This is hardly a lane at all- it's more of an extended driveway off Elizabeth Street one block west of the Library on Fleming Street. I came across it pretty much by accident and I thought why not? Obscurity deserves it's place in the sun too:
And includes rather disappointingly a set of aluminum letter boxes on the porch indicating it's owners have succumbed to necessity and turned it into rental apartments. Did the renter who got this in their apartment pay a premium? I would!
I rather liked the side view of the enclosed bay windows through the shrubbery, the barely visible reading lamp hinting at long evenings split between a book and glances into the street:
On the subject of shrubbery there were a couple of some type of blooming shrubbery overhanging the lane. I shan't embarrass myself by even trying to pretend I have a clue what they are. One is purple, one is red, that's all I know for sure:
I grew up in large houses, my mother inherited a fifty room home and her husband wanted to live in big houses so spacious living was all I knew as a kid. Rebellion came to me in the form of not owning a car and living on a boat. For years I enjoyed living in a space small enough that I could reach all my worldly possessions while sitting under a reading lamp.
Looking back I'm grateful that I had the opportunity to live in a space far too vast for my needs because it knocked out the desire or the need to buy implausibly large homes now that I am an adult:
Russell Lane reminds me that there are innumerable alleys around town, lanes that rarely lead anywhere, and quite a few aren't even marked.
I learned years ago from a Conch that the easiest way to navigate around town is by landmarks. She came to work one day grumbling about a home on a street corner that got remodeled, and I wondered why it bothered her so much. "They changed the color of the wall and i missed my turn," she said. Like most Conchs she wasn't fond of driving and going an extra block threw her off. Russell lane is close to the library and it's marked by a porch and a very bushy fence line:
I failed to click in time on the inevitable dog walker stomping along the sidewalk, but as I left the area i spotted a couple of humans braving the gray damp afternoon hanging out chatting on a porch around the corner.
I doubt they knew or cared about the existence of Russell Lane but they seemed emblematic, through the palms of what people should be doing on the magnificent porch just around the corner.
So you live in the Keys and your oldest friend has just got engaged. You have no choice but to get on your magic carpet and fly off to Never Never Land known locally as Little Palm Island:
Little Palm island is a lump of sand halfway between Key West and Marathon, a barrier island at the mouth of Newfound Harbor. It is known as one of the most exclusive and expensive resorts in the Keys and a night here will cost you I'm told somewhere north of $1500. However if you really want privacy you can rent the entire island for yourself and your entourage and people do do that. Frequently they arrive by boat and park their motorboats at the island's docks and do what we locals get to do every day, paddle in the water:
check out the horizon:
and stuff their faces on some really excellent cooking:
For the rest of us mere mortals Little Palm is an oasis we get to enjoy for a meal and some contemplation before returning to the drudgery of daily life on our own self-serve slivers of paradise. Locals get a break so for somewhere less than $100 US each ($150 for you I think), we plebs get a ten minute boat ride to and from the island (private boats are not allowed to dock for anything less than an overnight stay), a fabulous brunch (gratuity included) and a pause in the stress of daily life in the shade of the magnificent lounging area next to the docks:
Down the canal, and out into the open waters of Newfound Harbor on a magnificent sunny day:
We took the comfortable seats inside the cabin allowing the visitors to toast outside in the heat of the day. Dolly doesn't really hang on every pearl of wisdom that drops from Robert's lips but she did tell us she is learning something new every day from hanging out with him:
It's kind of rustic but not really... and service is impeccable, which must be a mighty strain for a Keys lodging and, I really don't want to sound like an advertisement but Little Palm is really great fun and highly enjoyable.
I say this despite my reservations about such appalling decadence in the middle of a world that has enormous difficulty sharing the most modest of necessities. For instance alongside the numerous cold food buffets we got a menu of hot dishes which are more like samplers, pork loin and fried yucca seen here:
Or tuna on crispy rice:
Doesn't look like much does it? But you can order as many of each dish as you want, in addition to the seafood, cold pasta, vegetable and fruit and pastry buffets from which you help yourself. We tasted french toast, pancakes, soup, eggs Benedict but skipped the scallops and some other thing I can't remember. They also have a do-it-yourself vodka and champagne bar as well as a $13-a-shot cocktail menu. Really this place puts you in mind of Marie Antoinette. I think Robert and Dolly enjoyed it as much as we did, despite breifly suffering the same pangs of bourgeois guilt:
The waters of the Straits of Florida were sparkling in the sunshine and there was a cool fresh breeze (it seemed so to us!) blowing in off the water. Oh and then there was the desert tray, with a special message for them:
My wife and I enjoyed our tray every bit as much as we watched Robert scrape the chocolate lettering off theirs...rum raisin ice cream, miniature eclairs and Key Lime pie. Oh dear and I had quite a caffeine buzz on after our third pot of coffee. Or was it four? I lost count, as Julio kept whipping up a constant stream of stuff for our table.
This was Robert's first visit to the island but on a previous trip my wife and I got a tour of the island thanks to our friendship with an employee, so we knew of the charming alleyways, the upstairs spa, whose recollection gave Dolly an ecstatic look as she remembered immersing herself in a hot tub overlooking the open waters below.
Which was loaded into a hotel dolly, equipped not with the usual casters but with substantial rubber tires, suitable for a little off-roading necessary to get to the rooms on the island:
Everyone noticed the heron standing in the shallows near the dock, and for a moment it seemed hard to differentiate between the bird and people behind it. The big difference became apparent when Phil the piano player (whose wife is a a teacher alongside my wife) pointed out the humans were mere guests while the heron has been living full time at Little Palm for 15 years:
We should all be so lucky. 
Duval Street exerts it's fascination, it's the heart of the city of Key West. It's where visitors want to be, and it's frequently where residents don't want to be. It's the street that garners lots of attention from the city commission, it's the street that needs to be cleaned up- the problem child with it's obscene t-shirts, panhandlers, garbage, public intoxication and human weirdness. It's the street that if it didn't exist, as the saying goes, they'd have to invent it. Take away Duval and you end up with any old small town America. Duval Street is the heart of the contradictions that exemplify modern Key West.
The weather lately has been ruffled, lots of breezes cooling what is usually the hottest and stickiest of months and it was a delight to the skin to be out on Duval at two thirty in the morning. I was not alone. 
And this viewed from across the street seemed a companionable moment though they rather seemed to be letting the side down with their slovenly manner of dress. I mean I dress a bit like that and I expect better from my gay neighbors:
It might be Havana or Prague or Dijon but certainly not Florida in 2008. Actually that is exactly what it is. Or this:
This is classic Key West architecture and its yours for the asking, judging by the realtor's sign:
It takes a fair bit of luck to operate a long lasting business in Key West. Martin's German Restaurant used to be on Appelrouth Lane, a little hole in the alley place but it has since grown to this on Duval, all blue and exotic:
When I see a "For Rent" sign in an empty shop window I tend to get gloomy and mutter to myself about these weird economic times and financial melt down and the like:
Of course stores come and go in the natural order of commerce these days but it is a bit unnerving nevertheless to see empty windows on the main commercial tourism street. The convenience store on Olivia appeared to be doing land sale business among the young adults, mere shadows really, hovering in front:
People ask me sometimes if there are dangerous neighborhoods or places where one shouldn't walk at night in Key West. I am not the best person to ask about stuff like that as I tend to wander at will at home and abroad and so far I have never come to any harm. I find Key West a totally nonthreatening environment to wander around in, night or day. Young people for the most part are polite and civil in a way that strikes me as very old fashioned. They step aside for an old gray beard like me shuffling along the sidewalks and they never behave in a way that might be construed as threatening. I walk, I take pictures and no one bothers me. That's city living as far as I am concerned.
An hour seems too short for a lunch break some nights and I had to make like a leaf and blow. Like these guys all energized by the sight of a transvestite ambling along the darker part of the sidewalk across the street talking with a friend.
I found it rather touching that somebody still lives in Key West who is moved to pull a sharp U turn in the middle of Duval to check out the blond wig and endless masculine legs tottering down the sidewalk. 
It's good to get downtown every now and again and see innocent amazement in all it's glory.
