It's not quite the same being on Catherine Street at six in the morning as opposed to say, three am. There are a few more signs of life, newspapers get delivered for instance, people start to get out of the house to head to work, though in Key West you'd think the reduced commute should give people a little extra time to overcome their hang overs.
Catherine Street doesn't have much of tourist value outside of the blocks nearest Duval, but for a resident it is a handy street to use to get into and out of Duval Street. Its a straight shot with not many stop signs and before the new one-way system got put in place it was useful all the way from the Community Pool on Thomas Street. Packer Street though just caught my eye at that early hour, all Conchy and dishevelled in the night light:
It's weird because by day Packer Street rates pretty low on my list of favorite neighborhoods, the narrow streets prevent sidewalks from sprouting and everyone parks their cars tight along their homes creating a crowded effect. But at night Packer Street looks good, also looking north towards Truman Avenue:
Catherine Street runs past El Siboney the Cuban restaurant on the 900 block, and widens out considerably for the quasi-industrial block where Suburban propane stores its gas. Past those landmarks it reaches Simonton Street and becomes one way west towards Bahama Village. Simonton Street has the last old big time cigar factory left on its feet in the city. Cigars were big business when Cubans first start emigrating to Florida after unsuccessful revolutions against Spanish rule in the mid 19th century. However they, like most other businesses found it cheaper and easier to make money on the mainland so they sailed north in the end and created Ybor City in Tampa (the Florida History Blog makes the case that Italians also settled extensively in Ybor City but that's another story). Monroe County offices now occupy the restored Gato building where gato means cat in Spanish, but the name refers to the original owner's family name, not the animal.
Between Simonton and Duval streets lies one of the more mysterious businesses in Key West, one I have only ever seen open once, but that I have never actually seen occupied by a human being. I had to do a fair bit of maneuvering to get the shot, rolling a trash can to support the camera rolling the motorcycle to get the Bonneville at least partially in the picture and with all the kerfuffle I was half hoping some angry wizened Japanese resident of Key West would appear and start berating me for my impudence. But I had no such luck, so I still have no idea who sells fish here:
I carefully replaced the empty trash can and got back on the Bonneville to ride deeper into the still sleeping city, but I got no further than Duval Street before I decided a picture was in order. This creation used to be known by its full name La Terraza de Marti and they might have it that the Cuban Liberator lived here (he did actually give a fire and brimstone speech from the balcony of the San Carlos inciting Key Westers to help the Cubans in their struggle of 1878 or thereabouts). Nowadays La Te Da is home to the rather less noble pursuit of entertaining the masses with mediocre food and men dressed as women.
It's confession time: I just don't get the whole transvestite thing. I went to LaTe Da once and found the experience on a par with watching paint dry. I don't get the cross dressing thing and making a public spectacle of oneself pretending to be a sexy diva when in fact you are a hairy man, but luckily my opinion counts for nothing and there are to my astonishment many fans of this form of Art. My Bonneville remained mute on the subject, wisely no doubt.Duval at six in the morning is pretty quiet. Bars are closed by four at the latest and everyone is supposed to go home and sleep it off. I think Duval must have looked much like this when one morning a couple of years ago a Cuban Coast Guard boat docked at the Hyatt Marina.
Out stepped three Cuban Guards complete with weapons and their GPS unit they were issued to patrol Havana Harbor. They found the coordinates for Key West in the GPS and on a whim took off at 1:30 in the morning across the Straits of Florida. They arrived in Key West three hours later and wandered down Duval looking for someone to surrender to. The police officer they found spoke no Spanish but he woke up a bum who did and thus they surrendered in proper order and handed over their weapons and their boat.(The USCG delivered the boat back to Cuba a few days later, the guards got to stay). I remember their comment as reported by the paper that they were surprised Key West was so quiet at 4:30 am, because they said, Havana was still hopping at that hour. One could almost hear in that remark the wistful longing of a man who has made an irrevocable decision.
Be that as it may Catherine Street plows on resolutely towards Thomas Street but just beyond Duval I found another diversion, Thompson Lane, picturesque and deserted.
I'm having difficulty remembering that most streets in North America don't look like this and coming out with my camera forces me to see things as they are, as beautiful and rare and even in some measure, preserved, despite the contant nagging about losing the "old" Key West.
And as a concession to the hour and the absence of long lines at the monument I stopped by the supposed southernmost point in the Continental US and paused for another picture. No one else was around, the moment was just right, but I did have to leave out the half full moon still high in the sky.
If this were the Southernmost Point (it's not, the actual spot is further to the ...south, on Navy property and inaccessible) the house next door, an Italianate structure glowing in the night quite prettily would be the Southernmost House.
The Southernmost House lies a block further to the...northeast, where the Ramos family holds court and is demanding code variances to create a new and apparently much needed hotel downtown. Such is the flexible geography of Key West's monuments. Indeed a few years ago the city contemplated moving the Southernmost Point as the crowds were upsetting the neighbors. A place by any other name... I liked the spotlights on the waters, something else the sleepy-head tourists won't get to see later in the day when they line up for ages just to get a shot of 90 Miles To Cuba. 
Winds are back up and waves are splashing the south shore of the island as they do particularly in the spring. Its time though for the cold fronts to get shorter and the heat to increase. Pretty soon nighttime travels will be the only way to go.
The Key West Police Station doesn't exactly look to be under siege, but the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune are pinging against the building nevertheless.
The Citizen has offered up a couple of more restrained articles but the Blue Paper is revelling in the gore including this rather startling upside down photograph for our "suspended" chief, not witholding any of the details of a charge of sexual impropriety from the Department's Public Information Officer against the Chief. Mayor McPherson has stepped in already characterizing the accusation as "egregious." A detail reported by the Blue Paper is that the City Manager, recently appointed by the city commission to the top job, knew about the accusations weeks ago and did not act upon them. Which if true, will bring the city into a whole new world of hurt. 
My neighbors at the end of my street hitched their Jeep up to their RV the other day and took off north on the Overseas Highway. I've never spoken to them, but their comings and goings mark the season as sure as the swallows at Capistrano, and now that their canal front home is padlocked and shuttered I know the winter season is coming to an end and summer approaches.
Summer time in the Keys is the "other" season, not exactly a time of mellow fruitfulness to quote the poet, but a time of higher humidity, longer daylight, and calmer ocean waters, laid flat by an absence of wind, and overpowered by those magnificent Florida mountains known to outsiders as thunderheads. Florida this far south has only two seasons, broadly speaking, dry winters and wet summers. Summers are the time people go North to sweat in sweltering Mid Western brick homes in places where, I'm told temperatures easily top a hundred degrees on airless wet afternoons. Down here by contrast it rarely gets over 95, and the sun though hot and white is reflected by the waters which also produce a lot of the time, the tiniest of breezes. be they ever so small the summer winds are always welcome.
This is also the time of year I get home before the sun comes up, bathing my house in golden light, but those days I do stay awake past seven, after a long night at work, I am rewarded by the transformation of gray skies that hold the promise of nothing good, into crisp blues and whites and the deep golden yellow of the dawn.
I took this photo a while back at Geiger Key Bridge when I took a dawn deviation on my way home. It put me in mind of summer, with the flat waters, the fresh pre-sunshine air and the hum of swarms of mosquitoes. People will often, in the midst of a litany of things they dislike about Florida (Bless their hearts! Stay away!) include the fanciful notion that this is a climate without seasons. Like I need a snow season, a mud season, a green season and a stinking hot season. Some people do and the subtleties of the sub tropics are too slow and too indistinct for their eyes. Summer is obvious: less traffic on Highway One of course! Pretty soon the Bonneville and I will be rumbling back and forth almost unimpeded. Its not that cars are too fast in winter, its that oncoming traffic is too thick and frequently one has to pass a wedge of half a dozen cars lumped together on the highway, like a gaggle of slow moving geese, so one gives up and waits for summer to ease the congestion. Summer is the time for smooth moving traffic, another plus...This is a picture of Southard Street, home of the future gate, uncharacteristically untraffic'ed in mid winter:
It looks just a bit down at heel from across the street in New Town. Closer up:
And closer yet shows the abandonment and its cause, rising waters, followed by mold and exhaustion, flooding really does suck:
I never really appreciated stilt homes till Wilma left my home untouched. There was a move to build stilt homes in New Orleans' Lower Ninth District, but city planners objected saying they look ugly like "olives on sticks." Maybe but they stay dry, like this precariously balanced olive on Flagler Avenue, one of the few stilt homes in the City:
Not architecturally striking, but fear of flooding has been a powerful motivator for those that still remember Wilma's waters in the city.
