The big white jug contains powder that when mixed with water produces a brine that flushes out one's intestine in a most insistent manner I am assured. It is only available by prescription which I find odd as it defies the imagination to picture anyone wanting to go through this sort of experience for the fun of the thing. I thought I was either too young or too old for Jello cups but apparently even though this looks like my home I am now in an extension of the hospital. I know that when I do get sick it will be hell for all concerned, this is just a check up, god help all those buggers if they find something, I will be the patient from hell. Then I had to talk to the business office at Lower Keys Medical Center. The cost for this camera up the butt is $3100 for the use of the hospital facilities. I pay 20 percent plus the deductible and my share is $731.50. I guess not too many unemployed people will be doing colonoscopies will they? God only knows what it will cost if they come across a polyp or diverticulitis or some other nasty lurking monster. I can't even mortgage my house at this point! I'd rather we had single payer and had to get in line for a year and get it done free, given a choice. I am still allowed caffeine and that's a good thing for all concerned as the idea of spending half a pay check to take it up the arse is annoying me a bit:
Astute members of the congregation will notice there is one important ingredient missing, no milk jug because milk would cloud the camera's view. It's hard to credit these people with being so fussy in an age of spy cameras in space and depth sounders that can locate, or not locate as the case may be, monsters in lochs. And we have a rather elderly but functional kitchen in which my wife loves to cook and I love to clean the dishes she fouls up so copiously in her gastronomic endeavors. Right now the kitchen looks like an under appreciated wasteland:
Laurel Avenue on Stock Island is notable in my life because it happens to be where my motorbike shop is located, so it might come as no surprise that I decided to wander round and take a few pictures while I waited for Jiri to replace my tires on the Bonneville.
Laurel Avenue is not, with the best will in the world, terribly scenic, even seen under Florida's magnificent Spring Big Sky. It's a street that parallels Highway One, to the very left edge in the picture above, and if while driving towards Key West you pass Burger King, you've gone too far. If, when leaving Key West you pass Murray Marine you've missed Laurel Avenue. For some people though this collection of light industry, small business and trailers is home. Trailers are the preferred residence on Stock island these days as trailers are somewhat affordable and at Mile Marker Five they are within a bus or bicycle ride of the jobs in Key West. The trailers aren't luxury residences even if they rent for at least $1200 a month:
The businesses along Laurel Avenue come in all shapes and sizes, including construction, vehicle repair and so forth:
That last one is an outboard repair shop in back of Murray Marine, which is a marina at the end of Laurel Avenue with access to Boca Chica Bay: 
They also rent center console boats at Murray's which could be something that one might want to consider if there is a burning desire to explore waters different than those of Key West harbor. Even though this isn't a wealthy neighborhood there is pride of residence with a very Caribbean flavor:
And because Stock Island used to be the place where Key West kept it's cattle stocks farmyard animals can still be found wandering around. Key West has it's chickens while Stock Island has it's Muscovy ducks, much quieter and more dignified they are too.