The bridge is clearly marked on Google maps, in the middle of Niles Road on the northern edge of Summerland Key, but riding up the road past the few houses hidden in the mangroves, shows no sign of a bridge, and the road dead ends after a few sinuous curves perhaps a mile from the hustle and bustle of Summerland Key's businesses lining Highway One. Niles road is smooth and empty:
At the turn out there is a barrier with a trail leading off into the bushes:
And the pathway itself is pretty much standard issue among these islands in the Lower Keys, a meandering track:
The odd thing was that behind the barrier, which is padlocked I found this:
Just sitting in the grass, presumably no longer of use so they put the old trailer out to pasture. Neither reused nor recycled; just dumped. 
Geologically the Keys are more like the Bahamas than the rest of Florida, but the limestone rock is frequently covered in a thin layer of marl, the clay dries to a rock-like gray consistency, which can produce surprises:
In other words if you walk as I do, little-Johnny-head-in-air looking around at clouds and sky and in the branches of the mangroves you stand an excellent chance of taking a header. However the moisture has brought the bushes to life with a lot of sudden scuttling as I was walking along, probably a mixture of crabs, geckos and bogey men, but I could see nothing. Bleached bones perhaps? Not a bit of it, there aren't any cows down here:
A common landscape feature that doesn't exist in the Keys, aside from hills, is a river. Yet I could distinctly hear a little brook a-gurgling, and not very far away either. The mystery was soon resolved as this trail is rather short. I rounded the last corner and came upon the object of my search:
And the road leading up to it was built up as well judging by the timbers outlining a plank road, and the whole thing looked like it should have been left for curious people like myself to stroll along for the experience and the pleasure:
Instead, in order to keep us safe from ourselves they have disassembled the access end. Grrr. I should like to come back at a suitable tide and take a hike to the other end. The desire to peek beyond the horizon is still with me after all these years... However I am older and more prudent and it was clear the cooling north wind was bringing weather with it:
I had plenty of time to slip slide my way back to the Bonneville and get all fired up:
Some people think these islands all look the same, but call me perverse if you will, somehow I still manage to put on, if not the mantle, then at least the neckerchief of an explorer in these small pieces of more-or-less dry land. And if it wasn't for the camera I'm sure I might not even have bothered. And if it weren't for the Web you'd never have known I was out exploring Summerland Key's north shore. From wooden bridges to electrons, that's the modern digital world for you.
... and occasional flashes of scenic beauty.
I am not a great fan of the Upper Keys, not as a place to live. they suffer from the same affliction of all the keys except Key West; there is, as Gertrude Stein famously noted of Oakland, no there, there. The Keys are, more or less one long strip mall, interspersed by houses and around here many of the homes are magnificent. It is said that the further one travels from Key West, up the Keys (up in this context means north), the less liberal the people are and the more monied. I think proximity to Miami is one reason, there are a great many people within an easy drive of Islamorada with more money than God and a desire for an exclusive seaside home. So they come here.
And this house available for rent by an apparently hopeless seller who is asking $362,000 will seem like a bargain to the next generation: 
The housing boom of the last decade brought plenty of gentrification to the Keys and what the "greatest generation" thought of as a nice fish camp in the Keys...
...has been transformed into this by their offspring:
And so it goes. I saw lots of for sale signs so I guess a lot of optimistic beach goers stretched themselves a bit to get their dream homes in the Keys. Miami real estate has tanked in spectacular fashion, so it would be unreasonable to assume we get off scott free. 
CR 905 offers a rarity in the Keys, a true alternative to the main Highway. Of course at every bridge the county road runs out and one is forced to rejoin the main flow of traffic but for a dozen miles across three islands one can ride parallel to the main stream, if not very far from it, physically. The bushy tree in this picture on Matecumbe (Mah-tay-coom-bay) Key separates Highway One from CR905:
And seen from the opposite direction (now looking south) the entrance to the county road is behind the yellow car, almost invisible unless you knew it was there: 
However I will say this, if you are coming south off the Tea Table Keys (a name to conjure with, I'm sure) bored out of your skull by dawdlers, and you see the Siesta Resort sign pictured above, and its a quiet time of the year it is possible to get on CR905 and pop out in front of the "island time" buggers before the next bridge. However if you are not totally determined, and if you are not held up by a law abiding citizen or a bicycle on this road...
...then I say it is possible, just, to get ahead of a chronic slow poke. How do I know? Well, let me just say I honed my driving skills as a callow youth in Italy.
And here we have the positively glowing apartment complex, perhaps a function of a shortage of more moderate color choices?
The Commission effectively disbanded the Bahama Village organization, and I was struggling to understand why.
It happened a decade ago that the city created a Land Trust that was supposed to disburse funds from a taxing district known as the Tax Increment Fund, pronounced "Tif" which directs specific taxes to be spent in the area between Julia Street to Southard Street in the area west of Whitehead Street known as Bahama Village. These monies were supposed to be disbursed as community improvement grants at the discretion of the Land Trust, but the city commission put an end to that last week . They voted to create their own disbursement committee and bypass the Land Trust. It seemed very odd to me, but every time someone in Key West squawks "They can't do that!" "that'" will be precisely what "They" elect to do. 
In this case they did it all right. And from what I hear there are plenty of residents of the Village who are pleased with the change. The leader of the Trust apparently made some enemies, thanks to a lackadaisical disbursement of the Tif funds, according to one disgruntled residents of the Village I know.
For some reason Mayor McPherson has got it into his head that he wants to build a water park on part of the thirty four acres of Truman Waterfront land that has been deeded to the city by the Navy. I think it is a response to the oft stated complaint by people raised in the city that there is nothing for their offspring to do.
The Land Trust wanted six of the thirty-four acres to be used to build an old folks home, but according to those irritated residents the Land Trust got the funds to build the home but nothing got built. Now Mayor McPherson has gained control over the Tif funds and his plans for a community water park might find it easier to get traction.
Duck and Cover.
I have seen lots of dead horseshoe crab shells but never a live one. In the spring of 1989 I was sailing single handed the coast of Mississippi and I spent a night anchored off one of the Gulf Islands, a pine tree covered sandy hump rising out of the shallow waters. I rowed ashore and walked my kingdom all by myself. I felt as though I had landed in an alien world as the shoreline was covered by these bizarre oval soup bowls. To the eyes of a Pacific Coast sailor they were other worldly. And now finally I've seen a live horseshoe crab scuttling around on its important business: 
Half covered in sea grass as it turned out, looking like an old loofah, and somewhat undignified. The crab was cruising the edge of what is known as a fish nursery, a place where fish can lay their eggs under cover as it were, in the red roots of mangrove bushes which sprout out of the salt water, right next to my Bonneville.Mangroves are the place where fish sometimes come to spawn which is why some people think of them as fish nurseries:
Some people think mangroves actually drink salt water but what they do is they extract the salt from the water, send the salt to certain selected leaves that become yellow and fall off the bush, while the rest of the mangrove uses the fresh water thus obtained. This is adaptation we are told by those with a scientific bent. Some propagules have the bad luck to fall on stony soil as it were and they will burn up and go a dark brown color as their potential is burned up by the southern sun:
Unless a passer by picks them up and throws them in the nearest saltwater, where when they are mature they will adopt a nose down position and start to push roots into the dirt:
Eventually they sprout and grow and assuming they aren't cut down or trampled or uprooted by a storm they appear above the water, singly at first:
And then they propagate and gradually fill in the area and form little islands, which become bigger islands that attract more floating propagules and off you go:
Mangroves are protected ever since scientists figured they have a critical role in the fish food chain. Plus they make excellent hurricane buffers and they have their own aesthetic appeal as well. All purpose tropical plants for which we are truly grateful. Not majestic, not over powering, just there, alongside the highway doing God's work in their own modest way.