Stoicism is a fine quality in hurricane season , but there are a few months yet before things heat up and I've got some riding to do, on those roads that at last should be emptying out as the weeks go by.
Oh yes, fishing too. But not from the municipal pier where casting a line will net you a twenty five dollar fine. This is the only pier in Florida where fishing is expressly forbidden, so take a good look:
No swimming allowed either, else the under toad will apparently eat you:
And if you somehow got the mistaken idea that swimming off that magnificent sand beach under the palm trees would be refreshing, think again:
And remember those six officers have but 1400 homes to patrol so they will be on you like flies on the proverbial if you dip a big toe in the azure waters of the Straits of Florida. Look don't touch. Which reminds me a bit of that old TV show The Prisoner. 
There is a park after a fashion, but if I want to boil my brains out on the sunlit benches where do I leave the Bonneville? In the next jurisdiction? It's very passive aggressive. Home ownership in KCB does have its advantages, in that the city, unlike Monroe County, does allow short term rentals. Indeed short term is the theme for the Keys' own mouse that roars. The waterfront is obscured for the length of it's KCB mile by condos. Old fashioned 1950's concrete block structures:
And newer designs with faux shutters and weird Mittel European porch lights blazing in the middle of the day to no visible effect:
Not forgetting the neon glories beloved of our parents, back "in the day" as they say most annoyingly:
I did discover an "extra" street within city limits, which was probably more fun than I should have allowed myself. Back at the end of the causeway I was returned brutally to the lives that the rest of us in the world outside the cozy confines of KCB have to deal with daily, in winter: a traffic jam turning out onto Highway One.
The cars at the front of the line were so languid only about three got out on each green light which was making me crazy with boredom so, ever the rebel I took the right turn lane and found myself abruptly in the parking area of a Circle K convenience store. Indeed, and this it turns out is KCB's sole gas station, though as it faces Highway One a passer-by not tuned in to the vagaries of city planning would never guess. The city of Marathon uses the usual green street signs employed elsewhere in the county and in Key West. But KCB in an effort to distinguish itself uses blue street signs:
And right around the corner I found Coral Way, in blue butting up to Clara Boulevard behind the Circle K. And I didn't even need to show id to escape back to the real world. As real as it gets in the Florida Keys, let's face it.
This stretch of abandoned waterfront overlooking an almost entirely enclosed lagoon has been slated for development, which is hardly surprising. Even less surprising is the fact that people rose up in arms to complain about the plan to build some 43 homes around the seawall.
But what surprises me is that this area has been left to its own devices for as long as it has. My wife and I used to meet here occasionally and take Emma for walks, taking advantage of a soon to disappear open space. Perhaps not, at least not for a while, will it disappear. So far so good, with no signs yet of construction.
I think its relative old age (50 perhaps?) gives it a rather dated feel, like some of those Miami suburbs built outside downtown as experiments in urban planning with an emphasis on concrete order and cement block bungalows.
It's not a community that invites exploration and side walks are not seen in abundance, though there are elderly, peeling bicycle lanes painted on the main roadways, which surprised me:
The island reminded me of nothing quite so much as Grand Cayman, flat and subdued and begging a reason for a second visit. The fact is much of Key Haven is treated as a public parking lot for quasi abandoned boats, trailers and trucks: 
And when I stopped to photograph this alluring display of urban decay I attracted the irate attention of a nearby homeowner who came out and stood, silent but belligerent in the street while I turned out in the dead end, took a picture... 
...and came back out past him. He stepped back as I smiled breezily and rode by. The last I saw in my mirror he turned around and stumped back indoors as I disappeared out of his street. I guess he has attracted some unwanted attention for his sprawling public abandoned trailer lot...and must have wondered if I were documenting his lack of public spiritedness for some nefarious purpose. No such luck, I'm just a a wanderer with a camera.
And it sits on just one of several crowded canal front streets that eschew the eminently sensible notion of raising your precious home on flood-proof stilts. Which is not to say new homes aren't sprouting on Key Haven bringing with them the architectural motifs of McMansions from Up North.
I'm sure you can find any number of homes like these huddled round golf courses from Pensacola to Port Saint Lucie but they have always struck me as somewhat unsuitable for tropical construction. The lovely terracotta tile Mediterranean roofs for a start are just perfect for hurricane force winds to lift up and peel off in one hundred mile-per-hour winds. Steel roofs make sense. Then I wonder how you attach hurricane shutters to their abundance of nooks and crannies and half hidden windows...
Fortunately there are a few quirky homeowners even in Key Haven and this one I liked with its absurdist airplane parts front gate (Beware of the Dog and No Trespassing...just to add a touch of class) and this grotesque mishmash gateway to purgatory, begging for a touch of varnish and a pet for the guardian lions:
Key Haven enjoys the mixed benefits of canal frontage ,open water and easy access to the city, but its not a place that invites serene reflection, even in its most open viewpoints:
And the tiny urban park has a most unfriendly sign announcing it's for Members Only. As if this might be just the sort of magnet to attract hosts of undesirables, people just like me, bikers, or worse, if the gate wasn't posted Keep Out!
Key Haven doesn't speak to me, doesn't make me wish I lived in a low lying easily flooded home, right under the flight path of Navy jets just five miles from the fleshpots of Key West. It does have a couple of nice curves on the main road through the community which is nice,
but not enough to make me pine for the delights of this funky little neighborhood. I doubt they will miss me, or my motorcycle any more than I shall miss them.
Down on the waterfront at Truman Annex there lie a couple of squat cement buildings, close to the gorgeous turquoise waters of Key West's inner harbor. These buildings are harbingers of the City's future, not least because they are growing sod on the roof to reduce cooling costs:
It's going to be a while before we see a lawn on the flat roof of the Police Station, but the Dr Nancy Foster Eco Discovery Center is new and bringing innovation slowly with it. This is the headquarters of the National Marine Sanctuary in the Lower Keys, and there are 33 new acres of land to be developed by Key West around here now that the Navy has handed the waterfront over to civilian use. The Marine Sanctuary in the Keys is easily accessible to members of the public for the waters are protected and shallow and these islands are littered with boats for rent to go out and enjoy them. From cruise ships on down:
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the grandly named Federal agency works with the State of Florida to protect these waters with their boats:
and with their markers and their buoys:
My buddy Robert who has lived in the Keys since 1976 moved from working as a commercial lobsterman to become the waterborne educator of the sanctuary users. His job is to welcome boaters to the sanctuary and then educate them how not to wreck it:
The drive to educate is what got the Eco Discovery Center built and a very modern building it is too, inside as well as out:
Admission is free, the air conditioning is cold and there is even a movie theater in here, so there are lots of reasons on the face of it to pay this place a visit. However, as a friend of mine said to me, "You need to be prepared to spend a lot of time in there, there's tons to read!" and its not all about the water:
The Center really pulls all the habitats together into one web of life. Its not just a matter of not stepping on the hard pressed corals on our reefs, its also a matter of not throwing out trash, not interfering with the life cycles of birds and fish and reptiles; it is all, in short, connected. A point made clear in the movie theater, a painless way to explore the various sticky, buggy environments in the Florida Keys, as seen through the wide eyes of a visitor to the Marine Sanctuary. The movie shows us a child's eye view of the wonders of mangroves and fish habitats in the sanctuary:
There are dioramas explaining the world of the animals underwater:
And above the waters, in the dry land hammocks:
And on the beaches:
For a professional diver and educator like Robert the submersible exhibit holds a special place in his heart:
I like visiting the Eco Discovery Center, not because I feel the need to discover, or reaffirm my desire to be polite to the planet I call home, but because I like reminding myself, during the winter months how much I am going to enjoy immersing myself in the mysterious waters that surround my island home. And just when they seem to be a little less mysterious than usual a weird event pops into the headlines. Like the visitor from Up North killed by a flying ray that broke her neck when it hit her sitting in the bow of her boat slicing through the water at 25 miles per hour... a ray like this one possibly:
I guess it must be a fair representation of a ray but it has those big old Bambi eyes staring down from the ceiling...
No mention here of Casuarina trees. This building is at the heart of the drive to re-vegetate the Keys with native plants and the Pines of Fort Zachary for instance wouldn't be something I'd bring up with Robert next time we're out for dinner at El Siboney...
