Both pipes open up on a stretch of road as long and flat as the devil's driveway, and that damn tropical sun beats down on you like a mess o' troopers on road-kill day. Your machine's growling like a hungry lion, and your ol' lady starts whining that she'd like something to drink. Problem is, nothing around. You could backtrack to some fast-food joint in a mall near Florida City, or follow that endless black ribbon south to where the mangroves muscle out the sun and you get a little shade. Screw it. You keep your knees in the breeze until you hit Alabama Jack's, a biker-friendly white-trash tiki hut with pizzazz. The hogs are lined up by the split-rail fence like horses at a hitching post. The bar is perched over the water, so a cool wind always blows. Now your baby's changed her tune: She's cooing what a good idea this was. You kick up your boots, lean back, and rub your tattooed belly as the waitress plunks down a cold one. This'll do, this'll do. Jack's, now in its 52nd year, is open seven days a week, from 11:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.