My haphazard approach to starting a life in the Keys has the effect of causing me a fair bit of embarrassment. It seems ridiculously easy. Yet how can I advise others that this is the right place to be? It's worked great for me and my wife, but Key West is a strange place and it has a habit of rejecting people, especially people who dreamed and schemed of living here. How can I tell whether or not to move here is right for you? More importantly how can you tell? Here's a few clues: Do have a taste for adventure? How do you cope with the unknown? Are you ready to say goodbye to family and friends? Does your career matter to you? And now we find ourselves in that time of year when the leaves turn yellow and the breath starts to be visible Up North and a snowbird's thoughts start to turn towards Key West. And here I am, effortlessly floating along on a happy cloud of humidity and tropical funkiness. Oh lucky man, to quote Lindsay Anderson, though less satirically.
I find it enormously irritating when people established in some occupation or condition turn around and smugly affirm to the wannabe that "I was lucky, it was much easier back then." And now here am I affirming the same thing myself about making the move to Key West. It was easier a decade ago, not easy but easier. There weren't enough people to do the work, and if you had a place to live you were pretty much qualified for any job you chose. Not so now, the jobs have evaporated, senior people in government entities are sliding down the seniority ladder and holding on to positions vacated by junior people who have been laid off, in the cascade of evaporating funds. We live and die by tourism, and tourism likes cheap oil, and now we have lost the cheap. So where do we get our money when the tourism dries up? Our wealthy residents feel the pain much less of course and glad we are for that; they fund our theaters and our winter Arts events and we get carried along on their coattails. But this isn't a wealthy town for lots of people and we take our fun as cheaply as we can. Budweiser over Real Ale every time.
Cheap entertainment: the Tropic Cinema, a marked improvement in the Key West quality of life scale I say. Modern Key West is modern thanks to the Web, satellite receivers, mail order, all the connections made electronically with the outside world that bring us closer to real life. But not too close. The allure of Key West is contained in those attitudes that make it so hard to live here sometimes. The relatively high cost of living breeds indifference to the finer things. Year round working folk don't take the time to recycle many of them, time is precious when you are always working and the extra steps to live clean and green seem like an unbearable burden. Political involvement is limited because backing the wrong horse can close your life down, and political activism takes time and effort. To live in key West means to survive with few options where people in mainland USA are crowded by too many choices. I have but one road to ride my motorcycle on, my neighbor has but a handful of stores to shop at; a decent job is a career for life, with no possibility of change and little chance of promotion. I would hate to recommend someone used to the variety and choice of Up North burn their bridges and "come on down." On the other hand I can think of no worse way to reach one's death bed than to have failed to reach out and at least try to grasp the dream. And most days I look out at the primary colors flickering in the sunlight and it feels all too dreamlike. Even on rainy days life feels expansive to me, you can still take it outdoors, whatever it is:
In many respects I find Key West much more livable now than decades ago. Of course then I was in my twenties and looking for ambitious adventure, now I'm in my fifties and would be happy were Key West to revert to the sleepy fishing village it was then. But don't be fooled, that was a tough life, there was no money, there was much less stimulation of art or intellect in many respects, and those that came to live here lived a hardscrabble life fishing, bar tending, and telling tall tales. Nowadays the difficulty is measured differently, and in my opinion the rewards of freedom and self expression are greater even as they diminish elsewhere, crowded out by electronic entertainment and abundant accumulation of stuff. You can't accumulate much when you live in 800 square feet. And if this is the life you want, you and only you will have to reach out and grasp it. If it isn't and you have found peace wherever you are, consider yourself lucky. If you are still searching you have my empathy, and encouragement. If you are asleep on the sidewalk waiting for a date this guy knows your pain:
Talking bull isn't 
Or somewhere on Greene, Guy Harvey I think but I could be wrong. I don't frequent the bars, as must be obvious:
Or at 
Those are the better known watering holes where I saw people stranded by a typical summer downpour. Locals have their own hangouts, for instance a beer never tasted better than at the Hilltop Laundry on Elizabeth:
Or just hanging with a bud at the Arab's store on 
Talking of 
Rain storms come and go in Key West mostly between June and October more or less depending on droughts and the moods of the gods. They lower temperatures to a brisk 75 degrees (24c), they wash off the dust and leave the air sparkling and fresh after half an hour's downpour. Locals keep working during the rain:
Or, if there are no customers they shoot the breeze while the raindrops fall like snow flakes all around:
Some locals take refuge:
While others don't bother:
Some take advantage of overhangs as they go:
While others can't:
Some people like to hide behind umbrellas:
Others don't have the patience for that 
Others wrap themselves in plastic while some people just take their clothes off. Duval can start to look like a wet t-shirt contest but I am not bold enough to shoot blatant close up pictures of the wet bold young women striding down the street:
People who ride the Conch Train get free body condoms in bright yellow:
The tourists who choose to take the Trolley Bus on a rainy day get the benefit of modern technology, called windows:
One of the pleasant things about choosing to live in Old Town that is often touted as a blessing is the ability to live without a car, an advantage touted only in Key West and 
Some two wheelers come prepared to fight the blizzard of rain:
Others don't:
In the end it doesn't matter much. I got to the Tropic 
You'd think, if you didn't know any better, that a dude like me, what rides his motorcycle most days of the week, would be delighted to welcome a few hundred fellow enthusiasts to a weekend's revelry in the Southernmost City. Well, now you know better. 
Bike Week is good for the merchants and it's been a tough year so they have my sympathy and I hope they wring this lot for every penny. It's just that I'm not a really clubby kind of guy and standing around with a bunch of men admiring yet another air cooled V-twin while puffing on a cigar just isn't my cup of pansy-parallel-twin cup of tea. They close off the one, two and three hundred blocks of Duval and let the motorcycles have at it. Very cool:
This thing that was labelled a "Kicker" though it looked a bit like an Aermacchi four stroke flat single to me, in rat bike form:
Or a two stroke Yamaha twin in Kenny Roberts livery. Be still my beating middle aged heart:
Or a lovely old Honda Four burdened with a gruesome seat. Imagine, I used to wonder how anyone could ride a 750cc "Superbike" as powerful as this:
Nowadays I wonder how people get around looking like this, exposing their armpits and everything:
When this brute was fired up it rumbled out into the street with the radio blaring. All the comforts of home. I had a motorcycle once that had a radio and I thought it was weird. I still do: 
At least a Gold wing isn't a Harley. It's not that I don't like Harleys it's just that there are other motorcycles in the known universe and it would be nice once in a while to be exposed to something slightly different on the streets of the Southernmost City. This would be more my style than the Gold Wing, if I lived where the horsepower were usable:
Magnificent eh? Not good enough for Irondad apparently, who after a modest 160,000 miles with an earlier model of the Honda ST (sport tourer) decided to ditch the brand and go with the Yamaha instead. Fickle, that's what I call it. Triumphs? Well, there was one on Duval Street briefly:
"Hey," I said to the guy on the Harley."If anyone asks, tell them there was at least one Triumph at bike week!" He cackled appreciatively so at least he seemed to know what a Triumph was... The motor unit was there riding...Harleys of course. At work I once suggested Vespas might be more suitable for Key West traffic and they nearly lynched me. They do like their Harleys:
And there were babes too, in various guises:
And there were blokes standing around, doing what the weaker sex do best, clutching drinks and trying to look knowledgeable:
This next one looks like he's cursing his machine (an uncomfortable custom Harley) but he wasn't, he was simply adjusting his protective headgear:
But I did see one full face helmet other than mine:
Everyone else was riding Florida style including more than just this one with his feet down like training wheels which is a concept I find so profoundly wrong I can hardly express the depth of my feelings:
And so it was, I had my fill of leather vests, rumbling twins, spilled beer and hail-fellow-well-met camaraderie. I took my Bonneville and threaded my way home through herds of more Harleys and yet more Harleys and their weekend riders:
I made sure before I left not to look too closely at the Road King with the For Sale sign on it. Did I ever mention the Road King is my favorite Harley design? Probably just as well I never did.
"So you actually enjoy dealing with laundry?" I was asked when I explained that my artistic sensibilities were fed by my being an Ironist. I think the question was posed in all innocence but my wife enjoyed the joke far too much and she makes a point of bringing it up from time to time.
.................................Fifteen Years Of Suffering With An Ironist............................................... 