Stock Island has it's issues too of course. Lots of cars everywhere, even though parking is a good deal easier to find here and it's free:
There were rumors that the previous Navy commander agreed to re-route fighter jets in training over poor Stock Island to spare the sensibilities of the wealthy residents of neighboring Key Haven. People in power are shocked, shocked by such scurrilous suggestions but there they are the jets zipping low overhead:
The arguments over jet noise rage in the paper, but the fact is the Navy was here first, and supporters say the sounds of fighters overhead are the sounds of freedom, opponents want to Navy to go away, which would be an economic disaster so those of us spared the sounds of freedom hope they stay. Pretty soon the snowbirds will be heading north and the debate will peter out thankfully. There are some wealthier homes on Stock Island. Years ago, this development at the western end of laurel Avenue used to be just another run down trailer park. there was a bar facing Highway One and it had a hand painted sign on the wall reading "Free Beer Tomorrow." The end came and "Tomorrow' was erased and replaced by "Today" for one glorious twenty four hour period, then came the bulldozers and the new Coral Hammocks grew out of the wreckage of the trailer park:
It's one of those gated communities where people paid more than half a million to buy a townhouse right next to Highway One and paid that much to park their BMWs under the blazing sun:
For now, until development picks up again in a distant future there are "permanent" travel trailers to call home if you have the money:
Live here and you could be on Duval getting shit faced within fifteen minutes on your scooter. A cab ride home might cost twenty bucks so you might want to figure out your budget ahead of moving on down..jpg)
There is one bridge in and out of Key West and it crosses a span of water known as Cow Key Channel, which is not surprising as that river of salt water separates Key west from Stock Island, which as I have noted elsewhere was the place where cows were raised to feed Key West. The channel itself isn't so terribly wide, and looking south the key west bank is home to one of the more scenic Veteran's administration clinics in the US:
Indeed the entire span of the channel towards Hawk Channel is actually pretty narrow when you realise the navigable portion hugs the left hand side of the waterway looking south:
There are some live aboard boats anchored off the old houseboat row on South Roosevelt, but to the north the channel is entirely empty out towards the Gulf of Mexico. The white building to the right is the Headquarters of the Monroe County Sheriff's Department and the jail known to some as the Stock Island Hilton..jpg)
As far as I can tell the two islands have been connected by bridge for a very long time. I've seen early pictures of Stock Island (keyshistory.org) which show a blasted heath of white pea rock and tufts of grass and a few despondent cows, but the age of the automobile required bridges, and make no mistake, Key West got cars as soon as they were available. It may seem odd these days but long before the road bridge to the mainland was completed in 1938 people were driving cars and parking them on Duval Street. I got this picture from the book Charlotte's Story which I highly recommend. It's labeled Boca Chica but if it's not the Stock island bridge it must have looked very much like this:
After World War One it was possible to drive a very circuitous route from Key West to No Name Key where there was a car ferry to haul one to Knights Key (Marathon) where the journey continued to somewhere around the Matecumbe Keys where there was another ferry and so on. It was an all day job getting to Homestead. Nowadays it's rather simpler, and Cow Key Bridge is four lanes of busyness:.jpg)
And alongside the very modern bridge is the very modern hose pipe feeding the city drinking water from the South Florida Aquifer in Dade County. The Navy built the original pipe in World war Two, ending the city's dependence on rainwater and cisterns, and then a newer and bigger pipe was built alongside the new, wider roadway which opened in 1982:.jpg)
The bridge itself is massive enough there are ample paths on either side of the traffic lanes, protected from the traffic by cement barriers, for pedestrians and cyclists of which there are tons crossing the bridge at all hours:.jpg)
On the water there is always some traffic too, especially as Hurricane hole marina on the Stock Island side rents center console boats and kayaks like this one:
It was a warm day but not toasty and I was forced to wonder how the poor dears would be getting along if it were really hot. Summer hot... Other boaters just abandon their rides and there they sit, not rotting because fiberglass doesn't rot, in the mangroves:
As I leaned on the parapet of the bridge enjoying the afternoon sun I saw a couple of boaters doing something weird in the water. He seemed to be towing her across the current as she hung on for dear life. But as the perspective changed it looked more like she was pushing him:
I never did see the end of it so I expect they made it home, wherever that is. Home used to be under the bridge itself to a group of homeless people who flew the flag from the bridge, a sign of patriotism perhaps but it didn't do them any good. Old Glory is gone as is their encampment under the bridge:.jpg)
Other people complained about the people living there and several agencies intervened and now the space is empty. Weirdly enough they've left the trash can down by the water and there is of course plenty of trash still lying around but of regular upstanding citizens not a one, even though the area has been cleared of undesirables in an attempt to render it park-like...and I have to say the prospect out under the bridge is fairly gloomy even on a bright sunny day:.jpg)
The only other thing the social deviants left behind from their life under the bridge was bumper stickers glued on the water pipe, another slice of keys history:.jpg)