It has been a few posts since I included gratuitous pictures of my Bonneville posing around town, and today, alas alack, is another one of those. It happened that we have been living through another Easter weekend and it seems for some this festivity is best enjoyed with one's family, which in the Keys often means making a journey, thus orphaning one's pets. So all is not lost for those like my wife and I who are on the holy day sidelines; we got to enjoy the company of Lula Mae for a long weekend.
I am one of those people that gets along quite nicely thank you with almost any dog, unless it is one of those sad creatures driven mad by neglect or imprisonment in solitary confinement in a yard or worse on a chain. My last dog died a couple of years ago and I'm not quite over it..yet, which is perhaps one reason I have yet to write an essay about Emma Goldman and Eugene Debs (and Debs died of cancer six long years ago already). My motorcycle had to stay put at home which was the down side of Lula Mae's visit but we did get to take a few splendid walks:
Lula Mae is an urban dog, used to wandering the sidewalks of the metropolis, but my idea of a walk is to find the path less traveled and then give it a good work out. Any dog that lives with me gets used to riding in the car and being poured out at one of any locations that strike my fancy. Lula Mae has no facility with water either and the sucking and gurgling sounds of the tide's ebb and flow at the submarine pens caused her some consternation:
Lula Mae grew up in rather insalubrious circumstances in Marathon and even had a litter of puppies before she was rescued from her dungeon. These days she lives the good life but from some dim recess of her memory she has retained a powerful loathing for other dogs. She's the reverse of my own phobias, as it were. And when taking her for a walk one needs to be cautious if other dogs are in the offing because she can pull like a train. While she has been known to overpower my wife, with me she pulls just for fun (Lula Mae, not my wife):
But in order not to spend too much time worrying about chance encounters I like to wander alone with her comfortably running back and forth off leash tiring herself out. That and some tug of war earns me a few quiet hours at home before the next bout.
That was the fun part of dog sitting, getting to enjoy the company of dog for a little while, long enough to be reminded of the pleasure and the obligation of dog ownership. The less fun part is a temporary return to driving everywhere in air conditioned comfort (it's been hot and sticky around here all weekend) with NPR on the radio and windshield wipers to fend off the occasional downpour. The thing is I have been bored senseless, more senseless than usual, trundling around in the back of a long line of cars, everywhere I go. I am reminded why many people who drive do it so badly- its deathly boring. 
I try to make it interesting, I try to stay alert and involved but other vehicles clog my sight lines and passing, even with a 3.5 liter v-six is fraught with all sorts of unpleasant possibilities when one is trapped in a cage. In town I find myself forced to lump along with no sense of adventure, no desire to take the long way there, no pleasure at taking longer to get there. I joined the lines of glazed eyes and glazed brains that bump across the bridges and causeways of the Keys. Of course I had a bright eyed and bushy tailed Lula Mae sitting up in the back wondering where the walk was going to be.
I'm not yet ready to be looking after a dog full time, I know it and I'm resigned to it for the time being. One day I'll put a fence around my house, stick a sidecar on the Bonneville ( like Ara and Spirit) and throw my dog and my walker in the hack. But for now, when I have to drive a cage I look out the window and struggle to stay alert, while not envying those around me carefree and irresponsible on their freedom machines:
All good things come to an end and Lula Mae is back home, after one final exhausting walk and tug-of-war and tomorrow I will be commuting properly, on the Bonneville once again, envying no one, riding for the fun of it. And yes, I will be missing Lula Mae just a little bit.
Some people call this Houseboat Row, because this is where the houseboats of South Roosevelt Boulevard washed up, but to me its just part of Garrison Bight Marina. The City of Key West owns two marina properties, one is Key West Bight, near Schooner Wharf and the other is Garrison Bight in the middle of the island, with a narrow opening to the Gulf of Mexico to the north. (A bight in nautical lingo is an indentation in a coastline, or a loop in a length of rope).
Garrison Bight is a well protected marina when the weather turns rough, and because it's city owned the dock rates are lower by a few hundred dollars month than those of the private marinas downtown or on Stock Island. However in a town like Key West where a one bedroom apartment can cost a thousand dollars month, a marina slip at less than $800 a month can seem like a bargain. But that's not all that goes on at Garrison Bight, people don't just live there:
Sport fishing is a big deal in the Keys, obviously, and there's a whole line of boats parked at charter boat row waiting for clumps of customers to show up for a day on the water. Humans aren't the only anglers, and hopefuls come in all shapes:
For a lot of people the dream job is running a charter fishing boat. Its a dream everyone should fulfill, because speaking as a former Captain myself, the life has a bunch of drawbacks. It confirmed my opinion that the lucky man is the one who keeps his hobbies and his jobs separate. I enjoy writing my blog a lot more because I do it for fun, not a living. That was written as a former journalist, not a former boat captain. But youth is a great time to be sorting your equipment on your charter boat:
But these are modern times so we have abandoned the old ways and no longer use roofs to collect rainwater, instead we suck water out of the ground and pump it 150 miles to our faucets with predictable results, not enough to go around:
However this is the land of abundance so we still get to use plenty of it! It'll be a bad day in the Keys when boaters can't keep their vessels clean. Garrison Bight is a strangely shaped marina bisected by Palm Avenue and a low bridge, the bridge prevents sailboats getting into the inner sanctum but its a main artery out of Old Town and sees lots of use, especially in the evening rush hour:
The top of the bridge, for all that its probably only twenty feet above the water gives a nice view to the pedestrian at the top. To the northwest the landmark Fly Navy building, properly known as the Bachelor Officers Quarters (or BOQ) a delightfully old fashioned 1950's style of architecture when viewed from the inside:
To the left the cluster of buildings is the last boatyard in Key West, Spencer's, still a working boatyard with haul out facilities right on Palm Avenue- a minor miracle in this day and age. On the south side of Palm Avenue is the other working-class business a boat storage and sales facility owned by along time Key West family. They repair boats (and did a nice job of re-powering my skiff a couple of years ago):
And directly due south of the bight lies the Police Station, coyly tucked away behind the mangroves. I get a nice view of the marina from our dispatch windows, especially during hurricanes when the winds reduce Garrison Bight to horizontal white spume:
And finally to the north there lies that mysterious half hidden street, the only one of two in the city that offers back yard dockage to its residents. Its called Hilton Haven and it is the north east arm of garrison Bight, the civilian half opposite the Fly Navy Building.
And then the nitty-gritty, the docks themselves at the center of this geographical tour of the waters. The houseboats are frequently for sale, indeed I saw one, a thousand square footer claiming to be an original from Houseboat Row on South Roosevelt for sale for two hundred thousand dollars- described as affordable Keys living! Cramped Keys living if you like!
I suppose there is romance in life afloat, though after many years of doing it myself I'm happy enough to be living ashore. What I don't miss is marina living, and perhaps one needs to do it to be convinced of it. Living in a marina is like living in a cramped trailer park with the chance of drowning to paraphrase Doctor Johnson. Some people wouldn't live any other way. Of course living on a boat while traveling can be splendid, but to quote Admiral Nelson "Men and Ships rot in port," and Garrison Bight seems to see more than its share of rotting. Not forgetting that boaters themselves produce waste that needs to be kept out of the waters these days. There is a specially equipped pumping boat for the task that lives in the marina cheek by jowl as it were with its clients. The boat also serves the boats at anchor outside the marina:
I used to pay fifteen dollars a week to get my boat pumped in Sunset Marina! Ah, living in paradise... To that end I like looking at the boats parked nearer North Roosevelt Boulevard, the main drag into town which is noisy as hell but from the roadway one gets to see the visiting boats, the vessels that tend to be more on the move, the smaller boats. Not all of them leave their slips but they look more like they could:
Back on shore the parking lots, ample though they may be are choked with winter time drivers who will soon be heading back north, presumably leaving their boats behind to the tender mercies of storm season. This being Key West alternatives in transportation are catered to when it comes to parking areas:
Motorized and not:
Alternative living in a mild climate, and this is by no means the most alternative. Monroe County is now starting to eye liveaboards on their boats in Boca Chica Channel, between the Navy Base and Stock Island. That's where the free spirits are congregating that don't want to live within the confines of a marina. Monroe County is viewing the free anchorage with a jaundiced eye complaining of sunken wrecks, debris and anarchy afloat. Meanwhile in the Bight marina living is at least still possible for some in the heart of the city of Key West.
Its Spring Break and they are all around town. My wife went to dinner with a friend at the new Ambrosia restaurant in the nice new million dollar condos at the Santa Maria and she spotted impecunious students woofing raw fish, on the parental expense account no doubt. They aren't all big spenders, but they're in town and doing their youthful thing- everywhere. Smathers Beach is the main hang out for the decompressing college students in this weird Spring custom.