I recall a rather unpleasant stay on a mooring buoy in the lagoon, bouncing around and bickering as we waited for the weather to ease up and let us go on our way to the Bahamas. Ours was an under equipped expedition in many respects and i don't believe we went ashore as we lacked an outboard to propel us back to the boat from the little beach in the park. Our relationship was doomed by these inadequacies and my inexperience to lead us to foreign shores. She still loathes me to this day, and i don't think therapy has helped her either for which I am sorry. I got it right later and the woman who spent a couple of years sailing with me through Central America is still married to me, and calls me daily from Turkey making sure I am eating right and getting enough sleep. We live and learn.
Reminicences aside the Pennekamp park is best visited not in September, I believe, because it is hot:
Up North I read people are already observing the shortening of the days, changing of leaves and colling of temperatures. Down here September is the cruelest month, not least because a person raised in a temperate clime in the northern hemisphere has a right to expect the weather to start cooling off. Not a bit of it.
Rain clouds built up overhead but yielded nothing in the way of cooling raindrops. Nevertheless, here I was two hours from home and determined to enjoy this park, whether I got heat stroke or not. It was ninety five degrees (37c) with humidity to match but there was a mangrove trail to be explored, so by God, off I went, down the boardwalk.
It's not like I haven't seen a mangrove swamp before but I find the light and shadow of these forests to be particular and in some way always varied. In California I used to like walking through redwood forests and their similarities to cathedrals were too obvious for them not to be pointed out by anyone and everyone. I find mangroves, with all their subdued activity, and silence to have a similar effect on me and I tend to get contemplative:
And of course I was denied the chance to climb the observation deck and look out across the greenery. The path was gated, presumably to allow rangers the time to repair damage to the boardwalk, which was a disappointment:
But from ground level, or as close to ground level as one can get in a forest of trees growing out of saltwater I did get to see a boat chugging by, or at least I got to see part of it:
African Queen ain't in it...Back at the visitor center and aquarium they had a little window dedicated to life an death in the mangroves which in some ways looked more active than real life:
I am not much of a beach goer and all the paraphenalia of family picnics makes me cringe (tote that bale!) but this small stretch of sand brought pure delight to those using it. I parked the Bonneville in a spot where I hoped I could return from a short walk and not burn my backside through my pants:
I continue to insist I enjoy the heat and solitude of summers in the Keys, but that is not to say I don't like the cool refreshing blast of air conditioning too, and the visitor center did a good job of cooling me down while the Bonneville rested in the shade:
I don't go to zoos, I don't like to see animals locked up, but aquariums generally don't seem so bad, perhaps because I can't empathise with fish. I did wonder about the little nurse shark though, hiding his nose as though to make the world invisible. A small boy nearby was learning all about the fishes and stuff, and I suppose this was really his classroom, not mine:
One last stop to tank up with a bottle of refreshing water and I would be on my way. I wanted to be cunning and dropped two dollars in the machine outside (I was still refrigerated from the aquarium visit) in order to avoid the lines inside. The machine ate my money and just to prove I am a slow learner I had the same damned experience in Marathon when I stopped for gas and the soda machine failed to cough up a bottle of water for my money. 
The shoppe had stuff to sell and one interested window shopper caught my eye. My thighs are nothing to write home about but I do keep mine covered in public and don't go shopping in my underwear. He should follow my example:
So we close with a little thank you to Mr Pennekamp, a Miami newspaperman and outdoor enthusiast who pushed and pulled his strings to get the park created. He was successful in 1957 and there is a photo of him happily casting, on the wall of the visitor center. I think he would be pleased to see the park still there. I am.
I have been taking classes at the college for about four years and I shan't get my 
Since then I've seen instructors and students come and go, but I've kept coming back. When I started with the Police Department I had to quit for a couple of semesters as my schedule was subject to constant change during my training as a dispatcher, but I've kept coming back and kept plugging away. I've taken statistics and marine biology, I took a class in public speaking and I've been required to take a couple of computer classes as well.
We do a lot of wrenching on this course which the younger kids love, but I have enjoyed every aspect of the courses I've taken. 
The school of marine engineering has a huge lab area with dozens of outboards and marine diesel engines, plus students 
He lives on his s
The instructors I've had have all been immensely practical people, outboard dealers and mechanics and welders with years of experience which gives classes an immediacy that goes beyond theory. They know what kinds of problems students will meet when they go "out in the field" as qualified marine mechanics. And local shops do recruit from the college.
Mark has also cleaned up a lot of the spaces that used to cluttered like a junk yard. He is an 
Like the rest of the college, Marine Propulsion doesn't forget where it started, as a personal vision a few decades ago:
And for students in marine classes propulsion is an issue too. With gas persisting close to four dollars a gallon some things have to change:
And 
For my part I fit the schedule in as best I can with classes gathering on 
I am closing in on my degree, just one more class in the Spring after this one, at last :
It is a documentary film that combines all the best human emotions in a drama; suspense, love, humor and did I mention suspense? Petit assembles a team of "losers" in the realistic estimation of his best friend and between the four of them they practice for and assemble the ton of equipment needed to do the deed. The story is fascinating in itself, a combination of period movie films, photos and contemporary interviews. All this made more profound by the large absence of the towers in modern day New York. 
The 18 mile stretch is that section of Highway One that connects Florida City to Key Largo, and historically it has been a very dangerous stretch of road too. It has always been two lanes through the mangroves with passing places in a couple of spots. That has led to the impatient and incompetent killing themselves with monotonous regularity in head-on collisions. Finally They decided to do something about that and the work is still underway, putting a barrier up the middle of the highway. The other big public works job was building a brand new flyover across Jewfish Creek, and thus replacing the old drawbridge. Which, wouldn't you know it, had to open up just as I pulled up to it after I crossed the new bridge northbound and came back south along the old road:
Typically in the past I always chose to pay a dollar toll and use Card Sound Road when faced with the choice at the northern tip of Key Largo:
Card Sound is about 26 miles to The Stretch's 18 (41km vs 29km) but it is more scenic, less patrolled and has some very enjoyable curves. Now however on the scenic front The Stretch has reasserted itself with the new bridge rising out of the chaos of construction:
And from the top of the less than two mile flight one can see mangroves and water on either side, which is difficult to convey in photographs as the shoulders are largely absent (two more lanes are yet to open), traffic yesterday was unconscionably heavy and the Highway Patrol was checking for sightseers:
The barriers on this project have been painted a rather lurid shade of turquoise and thereby hangs a tale. It seems a resident in the neighborhood petitioned the state to paint the cement barricades this fresh tropical color and the state balked. However so persistent was this citizen whose name escapes me, that eventually the State Department of Transportation caved and told the contractor, Granite Construction to paint the things blue. And I have to say it sort of grows on you, and now i quite like it. It is different and it stretches like an arrow the length of the new highway:
It never ceases to amaze me that there are people who dislike driving Highway One. People who live in Key West, "on the rock" will look aghast at the suggestion that one might drive to Miami and back in one day, if one is absolutely forced to go to the mainland at all. They would rather have their teeth pulled without anaesthetic than face a three hour drive up the scenic highway. I don't get it. Yesterday was a case in point, it was an absolutely gorgeous day, the sort of day that makes the Keys look good without effort. The sun was out and the turquoise waters were sparkling on either side of the highway, overhead the clouds were puffy and white and all was well with the world. Except I forgot to put sunscreen on my nose and forehead, though God knows how the sun gets under my helmet, and it was pretty hot and sticky, around 90 degrees (35c) and humid. 
And then I got off the bridge at the one open exit:
And then I doubled back through the construction zone still very much torn up along the old highway:
And back at ground level I saw the boat close up. There was another sailboat barely visible round the corner in the mangroves and from that one I could hear the monotonous drone of a generator doubtless powering air conditioning, which despite the light breeze would definitely make life bearable afloat. This boat was hardcore with no apparent sign of an engine running:
The bridge overhead actually muffled a lot of the traffic sounds which surprised me, and when i looked up I could see the water pipe, that same pipe that accompanies all the 42 bridges between Florida City and Key West.
