Cafe 27 embodies what every biker bar should be: It's far removed from civilian life, a little rough around the edges, and absolutely massive. To find it, follow Griffin Road west until it winds down to one lane and your eyes are filled with all sky and no scrapers. Drive any farther and you're waist-deep in the Everglades (they don't call this bar "an oasis on the edge of civilization" for nothin'). It's got more than a dozen picnic benches for you and your leathery crew to lounge on as you kick back with a few buckets of beer after that 50-mile Sunday-morning joyride along U.S. 27, and two massive chickee huts with industrial fans at each corner keep the no-see-ems off your callused hands. Is that a ZZ Top look-alike or the real deal? We'll never tell.