickly where the ruts were, where the ground was soft, and how far you could push your luck.

dark night sky with milky wayA Sky Without Streetlights

I don’t get home much these days, but one thing hasn’t changed: there still aren’t any streetlights where I lived. That mattered. Without them, the night sky was extraordinary — a deep velvet blackness with the Milky Way slashing across it like a river of stars.

We’d lie on the lawn and look for constellations. Orion with his bright belt. The Big Dipper, always easy to find. The sky felt endless, ancient, and close enough to touch.

The Perseids and Leonids: Childhood Ritualsmeteor or shooting star streaks across the sku with milkly way in the background

Watching the Perseids in August was almost a ritual. We’d call out the shooting stars — There’s one! I saw two! So excited, so full of wishes. You could make a hundred wishes on a good night.

The Leonids came in November. We saw them too, but we didn’t stand around outside to watch. November in the Adirondacks is no place to linger.

The Aurora We Rarely Saw

The one wonder we didn’t see often was the aurora. The Northern Lights belong to the northern sky, and we were just a little too far south. My parents told stories of pulling the car over to watch the lights dance, but I must have been very young — I don’t remember it myself.

These days, the aurora seems to be creeping farther south. My weather app lights up with headlines: Aurora visible in Maine. Northern Lights reach New York. But here, with all the city lights, I still haven’t seen them.

Northern lights dancing in the night sky

A Wish Still Waiting

I don’t know how many trips my old bones still have left, but I’d like to see the aurora before I die. I went to Alaska once, but it was the wrong time of year. No lights. Alaskans say the aurora sings — that the dancing curtains of color make music.

I’d love to hear it someday.

Glass igloos with Northern LightsSleeping Under the Northern Lights

There’s one dream I hold close: sleeping in a glass igloo in Finland, watching the Northern Lights from bed. Imagine vacationing in an igloo — already magical — but a glass igloo, where the whole night sky becomes your ceiling. If the aurora appeared, you wouldn’t miss a second of it.

Just… wow.

Have You Seen the Sky Dance?

Have you ever watched the night sky light up with dancing colors and more stars than you could ever count? Where were you, and when?

Like most things in nature, we can never be sure when something wonderful will show up. But when it does, it stays with you forever.

Sanding in the light of the night sky enjoying the wonders of nature

 

An Old Fashioned Road Trip

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Enhanced view of the Badlands showing colorful layered rock formations, rugged hills, and a winding road with cars and an RV traveling through the landscape under a partly cloudy sky.

The Lost Art of the Road Trip

Ahh, the road trip. It’s a lost art, and this year it’s been on my mind thanks to the 100th anniversary of the Mother Road. Yes, Route 66 — the ultimate American road trip — is still celebrating, if the headlines can be believed.

Thinking about Route 66 made me remember how different road travel was when I was a kid. So buckle up and let’s take a little drive down memory lane. And by the way… we didn’t have seat belts when I was growing up.

Rule #1: Never Let the Tank Drop Below Half

This was the big one. The rule. The commandment.

Never let the gas tank fall below half. No matter what.

And honestly? I still follow that in winter.

Why it mattered:

  • We didn’t have 24‑hour gas stations
  • Fuel gauges weren’t always reliable
  • Stations could be miles apart
  • You needed enough gas to stay warm if you got stuck
  • A half tank reduced condensation in the fuel line

It wasn’t a suggestion — it was survival. Half a tank or bust.

Rule #2: CB Radios Were Our Lifeline

I bet some of the younger crowd doesn’t even know what a CB radio was. But for road trippers, it was essential.

With a quick “Breaker Breaker 1‑9”, you could:

  • talk to truckers
  • learn about trouble up ahead
  • find out where the “Smokey Bears” (police) were hiding
  • get recommendations for the best cup o’ joe

If you wanted to make time, you found a couple of truckers, slipped into the “rocking chair” between them, and put the pedal to the metal.

Rule #3: Map Reading 101

We weren’t just good at reading maps — we were excellent.

No GPS. No cell phones. Just paper maps that folded into more creases than an origami swan.

It helped to have a passenger who could read the map while you drove, but even kids learned how to follow the lines and symbols.

Rule #4: Scenic Overlooks Were Mandatoryrangeley overlook

“What’s that? A scenic overlook?”

Pull over.

Not slow down. Not glance out the window. Stop the car completely.

Kids tumbled out, parents took pictures, and every stop looked exactly like the last one — except for the sign telling you which overlook you were at. We got very good at photographing signs.

Rule #5: Change in the Cup Holder

Before EZ‑Pass, SunPass, or anything-pass, we had:

  • nickels
  • dimes
  • quarters
  • and whatever random coins lived in the cup holder

If you were on the New Jersey Turnpike, you needed toll money every few miles. The cup holder was basically a portable bank.

Rule #6: The Cooler Was Sacred

You’ve heard “Don’t leave home without it”? For us, that meant the cooler.