It takes water from the South Florida Aquifer all the way through the Keys, an innovation begun by the military when they built their base at Boca Chica and stationed thousands of troops in Key West. Very civilizing it is too, even though I have a rainwater cistern in addition to the aqueduct at my house. Underneath the new bridge next to the old drawbridge on Jewfish Creek Spanish speakers were fishing and their voices reverberated as though in a cave:
And they weren't the only anglers on the water:
One has to wonder how the businesses along the creek will make out. There's no doubt it's a scenic spot. especially if one is just arriving in the Keys, but it will take an act of will to slow the headlong flight along the elevated bridge and come down here to taste the old Keys style:
And I have mentioned it before but it never ceases to surprise me every time I drive this way to see familiar construction logos on the green trucks of this Watsonville, California based family company:
I was very familiar with Granite Construction when I lived in Santa Cruz. 
Another delightful two hour ride down Highway One.
White Street Pier sticks out far enough to the south of the island that you get quite a decent view east and west. This is useful when you are looking for a spot to watch the sun rise or set and there are numbers of people who show up here to do just that, with and without their dogs. The pier itself is an all concrete structure that is, more or less an extension of White Street, which cuts right across the island:
However access to the pier is blocked by the Aids Memorial, shown here looking north up White Street:
The white bollards are supposed to keep traffic out of the memorial and from time to time they fail in their function and some half wit ends up crashing into the memorial. And all things considered it looks quite good. It's a horrendously long list of names with a stylized map of the Keys inscribed alongside:
At night it looks quite different:
To the south we have the sands of Higgs beach:W
Where, hidden behind the palm trees is the West Martello Tower, a 19th century brick fort currently used by the Garden Club. The structure got half demolished when it was used as a target for gunnery practice by the canons at Fort Zachary in the 19th century. These days it houses exotic plants on the inside and the residentially challenged in the portico on the outside.
And I also came across lots of parents with their toddlers, for some reason:
I spotted a few sun and sea worshipers as well:
But of anglers there were none. Not even at night:
When I went out on my 3 am lunch break there was a cyclist taking a turn on the pier but no one was out fishing. 
The college, located on Stock Island's College Road across from the hospital, is undergoing some radical upheavals this year. A new president was hired by the board of directors and she was given a mandate to get the somnolent school moving into the 21st century. Dr Landesberg-Boyle took her mandate seriously and has ruffled no end of feathers.
The college was built about three decades ago and after a handful of presidents got the place going one Dr Seeker ensconced himself as the top dog and stayed there long past his sell-by date. Seeker was so entrenched the school started to essentially unravel under his neglectful eye, and he only retired for the second time, permanently when FKCC was threatened with losing its accredited status. There were only 570 Full Time equivalent students a few years ago and numbers were shrinking...the future looked awfully grim.
The light at the end of the tunnel came when Dr Landesberg-Boyle was hired, a brash energetic leader who came down from Up North and started to make changes. The worn out sidekicks of the former President protested long and hard as the new leader demanded full schedules and hard work from the somnolent faculty. They rebelled and started a whispering campaign alleging the new President was bi-polar and a carpet chewing fiend given to fits of uncontrollable rage.
Weirdly enough the college now has more than one thousand FTE (Full Time Equivalent) students and accreditation is safe. The president has opened the college campus to winter time concerts for the community on its spacious lawns.
She has successfully petitioned Tallahassee for some sixteen million dollars for capital projects on campus; she has started a collaboration with a four year university to allow locals to get four year degrees through FKCC and she has opened up classrooms on campus to the School District to get at risk students specialised instruction. Landesberg-Boyle has also found money to expand the nursing program and I have seen on campus stirrings of excitement that there may be a better future ahead. Others will disagree saying Landesberg-Boyle is a disaster, but change doesn't come easily and the struggle is engaged on campus between the oldtimers and the president.
All this innovation and forward thinking has garnered her praise from the Citizen newspaper and lots of angry critical letters to the newspaper as well. Letter writers accuse her of using the college as a stepping stone in her career, as though that's a bad thing, and one letter writer even suggested that because the Board of Directors is composed mainly of prominent Republicans that a political conspiracy is in the works at the college. That such charges make no sense, does not deter the detractors from continuing to try to undermine the innovator leading the college. As you can tell I enjoy her leadership and am reaping the fruits of her work in my own studies. I wish she had been hired at the start of my road to a degree.
I like the college campus, I enjoy the architecture and the layout of the buildings. They have a suitable open air, tropical feel to them, a series of corridors shady and dark connecting buildings and classrooms in buildings that are painted bright colors. The new college president is overseeing an upgrade there too and yellows and blues and greens and reds are being replaced with more muted colors, which is not exactly to my taste. I like pastels too, what can I say? This is the pottery building:
Which houses this:
Which is a kiln. FKCC has a well known potter who teaches this subject, and I have no knowledge of him or his Art. My wife does, she took his class and he stands in the pantheon of the gods in her mind. Here is his altar:
I was mentioning the corridors that give the campus it's open feeling:
I showed up for my first class of the year at 9am, an in between time for many classes and the halls were pretty much devoid of students. Some were studying:
Some were pausing to talk:
I arrived on the Bonneville, and in a town pulullating with scooters I am hardly alone on my two wheels, though the immense parking lots are predominantly filled with cars, even though the college is on the main Key West/Stock Island bus loop:
The nursing program has always been popular as its been an avenue to a good job and I'm told enrollment has doubled. This following a great deal of controversy when a popular director of the program was let go. Pundits thought the program would die but apparently not so. FKCC not unnaturally has an active dive program, as well as marine biology and marine engineering and they are looking to expand. 
I've seen an increase in the number of foreign, principally Bahamian and Bermudian students in marine propulsion since the new energy has been put into recruiting. There are also plans to create dormitory housing to encourage students to attend in a town notorious for expensive housing costs. All this innovation but the college remembers its past as well:
To me FKCC is a huge community resource, it's a place that gives depth to daily living at the end of the road, offering continuing education for curious adults and gives young people a chance to get technical educations that can help keep them here. This a full service junior college like anywhere else in the States. It has a cafe that offers a very decent con leche and a full menu of food, there's a library with lots of computer access as well as a full sized pool free for students. I also enjoy sitting around when I get a chance and in a town with limited parks the college is an oasis:
The Japanese Torii seem popular in various incarnations:
But appearances can be deceptive. Someone seems to have duplicated the torii look just down the road from the one in the photo above:
It's actually the trash collection area. I'd like to think it's a pleasant little joke but that's probably too much to hope for. These days with all the controversy at the college I sometimes feel like there's barely a handful of us who show up on campus feeling cheerful. I see a great future for Florida Keys Community College, and I'm glad we have it in our community.
We sent help, repeatedly all evening long, defending the right to freedom of speech. The man carrying the God Hates Fags sign, as he described himself, made his point unmolested, up and down Duval Street. He told me he was commanded by his God to be a missionary, but what a difficult message in a town that goes out of it's way to accomodate all comers. I've heard that God hates the sin, not the sinner, but apparently there is a measure of theological dispute in some circles on that point. 
I doubt God Hates Fags, but I suppose anything is possible. Meanwhile the State of Florida which has shown some pretty cold institutional feelings towards gays may get forced onto a new path. A judge recently ruled in favor of a gay man in Key West who had petitioned to adopt an abandoned child he was fostering. Gays have been allowed to foster in Florida, though they have not been allowed to adopt. They are also not allowed to teach in the state's schools weirdly enough, not that anyone takes much notice of that in the Keys. The judge in the adoption case ruled that Florida's ban was "unconstitutional on it's face." That's the judicial equivalent of holding a rather large sign over your head that says "Florida Can't Hate Fags." The establishment clause writ large. Whatever next?
In my classroom, Marine Propulsion, we have this cute little stationary engine, a functioning cutaway piston which goes up and down to illustrate the principles of internal combustion. It's not really Art but...