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And then, once across the bridge and in Key West one reaches the triangle, written about elsewhere. A right turn (don't stop at the yield PLEASE!!) on North Roosevelt and the "business district" or take a left on A1A, South Roosevelt to Smathers Beach. The choice is yours when you are approaching Key West..jpg)
My wife has been having a string of bad luck with her health lately so it looks like a summer of doctor's visits and some surgery. None of it is life threatening though all of it is annoying. We are still paying for our share of surgery on her wrist last year to correct a bone spur. Luckily we have decent health insurance, I through the city, she through the school district, yet the wrist surgery set us back six thousand as yet not debased US dollars. And lo and behold the snotty surgeon Dr Ouelette's handiwork appears to have failed because suddenly without warning and with a brilliant flash of pain the bone popped back up, thusly:.jpg)
Our GP, Dr Norris wasn't any too happy when he went to inspect the errant bone which he found wobbled under his gentle touch:.jpg)
He scheduled an X-ray (ka-ching!) and checked her cyst on her head which needs to be drained (ka-ching!) and advised her on her shoulder surgery scheduled soon in Miami ( no ka-ching! as that's worker's comp and thus free to us). I'm having a colonoscopy this Wednesday because I'm 51 and it's past time ($512- ka-ching! even with insurance...) and so the paperwork will flow and we'll fight the insurance companies and on and on and on. God I hate our system..jpg)
When I suggested to Dr Norris it was time for single payer he looked hard at me and reminded me that had Natasha Richardson injured herself on a US ski slope there would have been a helicopter on stand by to take to her to a trauma center. As it was she was in Canada notorious home of single payer. Quite aside form the fact that she refused help for two hours...This whole business of medical expenses isn't much of an issue until you get sick but I get the creeps every time I see a grown human begging for money through a bake sale to stave off indigence through illness. .jpg)
In the US the insurance companies rule and they set the requirements for doctors. We pay the most of any industrialised nation per capita for our care, and to get that care we have to fight the active desire of our for-profit insurance companies to deny us health care. It's all too weird. And just like the bank bailouts the all powerful lobbyists get to spend our money to their advantage..jpg)
It's not all gravy for the doctors either, Medicare pays not very much, the paperwork is overwhelming and there are no solutions to any of it. Dr Norris is working all the hours god sends to make his way in the most expensive little town in the South. If you think I'm too gloomy about this painful subject , wait until it's your turn to get treatment and go bankrupt, or not to get treatment...and there it is. If single payer isn't the answer something else has to be because this system is helping turn us all into serfs, and we no longer have the money, or the credit we used to have to make our co-pays. Good luck.
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In 1885 Benjamin P Baker, a contractor and undertaker had his men build the house and they set to with a will. The author suggests in his/her deliciously dry nom-de-plume's voice that the workers were so relieved not to be building yet another coffin they added garlands and garnishes at every opportunity:.jpg)
J Wills Burke also suggests Baker's Lane is an ell-shaped half-street but it did a dead end for me in a straight line. Unlike many of the other 105 lanes in Key West, Baker's is relatively wide under its bower of natural shade:.jpg)
And it even provides off street parking. I could barely make out the tank on this elderly decomposing Harley:.jpg)
I don't doubt someone can identify this old MG down to the chassis number. I've seen it parked on Elizabeth Street for some time, its splendid Triumph Bonneville green color getting a bit faded in the sun:.jpg)
It is a roost for local wildlife and I hope it continues to run, it sounds and looks quite magnificent in motion. Less magnificent as a perch:.jpg)
Incorporation of wildlife seems very much part of the scene for peaceful Baker's Lane. Including guard cats of assorted shapes and ages:.jpg)
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And if you have a tree blocking your property line you just deal with it:.jpg)
They used to build quite a fair bit in limestone rock and there are plenty of examples around town. I always like to snag a picture when I'm in the neighborhood:.jpg)
And evocative porches abound on Baker's Lane as they should:.jpg)
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And then there is still at least one visible example of Old Florida jalousie windows, the type that open out with a handle you push on:.jpg)
My home has 1980's versions of the same and very slick they are too as you can leave them open at quite a wide angle in the strongest of rains and they keep the water out. Except in summer of course when the central air cools the house a treat. These shutters do the same with intrusive sunlight:.jpg)
You can't stroll Baker's Lane without being asked to think, even by the boring old municipal trash cans:.jpg)
And there was the obligatory stained glass window bearing a message I struggled to interpret. Possibly "Celtic Christian Poofs Rock" ? It seemed a rather mixed message at best, but delightfully bold and cheerful a splash of color, irresistible to my simple minded pocket camera..jpg)
Further up I saw another slightly odd message suggesting the recipient could be in two places at once:.jpg)
Which was extra confusing to me as I could see at least three ringers...Whoever it was has money to burn, literally, in these tough economic times. Foreclosure does not appear to have struck Baker's Lane and there was a refreshing absence of For Sale signs. Indeed it would he hard to descend to live among mere mortals after a period of residence in what is an Olympian lane:.jpg)
All green and everything even if the porch light is left on at all hours:.jpg)
Back to the tedium and noise of Conch Trains and people and stuff on Elizabeth Street. Oh but wait! Is that a Bonneville I see parked at the curb and waiting for me...I can tear myself away from Baker's Lane on that.