It was packed with:

  • ice
  • soda
  • sandwiches
  • snacks
  • and “adult beverages” for the folks

No McDonald’s on the roads we traveled. Lunch was whatever Mom packed, eaten at a rest stop picnic table with ants for company.

Rule #7: Entertainment Was… Minimal

Hang onto your hats, kids — there were:

  • no tablets
  • no built‑in TV screens
  • no cell phones

If you were bored, you looked out the window.

Games included:

  • counting cows
  • spotting license plates from different states
  • singing songs
  • and yes… 99 Bottles of Beer (which felt like it lasted the entire trip)

Road Trips Then and Now

Road trips today are easier, faster, and more comfortable — but they’re missing that old‑school charm. The cooler, the CB radio, the paper maps, the scenic overlooks… they were part of the adventure.

And maybe that’s why Route 66 still captures our imagination. It reminds us of a time when the journey mattered just as much as the destination.

 

When Wildlife Pays the Price for Human–Wildlife Encounters

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A brown bear stands among dense reddish‑brown autumn shrubs, reaching its nose toward the branches while foraging.

A Headline That Never Gets Easier

Every so often, a headline pops up that makes me stop what I’m doing and sit with it for a moment. This week it was the story out of Colorado: a bear euthanized after attacking a fisherman. It’s the kind of headline we’ve all seen before, and it never gets easier to read. And by the way, the angler was hospitalized with non‑life‑threatening injuries and is expected to recover. The bear wasn’t given that chance.

Whenever wildlife and humans intersect, the situation is fraught with danger. Sometimes humans behave recklessly. Sometimes animals react instinctively and sometimes no one does anything “wrong” at all — it’s simply a moment where two worlds collide, and the animal is the one who pays the ultimate price.

Not Every Encounter Is Human-Caused — But the Consequences Always Fall on the Animal

It’s easy to blame humans for every wildlife incident, and sometimes that blame is deserved. But it’s not always that simple. I’ve had encounters where humans were absolutely the problem, and others where the animal reacted to something as small and unintentional as the color of my rental car. And I’ve had moments where neither side provoked anything — we simply surprised each other.

The common thread is this: the animal is punished for the encounter, no matter who or what caused it.

The Yellowstone Bison Who Was Just Being a Bison

A few years ago, a tourist in Yellowstone was attacked by a bison. The headlines were dramatic, but the park rangers made a point of saying the bison would not be euthanized. It wasn’t aggressive or dangerous. It was simply being a bison — defending its space the way bison have done for thousands of years.

That decision stuck with me. It was one of the rare times the animal wasn’t blamed for behaving exactly as nature designed it to.

The Old Faithful Selfie That Could Have Gone Very WrongBison

Contrast that with another Yellowstone moment I witnessed at Old Faithful. A lone bison was grazing near the geyser, minding its own business. A teenage tourist decided she needed a selfie with it and approached from behind — close enough to touch it.

She got her picture. She also got lucky.

That bison was feeling mellow. If it hadn’t been, we would have had a very different headline. And if anything had happened, the bison would have been blamed and likely euthanized, even though it was the human who created the danger.

 

The Tree Bear and the Crowd That Pushed Me Forward

Then there was the little bear sitting in a tree right next to the road. I had a long lens and didn’t need to get close, but the crowd behind me kept pushing forward, nudging me closer and closer to the bear so I could “get the shot.”

That bear could have been down out of that tree in seconds. If it had felt threatened, if someone had moved wrong, if the crowd had surged — that bear would have reacted instinctively.

And the rangers would have come, and the bear would have been killed.

But the bear didn’t do anything wrong. It was just being a bear.

The Black Rental Car and the Territorial BisonGetting ready to pass by

And then there’s the encounter that had nothing to do with human recklessness at all.

I was trapped in traffic on a Yellowstone road, nowhere to go, when two bison suddenly charged my car. My black rental must have triggered their territorial instinct — bison don’t have great eyesight, and something about that color set them off.

Their hoofbeats thundered behind me as they chased my car down the road. I wasn’t close to them, and I hadn’t interacted with them at all — they reacted purely on instinct.It was simply a moment where wildlife reacted the way wildlife reacts.

If they had reached the car, if they had injured me, if anything had gone wrong — those bison would have been blamed. Not because they were dangerous, but because they were wild.

The Grizzly Bear: A Moment That Could Have Gone Either Way

In Grand Teton National Park, I was hiking — and in that park, every trail is bear country. I turned a corner and suddenly found myself face to face with a grizzly. We both froze. We both startled. And then, mercifully, the bear turned back the way it came.

I headed straight for the parking lot. That was close enough for one day.

Neither of us did anything wrong. We simply surprised each other. But if that bear had reacted differently, if instinct had taken over, if fear had turned into defense — the bear would have been the one to die for it.

The Bull Moose Who Needed a Moment to Decide

Another time, hiking to a waterfall in Maine, I surprised a bull moose and a cow. The female slipped quietly into the forest. The bull didn’t. He stared me down first — a long, assessing look — before he too disappeared into the trees.