For the first time in ages Cuba's Civil defense system has allowed people to die in a storm- four persons croaked during Ike's double landfalls on that island. Which I take to be a measure of just how lucky we are that such a powerful storm spared us. However, as glad as I am to be spared the anxiety of a direct hit, the 6o mile per hour wind gusts and succession of showers on Tuesday managed successfully to bore the knickers off yours truly. I paced around the house nursing a sore throat (stress induced perhaps? Ya think?!) like a caged bear. Finally I threw caution to the wind and got in the car. First stop the storage locker to make sure I am still owned by the slim green motorcycling machine: 
Sure enough and my wife's precious convertible and Vespa 150 are snug for the duration of her trip to Turkey. I also caught a warped view of myself in the window of the Nissan which is rain spattered and not snug, as it's my storm vehicle:
I took off south just to have some fun. Usually I am locked down at the Police station telling other people not to be foolish during storms so I felt like a truant schoolboy with my camera in hand. One lucky boat owner in Newfound Harbor still owns a boat, his anchor line is taut, of course but the boat appeared intact and floating on its lines.
Further along, as I drove into Big Pine Key I came face to face with the fact that things really are not normal just at the moment:
When the mails stop running you know civilization is on the brink of the precipice. Indeed I saw only Winn Dixie the supermarket was open, along with the Crazy Fish Bar so I guess the immediate essentials were covered for Big Pine residents... The road north from Big Pine runs through the Key deer refuge and is well protected from the winds and waves, but at the Big Pine Key Fishing Lodge on Long Beach road I saw evidence of the force of the storm in the marina:
They must have tried to rake the sea grasses out of the water before they closed for Ike's arrival, but the carpet looked thick enough to walk on, despite their best efforts. More wildlife further down Long Beach road, sheltering behind a garden wall:
I'm no biologist but I think this is a doe with her fawn, not particularly scared of me or the car. They look cute but lots of people hate the Key deer because they like to eat ornamental plants imported from Up North. The notion of not growing those plants is beyond the imagination of many migrants to these islands. And while I'm on the subject of not knowing what I'm talking about, I think these are ibis, or quite possibly not:
And continuing my self imposed task of stabbing wildly in the dark these may well be plovers sheltering from the storm on a convenient sand bar. They looked warily (and wearily) at me as I clumped up in my squeaky rubber shoes so I backed off before they ran out of sand:
I also spotted a raccoon, I'm sure of that pretty much, but Rocky was too quick for my camera and scuttled off into the mangroves.
Taking the pictures wasn't entirely easy as the rain and spume kept fogging the lense while the wind gusts tore at me and forced me to do a ridiculous balancing act in thin air, like Harold Lloyd prancing about on a skyscraper's steel girder. It was much easier to take photographs from the comfort of the car:
Modern automobiles are nothing short of amazing. Comfortable, sure footed and fast, my Nissan's three-and-a-half liter V-6 dragged me through the wind with the greatest of ease at speeds our ancestors would have deemed impossible. Having a decent road surface doesn't hurt, and when it's all to yourself, so much the better:
Air conditioning on low, Scott Joplin on the stereo to lend the expedition a slightly manic quality and I might as well have been in a space ship cruising through the void. 
Beyond the most famous park in the Lower Keys lies another little sliver of sandy land, right at the south side of the southernmost tip of the Seven Mile Bridge. It's called Veterans Memorial Park and it's a fine place to come for a sunrise or a view of open waters:
It is a limited use park, but limitations like these don't seem terribly onerous on an 82 degree (31c) afternoon as blusterous and damp as this one:
The park has loos and Tiki huts and picnic tables and shady sea grapes and even barbecue grills for your family's pleasure. Granted these weren't the ideal circumstances for a picnic:
Look Ma, no hands:
I can't say I'm looking forward to sharing my islands with a bunch of evacuees who will doubtless be clogging Highway One soon enough. Boondocks Bar and Restaurant is open, the Chevron gas station at Mile Marker 27 is open. What more does anyone need? One of these perhaps:
Oh and electricity, and so far we've had just one tiny interruption of service. And I'm off work till Thursday night. Let's see, how many more ways can I be bored?
East winds had picked up noticeably yesterday and there was some sporadic rainfall in gusts during the afternoon, so I felt no shame at driving the Nissan in to work instead of riding the Bonneville. I loaded my sleeping gear and suitcase from my locker back into the car as we had been relieved of the stress of being required to sleep at work. Then I settled in for a night of dispatching and training a new member of my shift. I was staring idly out of the window listening to Belem struggling to keep up on Channel One when a sudden gust of wind swept the police station parking lot, followed by a horizontal mist of rain. And then it just kept getting worse, a burst of wind and rain followed by a dry spell, and then more until about five in the morning when high tide struck. Officers reported flooding around the south side of the island, so as soon as I got off work I drove, naturally, towards South Roosevelt Boulevard on Bertha Street, until the way was closed by water:
The corner of Angela and Ashe Streets is marked by a remarkable older home, large and imposing if a little down at heel:
I don't know much about the place but it used to be a well known sight around Christmas time with an extravagant display of lights. No sign of lights even though that star on the roof can be seen in outline. The yard looks sad with an empty birdcage:
And of course a cheerful sign threatening mayhem:
And alongside the house there is of course a mystery car collecting dust, the yellow vehicle in the foreground is clearly a Ford Mustang, even I could read the label, but the one in the distance...who knows?
And on the subject of cars, I happened across a whole bunch of them hanging out, as if at a convention, in the area. An old VW hogging some nice off street parking:
And an MG Midget with a delicious paint job and some serious rust issues, was occupying less space than a Smart Car might. When I was an impetuous youth I always wanted one of these cars, almost as much as I wanted a Moto Guzzi LeMans motorcycle. I ended up with neither, but I got to drool over this little thing:
I also found a neighbor doing a poor job of loading her rather smarter convertible while carrying on a very loud conversation apparently with herself. I hope she made the appointment because I was tempted to go in her place. It sounded interesting.
I had a friend who loved Porsches but he managed to put me quite off them when he led me through the maintenance requirements of his beloved machines. I cannot begin to imagine who services Porsches withing 130 miles of Key West. Perhaps there is some Teutonic Porsche Wizard lurking under a convenient palm tree somewhere, a problem I shall never have to deal with.
Thus homes nicknamed "eyebrow" didn't really work but there are quite a few scattered around Key West. Modern homes of course are air conditioned, or not:
I cannot imagine sweltering in that loft with just a fan blowing hot air over one's sleeping form. And paying that rent to boot. 
You can't have too many dolphins in your life either:
And Doric columns, or is it Ionic? Albeit made of wood as is suitable in the Southernmost City:
And for the hopeful there's always one or two for sale:
There are of course smaller and less ostentatious Conch cottages (this one would work quite nicely for The Rose Tattoo also):
Or this rather splendid cottage on the corner of Petronia Street with the magnificent porch that caused me lustful feelings:
My own decks are quite splendid and I am ashamed of my envious feelings. I should probably instead take off and enjoy a sunny afternoon on the splendid Bonneville:
Storm preparations are cancelled and the Police Department has returned to it's normal schedule. Suave! I am working tonight but not with the other shift that loves to gawp at the TV, a noisy intrusive distraction which is permitted in the communications center during storms for the "news." I am a happy camper because I like my own shift and now I can look forward to a serene and peaceful shift tonight. Hurricane Ike is projected to pass almost 200 miles west of Key West after it leaves Cuba and its the turn of the Gulf Coast to fret, and they have much to fret about unhappily. Last night, Highway One at Boca Chica, 'round midnight:
I have been thinking for some time that the city and county should stop issuing evacuation orders. It would be tremendously controversial and it will never happen, but it seems to me we are about to go through an endless period of recrimination and second guessing and anxious political leaders can never defend themselves adequately by saying they did the best they could with the information they had at the time. People lose money in evacuations and naysayers gain credence about leaving the islands at all during a storm threat. I have to say here I figured this was what it was going to come to as the track kept moving west. I never was impressed by Ike's size as a threat to Key West. Read my earlier posts if you think I am using hindsight!
Currently lots of people remember the misery of Wilma, and all the flooding, so in a knee jerk response they... take their garbage to the side of a deserted road hoping it will miraculously get washed away... before they got the hell out of Dodge! People! And indeed parts of my island are already comfortably under water from it just being normal rainy season. Imagine a storm surge on top of this:
It seems to me the city and county should provide information about what services will likely be available and let everyone decide for themselves. That's more or less what happens now when a "mandatory" evacuation is ordered, but it just sounds draconian to a population that is not trained to listen carefully and pay attention.