Smathers Beach is a long thin strip of sand (and seaweed) along the south shore of the island, backed by a four lane street which accommodates the wandering eyes of passing drivers, who tend to wander as they eyeball the youngsters:
I'm not one to question (excessively) the mating rituals of anyone, least of all people less than half my age but this Spring Break thing I have never understood , and had I gone to college I doubt I'd have wasted my time, or my testosterone at a beach with hundreds or perhaps thousands of similarly inclined youngsters. I'd have been riding my motorcycle. Come to think that was exactly what I did do when I was in my 20's on vacation. Students here come from afar:
And they sit on the beach or toss a ball:
Some apparently seek solitude, and find it too:
The vendors along Smathers sell the usual stuff, at least I suppose its usual because I'm not a frequent habitue of Smathers beach or any other frolicking spot along the strands of this great nation. The only beaches I like are the small secluded ones far from hot dogs and ice creams.
These vendors have all my respect, they cope with crowds, heat and no relief for hours in order to make a living while the beaches are bustling. they do it all day, day after day, and I'm pretty sure they don't go home to waterfront multi-million dollar condos. All for the pleasure of a life in "paradise." Amazing resilience in my opinion. This sign doesn't lie:
The moped traffic is pretty astonishing too, clumps of them, horns tooting and feet flying out as they parade their spectacular skill and savoir faire in the manner of jousting knights. I'm quite fond of Honda's 50cc Metropolitan, but I never really considered it a babe magnet. Silly me.
Then there are the electric vehicles and their apparently indecisive occupants. I have no idea what they were looking at or waiting for squashed into their absurd little electric car. Godot never approached me, I know that:
Bicycles by the dozen, including the ever popular vacation tandem:
Those rectangular signs on the back of mopeds and bicycles given them away as rentals:
This was no rental and made my heart go pitter-patter far more so than all the juveniles strutting around in their underwear:
For those not lucky enough to strut their stuff on a Vespa GTS, there are other classy activities to enjoy, sailing or para sailing for a start:
And that seaweed which tends to rot gently in the heat needs to be cleaned up which requires the only farm tractor I've seen in the county weaving its way past the beach goers:
Just another feature of vacations in the Keys, beach clean up while you wait...Some people rent apartments and enjoy the view from afar:
But for some all the excitement is just too much and the beach can be an ideal spot for a little time out. That they sleep through it all is a testament to youth and a clear conscience no doubt:
I tip toed away back to my middle aged life. Nobody asked but if they had I should have told them it just keeps getting better the more middle aged you get. But if i remember right at that age no one can tell you anything. I'd also have told them to take their money, get a motorcycle and go and see some of the world. But that was me, young and middle aged. 
According to the agreement the only trees that will be cut down for the next decade are those that are felled naturally or cause a public safety concern. Amazing stuff, considering how hopeless the activist's cause seemed for such a long time. I am delighted.
There is a book about life in the Florida Keys that has all the elements of the modern pot boilers written about life at these lower latitudes, but none of the style. I think I can happily survive the remaining years of my life without having to crack a mystery story set in Key West, home of the Eccentric Character. After all I've read Charlotte's Story and that has given me my fill of eccentric Keys people, at least in literature, to last the rest of my life.
Russell Niedhauk was apparently of Pennsylvania Dutch extraction and he betrayed his Teutonic roots in his levels of determination and hard work. He and Charlotte lived an idyllic existence on Elliott Key, fishing, tending their garden and other crops, beach combing and meeting smugglers and Border Patrol agents on their rounds. Yes indeed this book has something of the illicit in its pages, not to mention rather obscurely illicit transactions in the metropolis lightly alluded to by the late Ms Arpin-Niedhauk. Not exactly car chases but close enough.
It's a pretty book, nicely illustrated with drawings and photographs and the story it tells is illuminating for anyone remotely interested in South Florida history. Furthermore the story is told with a light touch which makes this an easy read, in case one could be worried about the style of a book written 70 years ago. 
The Niedhauks lived out their long lives in the Keys, moving on to take care of Lignumvitae Key later, what is now a park in the middle keys. They were reportedly a well liked couple who ended their days on a houseboat in the keys. But before that Charlotte took a trip to Key West and the final pages of the book include a tantalising description of the Southernmost City, including an illustration of the complexity of road travel before the 1938 connection was completed. That photograph of the car on the old (old!) Boca Chica bridge is never far from my thoughts when I travel Highway One. Perhaps one should be surprised to see so many cars on the island streets of Key West:
This was the book, I think that gave me insight and appreciation for the difficulties of life in these islands before the advent of air conditioning, communications and modern conveniences. It is also the tome that reminds me to keep my feet on the ground when I am inclined to complain about gentrification of the Keys, because sure as eggs is eggs, I couldn't have pulled off the lifestyle the Niedhauks subjected themselves to, for decades. Not with the humor and understanding and easy insight that Charlotte brings to her writing. 
Niles Is a common name in the Lower Keys, not least because the GM and Nissan dealer in Key West goes by that name. At Mile marker 26 there is a forty-foot tall span that crosses Niles Channel, and on the north side of Summerland key there is a hidden roadway that goes by the same name. Its quite tricky to find as one has to take Horace Road (really!) off Highway One and make a couple of ninety degree turns through a sleeping trailer park.
If you can tear your eyes off the sleeping woofer you can see Niles Channel Bridge in the background. I had been turned on to the possibility of some off road tracks by a young kid I met recently doing doughnuts in his truck when I was out exploring some other dirt tracks. Niles Road itself is the usual more or less straight line between mangroves:
I really like these roads, smooth and slightly curvy with few homes and a gentle breeze whistling through the branches. Sometimes I wish they went on further. Other times I wished that when I reached the end I was alone. But here, after a mile of paved road I found these two huddled with their pedalo boat, an unsuitable craft for windy salt waters:
Sometimes you just get a bad vibe and I don't know what these two were up to but whatever it was I didn't want to leave my motorcycle alone with them so I bagged my planned hike into the bushes where the paved road runs out and I turned back towards civilization, without turning the engine off. Civilization consists of a couple of unoccupied homes and a couple with signs of life. This one looked wrecked but when i stopped to shoot the "picturesque" trailer i observed the house had signs of movement behind the mosquito netting on the porch. So, again, I rolled away without giving anyone time to ask me to move on. It was getting to be a theme of Niles Road.
Then I spotted the dirt road turn off and finally found myself alone with Nature, on the peculiar marl particular to the dry season mangrove swamps:
So I worked my way through dry clay rutted by four wheeled vehicles, careful to keep my street Bonnie on the high side.
And it wasn't long before I hit moisture, deep water close in to shore as though it had been dug out by human hands, but in the process of being reclaimed by nature, as always:
And of course there is always human debris around in these places. Actually it was abundant and somewhat varied. First I found evidence of human ill treatment, a horseshoe crab used for sport. Its underside was pretty complete so it looked as though it had been plucked live and impaled, but perhaps I am reading more into than I should. Bored kids I suspected, for no reason other than I am extrapolating more than I should:
I tossed the baked little body back into the water where it sank slowly out of sight, a small Viking funeral. And if it was kids playing with the crab, then their elders and betters had been using this pristine spot as a dumping ground, ignoring the threat of a five hundred dollar fine as posted on signs along the roadway. A school bus roof? Priceless if not picturesque.
And more, so much more:
I even found a hillock a full six feet above sea level, and the altitude made me giddy scrambling up through the gravel, feathering the clutch, sliding the motorbike as I went:
I took the time to shoot a few more pictures of the Bonneville, and I confess I always like the look of the thing from the front, the aggressive tire and big round headlamp, very old fashioned I think. And in such surroundings too:
Further along I found an untouched trail, no signs of tire marks in a long time and the mud was smooth and flat, pierced by a few mangrove nematodes only:
And then back to the main road along the gravel trail:
And then back to the paved Niles Road, back towards the trailer park and sleeping dogs and busy fishermen and all the rest:
Highway One is overly busy during Spring Break with vehicles crowding the Overseas Highway in both directions at all hours, endless snakes of cars plodding to and from the bars of Key West. Luckily I had not far to go to get home and tend the sunburn brought on by my adventures. So little land so much fun. On a road bike no less.