Moose are enormous, unpredictable animals. If he had charged, it would have been catastrophic. And yet, again, neither of us did anything wrong. We simply crossed paths in a place where both of us had a right to be.

The Colorado Bear: A Familiar, Heartbreaking Pattern

Which brings me back to the bear in Colorado.

The fisherman may have startled the bear, or it may have been stressed, hungry, or defending a food source. It could also have been nothing more than a moment where both were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We’ll never know the full story. But we do know how it ended: the bear was euthanized.

Not because it was a monster. Not because it was malicious. But because it was a bear — and bears don’t understand our rules.

The Wildness We Keep Shrinking

Every time we kill a wild animal for doing what wild animals do, we shrink the wildness left in the world. We make nature smaller, safer, more controlled — and less alive.

Human–wildlife encounters will always be dangerous. Danger can come from humans, from animals, or simply from the unpredictable reality of sharing space with creatures who don’t speak our language.

But the tragedy is always the same: the animal pays the price for the intersection.

And that’s what makes these headlines so hard to read.

 

 

 

 

 

Lake Monsters of the Adirondacks: My Family’s Monster‑Free Record

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Beautiful Lake George surrounded by lush green hills, framed by leafy branches in the foreground, with a small sailboat visible on the water under a clear sky.

Growing Up Between Two Monster Lakes

My family has spent a lot of time on the two Adirondack lakes most famous for monster sightings. My mother grew up in Ticonderoga, right between Lake George and Lake Champlain, and I spent my childhood on Lake George. We used to road‑trip to Vermont and often took the ferry across Lake Champlain. If Champ was going to make an appearance, we were giving him every opportunity.

He never did. My mother never saw him either. Not even a suspicious ripple.

Champ is the celebrity cryptid of the region — the Adirondack Nessie — and people have been reporting sightings since the 1800s. Meanwhile, my family crossed that lake so many times we practically deserved a loyalty punch card, and still: nothing. Not even a polite bubble.

Champ: The Famous Monster Who Never Showed Up

Champ gets all the attention. Books, documentaries, blurry photos, breathless eyewitness accounts — he’s the star of Lake Champlain. And yet, despite all those ferry crossings, neither my mother nor I ever saw anything that even hinted at a lake monster.

Plenty of waves. Plenty of logs. Zero monsters.

Georgie: The Lake George Monster We All Joked About

Lake George has a monster too, though it’s a much quieter legend. Growing up, we kids always joked about “Georgie,” the Lake George lake monster. I assumed Georgie was just the local version of Champ — a long‑necked creature lurking in the deep water, ready to pop up and terrify boaters.

 

I never knew Georgie had an actual origin story. Apparently most people don’t, because Georgie tends to get lumped in with Champ and Nessie as if he’s part of the same folklore family.

He isn’t.

The Wild, Forgotten Origin Story of Georgie

Georgie was a hoax — and a spectacular one.

Back in 1904, painter Harry Watrous built a ten‑foot lake monster out of a cedar log, complete with a skinny neck, big eyes, a wide mouth, and hemp‑rope whiskers. He created it to get revenge on a newspaper editor who had tricked him with a fake giant trout.

Watrous anchored his monster in Hague Bay and rigged it with a pulley system so he could make it rise dramatically out of the water whenever he felt like causing chaos.

And he did.

Panicked boaters, screaming passengers, parasol attacks — Georgie caused absolute mayhem. Watrous revived the monster again in 1934 just to “spoof the world” one more time. The original Georgie still exists and lives at the historical museum in Hague.

None of this made it into the version of Georgie I grew up with. To us, Georgie was just the Lake George monster — the one we joked about while swimming or boating, the one we pretended might be lurking under the dock. The prank faded, but the idea stuck.

My Family’s Real Lake Sightings (Everything Except Monsters)

And despite all that time on the lake, I never saw Georgie. My mother never saw Georgie. And my brother — who has spent more time on Lake George than anyone I know — has never seen Georgie.

This is impressive, because my brother has seen everything else.

He’s seen rattlesnakes swimming across Lake George. The lake’s had rabid beavers. He’s seen deer swimming across the lake like they’re training for a triathlon. He’s seen strange wakes, odd shadows, weird currents, and fog that makes the lake look like a horror movie set. There have even been water spouts!

Island Camping: Prime Monster Hours, Still No Monsters

My brother also camps out on the Lake George islands during the summer, which means he’s out there at night — prime monster hours. If Georgie were real, my brother would have had front‑row seats.

But no. Not a single monster sighting.

If Monsters Exist, They’re Avoiding Us

Between Champ and Georgie, the Adirondacks are supposedly home to two lake monsters. My family has spent generations swimming, boating, camping, ferrying, and occasionally dodging rabid beavers — and we’ve never seen one. Not even a hint.

If the monsters are out there, they’re clearly shy… or they’ve decided my family isn’t worth the trouble.

Mohican-Paradise-Bay-