A mandatory evacuation just means rescue services won't come and help you until the storm dies down, it also means the hospital is closed and there are no support services of any kind. People think that's okay until things start to go wrong and then they tend to get a little het up and they call the police department and start demanding we do something. As it is people will fill the Citizen's Voice columns with second guessing and complaints about the ineffective bureaucrats instead of just being happy that this time we weren't slammed by a Category Four. I'm glad I'm so far down the totem pole I don't have to justify difficult decisions taken under impossible circumstances. Imagine the headlines if the city didn't order an evacuation and someone died in a storm...
I went for a bike ride this morning (still getting my exercise dear, please note!) and was delighted to learn, when I got home we're back to normal so now I've got to go and do some homework. My fondest hope is that the college be open for classes Wednesday. 
I mean, do you suppose duct tape will do anything useful? And whoever thinks to tape the mailbox has too much time on their hands and too much anxiety. Or this:
This boat was tied to the house by pieces of rope that I can only imagine are there to ease the nerves of the owner. I'd rename this boat Samson just in case a strong gust uses the boat and trailer to bring down the house. Or snaps the ropes like banjo strings. This guy, my neighbor tied his pride and joy to the power pole, thus putting the sub division at risk of prolonged post-Ike darkness:
On the other hand these people are sadly misinformed if they think trash pickup will take place as scheduled Tuesday morning:
I took a bike ride before I went into work yesterday to enjoy a beautiful serene summer afternoon in my neighborhood. I've passed this pontoon boat more than once but this was the first time I noticed the name brand:
I don't suppose anybody in Elkhart Indiana has even heard of Ike, and they probably weren't sitting around on the factory floor at Godfrey Marine saying: "Hmm, lets call this model the Hurricane so when people in Florida are about to buy the farm under a storm they will enjoy a wry laugh when they look at their boat." There was a sailor in evidence on one of the lateral canals:
This person sensibly cut down coconuts, potential missiles in 100 mile-per-hour winds. However it would have been nice to chop them down at the start of the hurricane season so they would have been safely trucked to the landfill and mulched already. They are still potential missiles on the ground. At gas stations the lines have diminished finally but people are still loading up with fuel. I fill my jugs in July, add Stabil and store them with the generator. The fuel lines these past couple of days have been exasperating, endless and unnecessary. There's been plenty of fuel for everyone. I try to keep the tanks in the cars on the high side of half during hurricane season, but it was an absolute pain to find an available pump for three days.
Gas stations are starting to close down now but there are still fuel pumps available for those in town. Indeed I saw a tanker driving into Key West just after midnight as I was on my way home early this morning. I know the guy who runs the Shell at North Roosevelt and First doesn't believe in evacuating and he will be open till the very last minute and beyond for the true procrastinators...
I'm sure dozens will write in to let me know that they do it all the time but I have never seen color coordinated storm shutters before. And it will be a cold day in Hell before you see me painting my aluminum shutters, I promise you that. Mine are up early and come down as soon as I get home after the storm but they are all natural:
Of course my shutters au naturel go quite nicely with my understated gray vinyl siding and white accents, don't you think?
Modern plastic signs don't do so well in strong winds so they have come up with the idea of straps to keep them together:
Frequently people don't bother to cover the doors, a last minute oversight which can be fatal as all it takes is one piece of glass to shatter to allow the storm inside. Looe Key Dive shop isn't one of those, there was one last piece of wood lying on the ground ready for final installation.
I suspect salt laden surge waters from the storm might do a nice job of killing the wild grasses in her pea rock but she calms her nerves by doing some hoeing and weeding, even as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse rape and pillage below the horizon. 
It's still calm before the storm! Lucky us, we happy few, still here in the Fabulous Florida Keys.
And that statement is that Ike is coming. A watch is the official way to advise residents that they may start experiencing related conditions within 36 hours and Tropical Storm and Hurricane Warnings mean you expect them in 24 hours or less. The 
As if they really want to say ..."you bloody fools should have buggered off out of there ages ago- we TOLD you so!" and instead we put up storm shutters...and the weather at the moment is glorious, crisply sunny with just a little breeze.
One of my young colleagues who relieved me this morning is notoriously panicky and she was looking at me with eyes like saucers, a hard thing to take at 6am after a night spent sitting up in front of a computer, and asked me, 
Anything is possible but it seems like we are on the very edge of Ike's path and if you live in the Keys heavy winds and rain are pretty much mother's milk in the summer, we wouldn't know how to live without just a little meteorological drama. Those of you inclined to pray may care to turn your attention to the Godless Communists in Cuba who are in the process of being severely spanked and residents of the Gulf Coast who have more reason, at the moment, than us to be extremely anxious. Ike is a powerful storm which has weathered cold waters and crosswinds and remained an extremely dangerous Category Four. I am very glad not to be in the bulls eye, and long may it stay that way. I am the oldest dispatcher at 
We at the Police Station will be locked down, unable to leave the building after we report for duty at 6 am Monday. We will be devoting our attention to the storm living and bunking together in our building as best we can. And to give an idea of the minute details someone has to think about before the arrival of a hurricane, there are storm covers for the meters at the beach:
Just because a Hurricane is in the offing doesn't mean some people give up their exercise:
I don't think this view of Smathers Beach would be enhanced by a slightly wobbly video camera with the hiss and scratch of authentic hand held sounds:
At first I thought the worker at the Irish pub known as Shanna Key (because that's it's name) was taking down the umbrella, but he was in fact spreading it at the rather attractive sidewalk tables alongside the garish yellow building on Bertha at Flagler Streets:
I passed through some of the streets of New town that flooded in Wilma and I noticed this house on stilts, an architectural style more familiar in the islands north of Key West, than in the city itself:
Some people think stilt houses are ugly and I confess I was reluctant to live in one, but only at first. Avoiding floods is one advantage but I also rather like living at leaf level among my mature trees. In ground level living one only gets to look at tree trunks. Besides you get tons of shady parking space under an elevated house. 
And the view from my west facing deck at home shows a scene of the utmost serenity. Would that it stays that way. 
I dropped the wife off at the airport this morning amidst a huge gaggle of Turkey bound women gathered at the unloading area and I got a nasty snit from the Sheriff's deputy telling me to move my car along. See if I send help next time she asks for it at two o'clock in the morning... Wouldn't it be great if I could pick and choose who to send back up to?
It was like an oil embargo. I went into town for my regularly scheduled chiropractic massage and I needed it. The stress is unavoidable thinking about packing my wife off to Turkey on the noon flight out, and she's feeling weird about leaving. I'm kind of glad actually as I'd want my wife to evacuate anyway for a potential storm of this magnitude. Ike could hit the Keys Tuesday with 130 miles per hour (210km/h) sustained winds bringing huge seas and ferocious damage with it. Or, if we're lucky it might scrape the North Coast of Cuba, lose strength and sidle into the Gulf Of Mexico to terrorise our neighbors and oil rigs to the north... Here in the Keys things are humming along, I paid a visit as suggested by Lori in a comment yesterday, to the grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes at St Mary's Catholic Church on Truman Avenue:
I also saw this dude going into another church and I couldn't help but notice that he seemed over dressed for the 95 degree afternoon. Arms and legs covered! I guess he's weathered a few hot summers in the Keys because his blood must be as thin as water if that's how he copes with the heat:
I read the mystery and found it to be a decent workmanlike job. It's set in contemporary Key West and follows a more or less believable plot involving drinking, killing, boats and Cubans. The first person narrative is peppered with insider commentary on Key West, and I have to confess I found the separation of tourists from us locals to be tedious. I suppose it's necessary to give readers who don't live in Key West the feeling of insider status. Never did I live in a community where being a local conferred so much status inside the heads of some people. And the good writer takes notice of that fact.
Not really, we're just two white men with beards you might say. If you need a Key West fix this winter check out his novel. It will put you right in the streets of Key West for a few fast paced hours, and it makes more narrative sense than my blog.