Little Hamaca City Park is a touch of green in the middle of New Town, wedged between the airport and the Riviera Canal. The literature tells us this is the last stand of hardwood trees in the city and is the place where one might expect to see such exotics as raccoons and snakes and I don't know what. But Little Hamaca has a reputation for being a gay cruising spot, which I find frustrating as that reputation keeps people away. I used to walk my dog here frequently in the days when I was owned by a Labrador and I was never accosted by anyone for immoral purposes. For what that's worth. When I went out earlier this week to take some pictures I wasn't accosted either but I saw the inevitable residentially challenged citizen, in this case organizing his life in the parking lot:
The entrance to Little Hamaca lies off Flagler Avenue at the Doc-in-a-Box, better known as the Urgent Care Clinic. The park has gates that are supposed to be closed at night in an effort to keep undesirables out:
And a theoretical 15mph speed limit on Government Road, a long straightaway past the airport, and the disused ammunition dumps scattered near a few of the many old missile pads:
Government Road winds about a mile past picnic tables and turn-outs to the holy of holies, as was in period of the Missile crisis of 1962, the Hawk missile site built to fend off rabid Cuban communists, which is now a paint ball field sponsored by the city. Youngsters used to bother condo residents at Oceanwalk apartments by creeping around the mangroves in the salt ponds shooting each other with paint. Now they get to do it in a properly sanctioned space:
There's a parking space off Government road that gives access, to wheelchairs too, to the boardwalk and trails that wind through the hardwood hammock:
A gentle ambling pace will take less then ten minutes to stroll to the end of the boardwalk, past information laden sign posts:
And of course at least a little bit of trash here and there. This checkers soda cup was less than 50 feet from a garbage can, but tossed well beyond the railing making it irretrievable:
The boardwalk leads past swampy lowlands where mangroves thrive and if this is an enviroment that looks interesting enough to explore local kayak guides specialize in mangrove paddles and will be delighted to give you a tour of Cow Key Channel or the Lakes, west of Key West. These are just a taste of those mysterious plants that fascinate visitors:
Alongside the mangroves are grassy prairies with their own, homemade trails leading heaven knows where:
Far in the depths of these delightful woodlands one can never get too distant from civilization even though it can feel like being nowhere near a modern city. Its the depth perception game that the Florida Keys play so well. In the distance one can barely see the busyness of Oceanwalk apartments a mile away, but it's another world across the greenery and salt ponds and airport runway:
And back on the main trail there is a dark dappled tunnel of undergrowth connecting the boardwalks, where the going is hot and sticky on a relatively warm day. This part of the park is airless, far from the sea breezes of the coast:
Getting closer to the Riviera Canal one can spot this apparently human made channel cut into the rock. I've seen these elsewhere in the Keys and I've always wondered who, what, why, when? I'll never know, I guess:
It seems to serve no purpose other than simply existing. Anyway beyond these mysteries the boardwalk resumes and takes the eager walker to his or her destination, visible through the mangroves, the Riviera Canal and more civilization across the water.
The boardwalk ends in a rather neat little docking area provided by the city for any passing boater to tie up and perhaps take a walk in the park:
It's a rare thing in Key West to have a house on a canal, there are only two streets in the city that offer this sort of amenity, Riviera Drive which tends to be fairly upscale, and Hilton Haven which is less so. Riviera Canal connects with Cow Key Channel under the South Roosevelt Bridge while the other end exits at the Salt Run Bridge under the North Roosevelt bridge and both bridges prevent tall boats, including sailboats, from entering. The homeowners here see open space across the water as they get a direct view into Little Hamaca.
I also spotted a visitor to one neighbor's dock:
Did I mention these escaped pets are sources of controversy? People who try to grow Up North style gardens tend to get frustrated because iguanas like to eat their produce. Personally they don't bother me because I don't have anything worth eating in my yard. Tourists like 'em, and they take their presence as proof positive this place is exotic. Think of them as roosters with scales on the streets of Key West.
In fact the Pepto-Bismol building is Key West By The Sea, former officer housing for the Navy Base and built like the proverbial brick shit house I'm told, made of poured cement and capable of withstanding a hurricane if not a nuclear attack. And there it sits dominating the skyline of Key West's most secret park.
The dude pictured above, with my Bonneville, comes to Key West a few times a year and this latest visit my Bonneville caught his wandering eye. Not because he wants one, but because he has one, a T100 "Popsicle" (tangerine and white) colored. Dave from Rochester, New York, actually shared my enthusiasm for the brand which was fun, he admitted in fact to letting his Triumph supersede his former attraction to...Harleys, of which he owns one. Brave man.
A recent entry in the paper caught my eye, not least because this hardy dude has been around since before 1935 (when the railroad got trashed by a storm). And the caption's last sentence cracked me up:
Citizen of the Day, sheer frivolity compared to the important business of moving the fruit. 
Then the hill leading up to the Hilltop Laundry on Elizabeth at Eaton Streets. Elizabeth Street has one of the few blocks you can freewheel a bicycle down, and that makes it worthwhile to visit, if for no other reason, on one's way to Schooner Wharf.
And then around the corner heading out of town on Eaton, a "main street" into Old Town. Not many visitors realise its got a heady 30mph speed limit to encourage traffic on its way. Which gives me time to fiddle with the camera as I go, trailing some slowpoke cruisers at 19 miles per hour.
Others prefer the more busy speed of a waterborne motorcycle, a sport I have never actually tried, but have a not-so-secret longing to just have a go. Here are a few madcap tourists grouped for a jet ski tour at the bottom of Simonton Street:
Personal watercraft aren't allowed in a lot of areas of the National Marine Sanctuary so they usually end up buzzing madly around Key West like wasps around a jam jar. I guess I haven't ever bothered to take a trip on a jet ski for that reason. I prefer exploration to mindless buzzing, I convince myself. Still, it looks like fun, burning gas at speed on the water.
Flagler's original 1912 bridges paved over with the narrow old 1938 roadway on top, and then the high speed modern highway connecting the islands today:
This is the descent, heading north, from the Channel Five bridge at Long Key.
Spring break is a tough time for police officers on the streets, civilians who live in the city, and the forgotten dispatchers snatching a meal between calls. Both these kids' ages combined are less than mine, and I am glad to be working with them. These are not your average 23-year-old spring breakers.
Further up the street someone dumped these vehicles here in the mangroves. It must have been a while ago, and here they sit rotting away. its just another of those mysteries, who and when and why. Probably getting rid of them properly would just have cost money, reason enough to abandon them I suppose. No palm trees here to alleviate the gradual deterioration.
Behind my house the sun was shining yesterday and it looked as pretty as a picture, so I took one:
And the moon is filling out these nights, waxing as they say when it grows, and even though it isn't full it still looks good reflecting off the salt ponds.
Its as good as a movie and Spring hasn't even officially sprung just yet. 
Call me bourgeois but I like the cultural events that pop up in and around Key West. Pretty soon the theater season will shut down as all the snowbirds pack their bags (again! how do they do it twice every year? Pack, unpack, pack, unpack...) and bugger off to see their families Up North, leaving us to fan ourselves and enjoy outdoor activities during hurricane season. So, as I look forward to the Keys emptying out in a few weeks I try to take advantage of those activities that restricted to the winter when the islands are packed with visiting patrons of the Arts, and artists anxious to evade snowdrifts.
The open space in front of Fort Zachary is currently occupied by a bunch of peculiar constructions, all part of Sculpture Key West. Its an annual event that this year was split part of the time at the West Martello Tower, home of the Garden Club, and then at its traditional home in the State Park. I always enjoy wandering around trying to make sense of the whatever is put out for us philistines to enjoy and emote over. This year it seems a little less whimsical than years past, but there's plenty to see. These two dudes got into the spirit of the thing:
They were laughing and puzzling out loud, as all of us tend to do when confronted by these apparitions and no handy guide book to explain how they should make us feel. They suggested this cryptic offering should have been labeled "This Art Exhibit Brought To You By Why..." and who am I to disagree?
Don't ask me to explain, I just spent a happy forty-five minutes wandering around in the warm afternoon sun looking and wondering and sometimes my mind wandered and I spotted background action too:
This white flowing tent-like thing put me in mind of Arabia, mosques, and bright white walls. God and the Artist only know what it is meant to be to be, if anything. Which is, I suppose the point:
When you take a walk around Sculpture Key West some works of Art seem plain stupid or odd, but others speak to you in most unexpected ways. This next one, nothing more than stacked pieces of wood, brought to my mind most forcefully memories of cold damp winters spent in the Santa Cruz mountains of California living by the power of a wood stove.
There were three "walls" of stacked wood and a few small piles scattered around but I had the greatest difficulty not spending more time pondering them and remembering that which they evoked of my life in Ben Lomond. 
