First, you’ll crawl out of Miami on the I-95 highway, which is basically a parking lot decorated with palm trees. You’ll pass the “Florida City” sign and think, “Is this the city or just a gas station with ambition?” Spoiler: it’s both. Then, you’ll merge onto I-75 near Naples, a detour that adds 20 minutes but lets you see a sign for “Gator Wrestling: Free with Taco Purchase.”
Second, you enter the Everglades’ cousin, a stretch of highway where the only snacks are at a truck stop called “Swampy’s.” You’ll pass a sign for “Lake Okeechobee, 42 miles,” and you’ll wonder why a lake needs a highway exit. Pro tip: don’t honk at the vultures; they’re unionized and have lawyers.
Third, you hit Polk County, where the speed limit drops from “Are we in a NASCAR race?” to “Did someone retire here?” Lakeland itself appears like a mirage: a city of 114 sparkling lakes, each one named after a different grandmother. You’ll know you’ve arrived when you see a Publix parking lot with zero drama—a certified miracle in Florida.
