Highway To Hell

© Flickr / ASurroca

Hell on earth is a term that gets thrown around a lot. Someone might say it when they are having a bad day. They might say it about a relationship, or an apartment, or a job. But hell on earth exists, and it's in Florida.

Legend has it that a man named Cebe Tate ventured into an uninhabited, swampy tract of land in 1865, tracking down a panther that was killing his livestock. Tate got lost, and for three weeks he wandered around the forest, stalked by a jungle cat. When he was found he only had the strength to utter the words, "My name is Tate, and I've just come from hell."

Since then, the 2000 acres of land that sit just north of Apalachicola, Florida, where the pan handle bends around the Gulf, has been known as Tate's Hell.

So with images of a wild terrain, an untamed forest, and a man succumbing to the terrors of the jungle, I set off like Charles Marlow toward a modern Heart of Darkness.

It was an exaggerated image, but as the road bent south to hug the curve of the coast, it was easy to forget that there was a cell phone in my pocket, a AAA card in my wallet, and a town every fifteen miles.

As a general guideline, Highway 90 will take you from New Orleans to the Pacific, the whole time keeping the ocean at an arms length. But if you are looking for a more scenic ride, you'll have to do your own exploring. There are plenty of places to turn off. Signs with arrows under the words "scenic route," or "ocean," or "beach" all point in the direction of the Gulf of Mexico.

© Dan Evon / RumBum.comComing from Mississippi, you can hop on route 98 which will take you over sounds, passed military bases, through state forests, and past white sand beaches that litter the coast like small, pristine deserts. It's a small highway that slows down to 35 mph a little too often, but the ocean is almost always in view, and there are plenty of opportunities to pull over and take a quick walk on the beach, or to grab a drink and listen to the waves. When you pass Panama City, the road opens up into a constant curve, that ebbs and flows with the waves of the ocean.

New Orleans to Apalachicola is an easy two day trip if you plan ahead. Stopping in Panama City, Destin, or any other of the numerous state parks, beaches, or small towns along the coast, will make for an easy and restful night. But if you let the road go where it will, and only stop when your body gets weary, you should probably avoid traveling along the Gulf Coast after a major environmental disaster.

Every hotel, motel, and Holiday Inn from Panama City onward was booked by BP. Granted, there weren't too many choices, and I didn't start looking for a bed until after dinner. But by the time night fell, the only options that were left were the personal opinions of gas station owners.

Eventually, a man sipping a Slurpee in a cowboy hat pointed in the direction of a campsite that rested between the shoulder of the Gulf of Mexico, and the edge of Tate's Hell. It was more of an RV park than a campsite, but it could have been a lot worse. It could have been a hotel. It could have been home. Instead, it was small chunk of gravel that sat just behind the beach. Under the stars and within reach of the waves, I fell asleep to the gentle hum of a dozen RV's.

In the morning, the sun rose over the Gulf and I waited until the light spread to where I laid. There was a group of men unloading two dirt bikes from the back of a pickup. They gave me coffee, and we talked about Tate's Hell.

"2000 acres of pure off-roading fun," they said. Some governor, or mayor, or federal project had dried up Tate's Hell years ago, and now, OHV paths ran across the tamed jungle to create a motorcycle playground.

There was no Heart of Darkness, and I was no Charles Marlow. There was no man screaming about the horrors that he had seen in the jungle. All there was, was a few guys having a good time.

Despite what the legend says, there is no hell on earth in Florida.