The next erection I came across baffled me. It looked like some sort of towering redoubt, most uninviting. And this one had a label, which turned out to be no help at all as it simply stated the obvious:
From the Land of the Inexplicable I plucked this other set of strange monoliths, made of metal frames with some narrow mesh over them and the whole thing painted a silverish shade of white. They were set out in a wide swath for all to see and walk through, as illustrated above:
And then there was the almost compulsory exhibit of Trash as Art the re-use of the recyclables made, this time, into an amusing wigwam pyramid of color and space:
Over all this nonsense the permanent metal statue on the walls of the Fort stood guard:
While down below, at moat level, my favorite gathering of sculpted metal skeleton pirates gloating over their chest of treasure were moved to make way for an oblique mirror contraption:
The other exhibit that made me laugh was a series of roadsigns placed along the path back to the main parking lot. They were built in the style of international warning symbols, red bordered white triangles with various nonsensical symbols, crashing waves and the like.
All good fun, but the best part of Sculpture Key West is to take the time time to come back, perhaps without the interference of the camera and hang out with one's friends and enjoy the space and the day and the company of people you like:
What better to way to spend an afternoon in the spring than to stand chatting on the waterfront at Forty Zachary Taylor, surrounded by the blessing of Art?
So here's the thing: you have a patch of shady beachfront in a town notorious for its sunshine and heat and you run the park system that takes care of this, the town's best beach. So what do you decide to do? Why, cut the trees down of course! It's as obvious as breathing if you run the State of Florida Park System.
The Park Service says the casuarina trees, also known as Australian pines, are an invasive species and have to go. This is the same argument California made in attempting to get rid of eucalyptus trees, imported from Australia to be used as fast growing wind breaks. Casuarina trees grow where other plants won't, but their needles are acidic and prevent undergrowth from sprouting and the pines propagate wildly when left to themselves. However at Fort Zachary they grow in an isolated stand and provide beautiful shade at the waterfront used by people on bicycles, on foot in cars and even riding motorcycles (imagine that!):
The arguments against the removal of the pines are made logically and concisely on the Real Key West Blog. The video convinced me the wholesale removal of the pines is unnecessary, expensive and generally a bad idea. For a long time I had been something of a fence sitter on the subject because I do like native vegetation, but the notion that the well developed pines should be hacked down at a cost of $275,000 with no replacement other than a gruesome cement Ramada seems absurd. The pines, non native though they may be,have their own beauty:
And they offer welcome shade:
The Park Service has removed trees around the food concession overlooking the beach and their modest native plantings sit out in the sun baking gently:
Visitors to Key West in winter love the sunshine we enjoy year round and they think nothing of baking on the beach fleshing out their tans, soon to be transported back among envious neighbors Up North:
The park is tucked away in a corner of the city at the entrance to the harbor and the roadway into the park is lined on one side by the Navy Base while the other side is now city property, soon to be developed since the navy handed over 33 waterfront acres to key West (those development proposals are a controversy all their own...).
I prefer the western end of the park, the area with least development with picnic tables littered all around under the trees. This where I prefer to take my lunch breaks:
But development is encroaching with the creation of paths and borders and plantings:
When it comes to cutting down the pine trees I favor a middle path, a compromise that wouldn't suit anyone I guess. I really don't see the need to immediately cut down the shade trees, as non native as they may be. I'd like to see the Park Service aggressively plant in the wide open space between the Fort and the waterfront. Thus far their efforts are not encouraging. No one wants to see the pines demolished to make way for this:
The destruction of the pines looks even more crazy when viewed from the middle of the open space, currently occupied by Sculpture Key West. The pine trees across the horizon make quite a statement:
I wonder what the Park Service is thinking. Actually I don't think the leadership is thinking, if they were they wouldn't bring the Service into disrepute by cutting down a bunch of trees that actually serve a purpose, cost nothing and require no watering. As it is Fort Zachary Taylor is living proof our State is a lunatic asylum governed by the inmates.
Once upon a time, long long ago there was a street in Key West called Houseboat Row, and it was called that because people lived in houseboats parked along the seawall. And there are photos on the 
They were a colorful lot the residents of the two dozen floating homes tied up to the seawall. Indeed there is a story that one of the home
Well its not quite empty, people still defy the city and tie up their dinghies to the seawall,
in the mangroves:
As well as their bicycles apparently:
You've got to have wheels if you are going to get into town, and bicycles mopeds and even motorcycles can be seen from time to time parked along the roadway waiting for their owners to come to shore.
One can still see the steps leading down to the water:
But they aren't inviting:
Over the protests of the people, and with assurances from local property owner Ed Knight that he wasn't planning on developing the land he owned in the area the houseboats were towed away to new homes in Garrison Bight Marina. I remember seeing the forlorn houseboats being towed down Hawk Channel 
And boats at anchor out in the channel:
Meanwhile onshore life goes on, and amazing to relate those inland acres did end up getting built on. Right after the ugly blight of polluting wrecked houseboats was cleaned up, a bunch of multi-million dollar condos sprouted like mushrooms across the street:
A cynic might argue that the houseboats were swept away to make way for the high end developments but 
Its just one of those things. Change happens and people come and others go to make way for them and so the wheel goes round. People are still managing to hang in and live on their boats in Cow Key Channel. When the west wind blows the planes come in to land over the head
Nothing stays the same, and every time I ride by on South Roosevelt I miss the mail boxes and planters strung along the sidewalk, but there it is. Modern Key West is better than no Key West at all.
Some days I permit myself to wonder if there is a perverse fate at work in my life, taking my days off and turning them into large puddles of moisture. Yesterday was one such a day. I got home before dawn, thanks to the blessings of daylight savings time and when I awoke at lunchtime the scene outside the bedroom window was one of gray clouds and rain dripping from the eaves.
We had our cold front earlier in the week with sudden plummeting temperatures, cold north winds and lashings of rain. The progression then leads to crisp sunshine and cool temperatures as the land dries out and the waters try to warm up again. Instead I noted with some profound irritation that on my two nights off this week, Wednesday and Thursday, the weather forecasters predicted a fifty percent chance of rain. Chance would be a fine thing; this was a certainty and down it all came, watering the trees, around my house:
The barbecue on my rainwater cistern that acts as a deck:
And my reading chair which faces west across the salt ponds, from where I can look up from my book and watch the herons and ibis hunting for dinner among the mangroves. Chance would be a fine thing, and no chance for sunshine on a rainy day like this:
Rain is a splendid thing because this is the dry season around here and plants need watering. Naturally we need more rain on the mainland because our water piped to us by the Aqueduct Authority comes from the aquifer being sucked dry under Miami. But when my roof gets wet the fresh pure rainwater gets funneled under my deck:
Where it is stored in a 12,000-gallon cement room waiting for me to filter the water before pumping it into my house and using it. My home was built in 1987, one of the first in a subdivision that had no electricity, the house came with gas lanterns built-in on the walls which my builder took out saying they were dangerous and the system is hidden by modern clean Sheetrock now. The street was unpaved in those days but now its black with smooth tar. My house is supplied by the Aqueduct these days, but I only use that when I run out of my own supply of rainwater hidden behind the whitewash that springs the odd leak when the water levels rises high enough. Built in 1987 out of necessity, my cistern still works perfectly to original specs supplying the whole house with clean water:
I'm glad to drink the rainwater and shower with the rainwater and wash my Bonneville with the rainwater. I like to use rainwater not only because it tastes good and is, in a manner of speaking, free; but also because I have an historically ambiguous relationship with rain.
I needn't have gone so far as to drive to school, but I knocked off a couple of chores for my wife, one ironically enough was picking up some water for us to drink, out of bottles from the discount store. It would have been hard to haul six cases of fizzy San Pellegrino on the Bonneville. So my motorcycle stayed home, under the house as the rain dripped down.
By the time I finished my mid-term exam the rain had eased up and the skies were looking a little lighter, with a feeble attempt at sunshine trying to break through. Highway One on the way home was dry in places, the temperature was hovering comfortably in the mid 70s. Lots of places in the country would have called it a warm day, an excellent day for a ride. My consolation when I see the cold rain come down here, is knowing that elsewhere people are fighting snowdrifts and blizzards. I'm churlish that way but as pretty as it may be, rain is limiting:
I need to get a fresh perspective on rain. It remains warm around here, especially as most rain falls in summer and despite raising the humidity a solid thunderstorm can bring temperatures down far enough to just about make me shiver in August. Rain gives life to plants and takes lives on the highways where people freak out when they are forced to drive in the rain, ignoring all that strenuous research to bring them the best tires humans have ever known. Rain is good, it brings variety to the seasons, and it barely impacts my life though I whine about it all the time. Its just another great thing about the Keys- here it rains when its warm, and when it rains it doesn't last very long. Here it rains and as I watch the drops splat I know they will be gone by lunch time, or tea time, or bedtime and pretty soon the skies will be blue once more.