So Key West by night takes on a slightly old fashioned air. It puts me in mind of Prague in 1995 as modernization started to creep across eastern Europe. The streets of the city at that time were darker and old fashioned looking, lacking as they did the inevitable gloss of modern encouragements to shop and spend.
I find it somewhat surprising this massive structure is still a real estate office on White Street. The bloom is definitely off the market, and I suppose one could argue that only the strong flourish in these hard real estate times. Laundry will always be a necessary chore, alleviated only by the superb profile of the Pegasus parked in front. It's actually my winged horse, my Bonneville:
I wanted more time on my early morning lunch break. I wanted to sit and watch no one passing by on White Street at three in the morning. Instead I stood in the middle of the broad roadway that divides Old Town from everywhere else in Key West and took a picture of Glynn Archer School:
I wonder what awfulness would happen should they turn out the lights and plunge the stone structure into darkness. Instead we burn electrons for some mysterious purpose. Across the street the National Weather Service was burning the midnight oil with reason:
We have storms barrelling down on South Florida from all angles across the Atlantic, Hanna heading north, while Hurricane Ike appears set to head across the Bahamas straight at us (gulp!), as Josephine possibly peters out into a depression in the middle of nowhere. When interviewed by the Key West Citizen the meteorologists said they will hide in the toilets in the center of this building should a major hurricane promise us a direct hit.
It seems a bit undignified but the National Weather Service tells us that is the only safe place inside their building should a Category Five storm hit them head on...Maybe I shall throw dignity to the wind and do the same at the Police Station when the Big One hits. Even the light breezes blowing across the Keys from all that Atlantic storm activity look pretty busy when viewing a palm tree under a street light through a slow shutter speed:
All motion, no direction. While standing around in the middle of the street I notice that even from the hub of White Street at Truman Avenue there is no visible traffic. White and Truman is where the all night gas stations are and they also offer fried chicken and a gathering place for night owls, so its a well traffic'ed spot:
There's time enough in the middle of White Street to take a picture of this decorated traffic light control box at United Street:
I used my flash to make sure the last all-Cuban bakery in town really is dead:
La Dichosa in Spanish means lucky (woman), and perhaps the bakery was lucky to stay in business as long as it did. It's departure leaves a hole in not a few home and restaurant tables around town. But Sandy's Cafe is still going strong, a place where you can buy food and con leches all the time. Their decision to stay open 24 hours added immeasurably to the food options in town for night shift workers, from cheese toast and coffee or the usual Cuban selections including Mexican specialties, as the staff are actually not Cubans, as their Spanish indicates they are from south of the Rio Bravo del Norte:
Night shift workers include, need I point out, cops from the nearby cop shop:
Whence I repaired at the end of my lunch break.
And for some sitting in a bar is second place to exploration on foot, in the heat so a different kind of break is required, an ice cream break on the sidewalk:
Drinking and eating ice cream are both recognized activities in Key West, and tourists do them all the time but why would you photograph jewelry instead of buying it:
Or how is it my mother used to growl at me to cover my mouth when I yawned and hers didn't? Poor thing it is slow, very slow, season in Key West, and she has nothing to do.
I prefer the antics of visitors with mopeds, watching them figure out how to start the machines keeping the brake pulled in while simultaneously thumbing the starter. Or how to put the little thing on it's stand:
Captains of industry all no doubt, relaxing like schoolboys. Or trying to dismount from the thing gracefully:
I'll tell anyone that asks, there is no grace in motorcycling. You can be as cool as you want and that's when some little thing will trip you up and make you look foolish. I would like to be young again riding a cafe racer with nothing more than a backpack:
But it's his turn now and I can't be greedy. I want to lean over and tell him to make the most of it but he would just think I was being a creep so I button it up and look straight ahead. On the other hand some people just beg a second glance. These two unlikely characters cruising on rented bicycles jut looked so happy, out and about in Key West. Tell me people Up North cycle Main Street dressed like this? 
Some cruise on foot, and why do I suspect she is fed up waiting? That foot looks ready to be tapped impatiently. I got fed up waiting too so I never did discover what the main attraction was.
And some cretinous half wits pause in the middle of street to figure out their next move. I know it seems like Disneyland but this, folks is actually a real street in a real town and it would help all of us if meetings were held on the sidewalk:
Cab drivers are always on the prowl and this dude was promoting the Key West image, tan hairy and wearing a shirt I wish my wife, who doubles as my fashion consultant, would let me try on:
The smart ones park their cars and this guy will be happy, I think, to take a break from reading angry letters to the Editor and take your money. Don't get between him and the fan though, because it's hot out there, and an overheated worker is an ugly thing to see on your vacation:
I saw a crowd around the corner and I pondered whether they might be starving refugees around a UN aid truck. No such luck it was just a bunch of people very anxious to get going on their tour of the reef.
Meanwhile a youthful guest at Ocean Key Resort took up a pensive pose in a rocker while his younger sister bounced around in her's like she was on a caffeine high:
This guy was busy getting Two Friends ready for the evening rush and he didn't have time to be pensive as he flicked trash into his pan; the pain of adulthood is earning a living:
Parking control is a job most people could do without. They'll happily spend a fortune drinking on Duval, but ask them to pay $35 for an expired meter and they lose their minds.Meet Carla, a sweet woman with a wicked sense of the ridiculous who has forgotten more about Key West than most people ever learn. If you want to meet a real local worth listening to, talk to Carla not a bar tender angling for tips. 
When sunset beckons tourists flock to Mallory Square to join the ghost of Tennessee Williams in toasting another bravura performance. Or they can gather on the short pier at Simonton Beach and admire the view, or point it out to their more dense spouses:
Thus, as the evening festivities at Mallory Square gear up we board our Bonneville and rumble away to the outer darkness of North Stock Island, and there we spot the odd local meandering who knows where in the halls of academe:
They come into my lense and pass out of my lense, no explanations wanted or asked for. Just people doing their thing.
When I was a youngster I used to mountain bike the Santa Cruz mountains and was I suspect one of the hooligans that got bicycles banned from most public woodland trails in the State. My apologies, but now I have a machine suitable to my infirm stage of life so I take it out and pedal for my life, literally, and work up a nice sweat.
I like McPherson; he has a similar personality to that ascribed to the last Governor of Southern Rhodesia, who was said to have a "bluff exterior masking a bluff interior," not a kind description for a diplomat, but not at all unkind for a small town Mayor. However he doesn't seem to get how to draw into his camp the people who didn't vote for him. I think his waterpark plan, roundly booed by the vocal in the city, was an offer to give youngsters something to do in a town that has lost a lot of youthful activities to developmental greed, activities that he and his buddies remember from their Conch childhoods. Bowling, miniature golf and go kart tracks take up a lot of land, and land is valuable in the Southernmost City. The problem is, when a Republican Mayor suggests a socialistic plan for creating a city-owned amusement arcade the local right wingers fall away from the ranks of his supporters. Conchs I've spoken too quietly like the idea but newer residents, childless, retired or Democrats announce loudly he's lost his mind, and McPherson lacks the desire or ability to speak to them. And then came the airport hotel, pushed by DiGennaro and inexplicably supported by McPherson, which everyone now repudiates, but it's too late. We all know a hotel of some sort will appear next to the airport and I am forced to wonder why the land couldn't be devoted by some developer to creating a Boys and Girls Club worthy of the name with a pool, a gym a bowling alley and putt putt golf to keep youngsters amused. Why didn't MacPherson seek consensus to have the city help some enterprising developer? Perhaps there's no money in it which is why our Mayor wants the city to do it on the Truman waterfront. the problem is McPherson won't talk to his critics...
Duval Street in August is quiet enough you could play golf on it if you wanted to. This is a nice city to visit but a ghastly city to lead. My hat's off to anyone who wants to try, but in order to succeed in a town with too many opinions the Mayor needs to tread lightly. I think we may have an opening in the next election, and I wish Charlie Crist were available. Change is good I keep telling myself, wishing the mayor could learn some softly, softly, diplomacy before the next election. Sigh.
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