Motorcycle? Check. Open road? Check. What else does a biker need? Draft Buds are a buck, White Castle burgers are $1.75, and Marlboros go for twenty dollars per carton. Check, check, and check. Of course the Last Chance is more than a pit stop for biker provisions. It's a pit stop for bikers, many of whom kill the afternoon lounging around the parking lot, shooting the breeze, showing off their metal steeds, and recounting (for the millionth time) how the game warden came in one day, walked up to the canal, and shot the bar's winsome mascot, a fourteen-foot-long, blind, three-legged alligator. (We advise you to refrain from suggesting the warden may have been putting the beloved old thing out of its misery.) Not as rough-and-tumble as the term biker bar implies, the Last Chance nevertheless has all the necessary tough-guy trappings: a John Wayne-size rendering of the Jolly Roger emblazoned with the words Bikers Welcome, a gray and weathered edifice, and a sign that reads "No Whining." Although many travelers stop for supplies or just a breather, the bulk of the crowd is easy riders, some local and some tourists. All are welcome here. But if you're an oversize, blind, three-legged gator, think twice about hanging out for too long.