It occurred to me this week that Pure Triumph (they also sell Ducatis at...Pure Ducati, the Italian half of the building) is an old fashioned kind of motorcycle shop lightly disguised as a modern boutique. South Florida seems to have a massive cruiser and crotch rocket market and the Japanese motorcycle shops are very different places. Pure Triumph has fast bikes for sale including the Daytona which has made a name for itself in the motorcycle press:
However, unlike the other dealers Pure Triumph is a shop run by people who seem to genuinely like what they sell. Everyone at the shop owns a Triumph and rides it, unlike the dealerships, all too common, run by neat clean people in clothes that wouldn't look out of place in a bank. Pure Triumph has a large showroom and on the surface its just another up market bike shop, albeit one with a ton of Bonnevilles on display:
And while I waited for my own motorcycle to get a new rear tire installed I got to wander the showroom, and check out some of the models. Triumph has cost its owner some $200 million dollars since he bought the name some 20 years ago after the original company went bust. Finally Triumph is reportedly turning a profit for John Bloor a businessman who made a multi-billion dollar fortune in construction. Aside from the classic air cooled twins the company, which assembles engines in England and the motorcycles in Thailand, builds three cylinder water cooled engines for the "modern line" in 700 cc and 1050cc versions. The Speed Triple:
And its smaller compadre the Street Triple:
Which if I were twenty-something is what I'd be longing to own, small light and very fast. The Triumph Tiger is an old model name applied to a modern concept, a tall motorcycle designed to be comfortable on the street if you've got longer legs than me:
And then my favorite alternative to the classic twins is the 1050 Sprint, the log legged tourer complete with hard bags and big old fairing:
And in order to make a statement Triumph also builds the world's largest production motorcycle, the three-cylinder 2300cc Rocket:
Conspicuous consumption at its most excessive. A walk round the showroom makes for quite a tour at Pure Triumph.
Lucho grew up in Peru and raced motorcycles there while earning a living importing them as well. A punitive new tax code killed the Peruvian import business so he came north and has settled down to work in Fort Lauderdale. Lucky for me. His cohort Jason usually does the warranty work on my Bonneville and so far he's done a bang up job.
There was my machine up on the torture rack getting its $169 tire, and there was Jason truing up the new rubber. Minutes later the taciturn English mechanic was on the sales floor waxing lyrical about his Daytona 675 to a young rider contemplating his first non-Japanese ride. 
At the 6,000 mile service Jason did a nice job and sent me home with a smoother running, better balanced pair of carburettors. Balancing the tire he didn't disappoint either.
Lucho told me how he met another distraught Guzzi owner who bought a new Griso, a $12,000 motorcycle, but the fuel injection wasn't working and the motorcycle wouldn't start. Apparently the Moto Guzzi "dealer" in Miami has no trained technicians, no parts back up and no skills. And the motorcycle is stalled and won't run. That was the impression I got when i went looking at the Guzzi 750. That conversation made me happy I went with the Bonneville. Plus the Goodwood Green I got isn't made anymore though its replacement isn't bad I suppose:
And I like it better than the Ducati 1000 Classic, a pretty motorcycle by any standards but it doesn't make my heart beat any faster than the Bonneville does. Which is just as well because Lucho says Triumph's parts distribution is second to none. I like to hear that. I like to see the smoothly operating shop and their respect for the notion of making appointments as it takes me four hours each way from my home.
I wonder sometimes why it is I like living in the Keys so much, especially as I am not in the least bit drawn to the preferred activity downtown. On my nights off I would rather sit at home and give myself an appendectomy than subject myself to the noise and crowds and stale beer smell of Lower Duval so imagine my surprise when I bumped into, literally, an off duty colleague of mine who apparently can't get enough of the bars. By the time I showed up it was after 4am (summer time) so they were closing and crowds were milling on the street.
Everyone was very good natured, shouting to be heard over the confusion and laughter. Apparently some fights did break out but I walked the sidewalk unmolested, dodging crowds of raucous young people too busy making their point, whatever it was, to notice me. The cops standing around were also too busy keeping an eye on the seething mass to engage in banter with a bored dispatcher on lunch break.
The hot dog stand was doing a roaring trade, as well it should because the dogs are quite tasty and doubtless especially so after a hard night's drinking. I like the hot dog stand partly also because it reminds me of taco stands I've frequented in Mexico, where the populace is out taking an entirely sober paseo, evening walk. 
Especially as it was freezing cold with a howling north wind and temperatures somewhere south of 60 degrees (15 Celsius). Nothing like a sticky cold sidewalk to get the youthful hormones in an uproar apparently.
This thing is so silly it always cracks me up:
I think I must be too insecure because I wouldn't be seen dead with my head in one but I ride down Lazy Way Lane at Key West Bight and I always see smiling people getting their photos taken in a similar model. I expect they had nice upbringings in supportive families and thus aren't afraid to look stupid in public. This particular photographer's model is in back of El Meson De Pepe the best known Cuban restaurant on the island. Its usually pretty crowded so I don't get there very often but I really enjoyed their second location on the other end of the island. It didn't last which was too bad, but at Mallory Square El Meson's outside bar was closed for the night and looked very evocative to my camera.
Warm Havana nights, even though its actually a cold Key West morning. 
And so, to bed after all the excitement, except this was just my lunch break so I walked back to my motorcycle and rode back to work. In fact I did no such thing. The car needs to be driven from time to time and the back end of a cold cold front is the perfect time to air out the Maxima in my opinion. On such a cold night the guest's wheels at the Ocean Key House were tucked carefully away out of the breeze. Had I been riding the Bonneville I might have been jealous.
As it was the heater worked nicely in the car:
The Nissan got me home in good order after work too, as it happens. Me? Hardcore Biker? Hardly. Wandering downtown in the early, freakish hours gave me a fresh perspective on why I do like Key West drunks and all. So much going on in one block, so little in another just a short walk away. Lots of room for everybody in such a small place. The magic expanding island. All mine at four in the morning offering at least the illusion of solitude.
Campy perhaps, but humor is the essence of camp. The other stuff is just puerile and stupid. However it seems rights to freedom of speech impede anyone from preventing a store owner from inflicting this important message on passersby:
I mean really, the first amendment? 
What happens in Key West stays in key West, that ever adaptable phrase.
Is the city commission being silly to ask the merchants to stop displaying this stuff so prominently? For the stout of heart here is a selection I found while strolling Duval. Not for the squeamish, I fear.
Observing this happy couple getting a pedal down Duval I was forced to wonder if their pleasure in Duval was enhanced by the messages. It didn't seem likely and relying on voluntary compliance seems unlikely too.
Tonight we set the clocks forward an hour, which will be delightful for those of us on the Bravo Night Shift at the Police Department. Up North, also delighted no doubt, the change presages the beginning of the possibility that motorcycle riding can once again become a daily activity. Down South the change of season is marked by Bike Week at Daytona Beach, an event big enough to spill over onto our modest little island. Haute couture is not de rigeur when riding, but even I try not to wear black socks when I'm cruising Duval:
At least he is wearing shoes, a counter culture statement in Key West this week:
The drag of it is that when motorcycles gather in Key west they are almost all of them Harley Davidsons or Japanese cruiser look alikes. Throw in a few BMWs of the hardcore traveling crowd (Key West is as far south as you can conveniently go!) and that is about all the variety you will see on our streets. The name of this store at 600 Duval makes a statement not heard by the bikers:
Its not really surprising to see only cruisers in Key West because the road down here has great views, sure, but its not a challenging motorcycle ride. Youngsters, many in the military, ride crotch rockets, and try to ride slowly: 
It remains rare to see people riding motorcycles around town that aren't aimed at the cruiser market. I did find one guy, a rather taciturn character from Tennessee who warmed the cockles of my heart with his (albeit cruiser) Bonneville:
But Steve wasn't much into conversation and my enthusiasm was not apparently infectious. This next one was wildly enthusiastic, but I knew Frank before he took his "retirement" job with the Sheriff. He was on the road with the Police Department years back and nowadays he commutes to the courthouse by Honda Goldwing, his pride and joy. He talked my ear off and to see one of these 900 pound machines up close was pretty remarkable: 
My 500 pound Bonneville seems heavy to me, but at least it doesn't need reverse gear! Frank is of Cuban descent and is heavily involved in the Latin American biking scene. He's taking his club on a vacation ride in...Venezuela. 
And they are always dropping their rental scooters and breaking their faces and feet. The other Darwin Award winners are the feet draggers and phone users:
And let's not forget the contributions of the late great Captain Outrageous, the investment banker turned artist whose contributions to mobile art are still occasionally visible on the streets of our gentrifying town.
Really, motorcycles are just too much fun even if they aren't Triumphs.
I never wanted to got to the Benihana Japanese Steak House on South Roosevelt but my wife did, in a half hearted way; a reminder she said of childhood. Now of course I regret my intransigence on the subject of dinner-as-theater, because all that's left is the sign and the shell of a building next to the former Martha's, a restaurant that captivated me for years. Martha's was an old fashioned steak house of the kind our parents used to treat themselves to, and they offered prime rib and baked potatoes and all that sort of robust fare that these days one treats oneself to with one eye on the food groups. 
The reason Martha's left a hole in my life wasn't just the occasional prime rib, it was the view I got as I rode by at night looking in the panoramic windows and seeing the diners warmly illuminated by the glow of the lamps on their tables, all set at different levels inside the restaurant, with a back drop of swirling fish tanks. It always looked warm and inviting. Now it too, like its erstwhile Japanese neighbor, is just a shell, not sold in time to capture a portion of the real estate bubble, yet as closed as closed can be, and useless. I'm told the numerous stray cats who hung out in back and were fed on table scraps have been kept nourished by anxious neighbors... spay program anyone?
Old timers in Key West can be desperately superior and annoying as they dredge up memories of a time that is so long gone it seems buried in the Pleistocene Era. Old memories have the value of currency in this town, so here is my contribution to my old timers crotchetiness. This cafe on Duval used to be "El Cacique" (Spanish for the chief) and it was my pleasure to eat breakfast here. It was so long ago I don't remember much about it, but it was where my circle of dock rats would break their daily fast. 
On a more modern note the Coppertone kid on top of this building, the old Dennis Pharmacy has gone. I was not a great fan of the place but I ate there now and again. The pharmacy has moved to New Town in the Professional Building and the cafe has I think found a home on Petronia Street, and now there is a crisp clean modern bank on the corner of United and Simonton. So be it, even though I liked the look of the old place better.
I'd stop all the time riding my bicycle or my scooter down to my job on the waterfront and my wife would order mango bread loaves which we would eat as dessert with butter. The bakery closed after the founder (Cole'z father as it was) sold the operation to people unable to sustain it. However the restaurant store up the street still sells some of the bakery's products so the logo (at the top of this page) is still hanging on in the city. This location became an art gallery for a while ironically (I thought) named Poison, and now? Now its just another in the myriad inconvenience stores that seem to thrive on every street corner in the city.
And we even found ourselves a meadow, though appearances can be deceptive. 
This meadow was covered in stout crab grass, not the lush soft grasses found in more temperate climes.
She will ride the motorcycle quite happily but she feels togetherness is promoted when two people take a little tour and can actually be heard when they speak to each other.
This is a strenuous pastime and doesn't allow for much time to read apparently.
There were several brightly colored kites buzzing dementedly back and forth along the waterfront.
They were controlled by some very determined men in wetsuits who spun across the horizon doing pirouettes while the older, more sedate visitors stumped around onshore providing a serene foreground for the waterborne madness.
And from time to time they would pop up like jackrabbits out of the water and change their direction of travel as though pursued by a farmer with a shotgun.
This next picture I got by balancing the camera on the branch of a convenient tree. One can poke around in the lower braches of a tree at three in the morning without attracting critical comment. I love the look of these porches, even if sometimes they appear too formal to actually sit in:
The streets of Key West aren't overly endowed with street lights fortunately, and there are lots of trees overhanging, all of which adds to the ambiance of the middle of the night. That and the fact that everyone feels the need to illuminate their homes like Christmas trees.
Then there is the matter of noise, or the lack of it. No planes, no engines and when the Bonneville is turned off total silence descends over the whole street. There isn't even the sound of air conditioning humming on a cool winter night.
Bob was an electronics engineer tremendously proud of his employee number 22 with Tandem Corporation, a pioneer of the Silicon Valley revolution in California's Santa Clara Valley. He wa salso a keen Ham radio operator W4RFU, and spent hours at his desk onboard Freya with his electronics. I was fond of noting that cruising brought us together and made us firm friends despite our different social, political and career backgrounds. He was like a father for me when we were out sailing. In 2004, cruising the Bahamas he helped rebuild our water maker on our cabin table, his patience and perseverance a shining example to an impatient young wretch like me. 
Bob seen here in another picture from his website showing him with his wife Barb in the back alongside her sister Anita, celebrating his 70th birthday. He died in Arkansas February 27th 2008. He was 71 years old.
They are nice enough units offering garage space underneath and a price tag I believe of around $180,000 for a one bedroom. They are part of a luxury deal because this isn't a charity operation. The larger development is called the Steam Plant, because that is what it was before they decided to build apartments:
The low cost units look like quite a deal to me, but the Steam Plant luxury apartments are supposed to sell for several millions each and they have all the penthouse bells and whistles, including I'm told individual elevators from the garages. Its quite the lump, which isn't surprising when you know that this was actually a power plant supplying the city of Key West with life enhancing energy.
And that, in the long version, is where the term Toxic Triangle comes from. The power plant had to spew its effluent somewhere and there is tidal water nearby, across the street actually.
There was a time, not so long ago that people lived on pleasure boats tied up along this waterfront, and it didn't cost a thing. Of course there were no amenities but inasmuch as the basin is protected from wind and wave to the south by downtown Key West , and to the north by the Coastguard Base it was a good place to tie up out of the rougher waters of the main harbor. It still is for the few commercial boats that continue to tie up there. Behind them lies the US Coastguard Base where the coasties keep their cutters:
The base entrance is at the end of Trumbo Road:
The Toxic Triangle isn't locked in everyone's memory as a foul blot on Key West's history, not at all. I spoke with Carol, a colleague of my wife's and she remembers coming down here for picnics and to go swimming. She thinks of this sylvan spot as a sort of public swimming pool, crystal clear waters and a good spot to relax.
This is also the spot whence the Sunset Key landing craft takes off to haul moving vans and garbage trucks and delivery vehicles across to the luxury island. I actually took the trip over there a few years ago helping to deliver furniture. The development of Sunset Key generated its own controversy when the city took control of the Navy's old Tank Island, so called because of the (unused) fuel storage tanks on the deserted fill island, and sold the island and the mainland waterfront to the Hilton developer for all of eleven million dollars . When the landing craft was being serviced in the boat yard to take over haulage duties for the new and exclusive development the yard workers baptized the vessel and painted a new name on its bulky stern. "Tank Island Whore" was what they painted to express their disdain for the resort. Apparently the name was spotted by the new owner of the island and there was unhappiness all round. Nevertheless when I see the craft plowing across the harbor in a welter of foam, the unfortunate name keeps popping, unbidden, into my mind. 
Its hard to imagine anything other than yet another development of expensive homes taking the School District's place and that will be something else for us to look forward to. Meanwhile the big yellow buses come and go.
And across the way is a development that sprang up almost a decade ago, as far as I can remember. It was an Argentine company of all things that put in a bid to develop a ferry terminal in Key West and on the riverfront in downtown Fort Myers on Florida's West Coast. The company, called Buquebus collapsed inevitably in the great financial meltdown that wrecked Argentina. and its legacy is two ferry terminals that are still known to some people by that peculiar name (pronounced: boo-kay-bus). The one in Fort Myers isn't used anymore as it is more efficient for the ferry to dock at Fort Myers beach as the Caloosahatchee River is a slow speed zone for 20 miles to downtown Fort Myers.
The Key West Ferry Terminal is a surprisingly modern facility, all steel and glass and light, though a bit of a hike to get to Duval Street if you are elderly and loaded with luggage, after your three hour ride from Fort Myers Beach. And across from the Ferry terminal is a monument to the man who first enabled easy mass tourism in Key West, Henry Flagler himself:
In the background you can see the panels painted by local youngsters to mask the construction detritus along Trumbo Road. Of course they reflect local conditions to some extent, though where the notion arose that a shark might nab a cat dockside, I'm sure I don't know:
Another day at the Toxic Triangle as it faces a fresh new incarnation, condos for all.
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