I was back over at Jiri's JK Motorsports on Stock island at the beginning of the week. The Bonneville needed new tires:
Yes, I know it's only smooth in the middle but that's because I live in frost-free south Florida where the roads are straight. Did I mention one can ride year round without electric hand warmers? My wife found me a mileage only airline ticket to Italy for late June so I'm off to the land of mountains (Umbria) for ten days and I expect to rent a motorcycle and take in a few mountain curves with my childhood buddy Giovanni, to make up for the flatness and straightness of Florida. Anyway my defensiveness aside, I was shooting the breeze with Jiri and he was working on a rather ratty looking Vulcan cruiser:
"I've got to get this thing out of here" he puffed in his Czech-accented English, "it's been here since August." Apparently the owner has other motorcycles but decided this one had to have another go on the road. I started to take pictures as I contemplated the life of a barely loved motorcycle:
The front brake doesn't work, and though Jiri got the carbs working there's no more than an oil change for this 25,000 mile old work horse. You can see it's been sitting for a good long while:
And there was no oil change allowed for the hardworking drive shaft. Pitted chrome? No problem! 
You don't need a front lever if the brake doesn't work!
I hold a grudging admiration for someone who can ride without really caring what the machine looks like. Personally I'm one of those fussy people who likes things to work, so I tend to change the tires on the less bald side of necessary, and I enjoy seeing all that fat new rubber on my rims:
My front rotor is showing some wear, why I'm not sure as I have been keeping up with the need to replace the pads, but I expect a few more months of this rotor and I will have a new one, at the next major service:
I find it to be a highly enjoyable luxury to have someone else do the grunt work, especially as I enjoy my own line of work. Jiri has the tools and the patience and I have the time (and income) to let him have his way with the Bonneville:
All this got me to pondering the care and feeding of motorcycles. The Vulcan has just 1,000 more miles on the clock than my Triumph:
The thing about a machine like this is that at the end of the workday it was parked outside Jiri's shop ready to go, as ready as it will ever be I suppose. But it will get ridden and used as a motorcycle. Captain Outrageous's creations are becoming artworks to hoard but he created paintings on vehicles for the opposite effect.I saw this survivor at Home Depot:
Someone asked for an essay on captain Outrageous a while back but it's not something i can do. He died a while back, after switching lives from that of a fast paced northerner to a laid back Key Wester and discovering along the way he had remarkable talents. Whenever I see his scooters/bicycles/cars around town I will photograph them but his story is over, unhappily for him. Luckily for us owners of his mobile artwork still use it. More prosaically owners of rat bikes worry less about their paint and more about getting around. I'm not sure what constitutes a rat bike but I think the essence of it is that the motorcycle is a machine with less regard for the niceties of chrome and paint and that whatever it is it needs to get ridden. I'm not sure this older Harley-chain driven- qualifies exactly but I liked seeing the rag stuffed in the carburettor and the points (points! remember points?) exposed:
Or this Sportster with a nicely placed flag flapping in the rider's face to remind him which country he rides in:
There's miles of motorcycles outside Jiri's shop waiting for parts or attention. And his young helper Mikey is soon to depart for the Carolinas, following his girlfriend to her studies at Durham. Meanwhile he pushes the scooter in for it's turn on the table:
He graduated the Harley and Kawasaki motorcycle school in Arizona and Jiri looked gloomy at his prospects for replacing him.
He went one step further and added a delightfully curved back rest made out of wood, and nicely done:
Too bad his tire's going flat, doubtless from waiting for parts, which will be a problem for all lesser supported brands. If there was a decent dealer for Moto Guzzi in South Florida I might have contemplated bringing a California Vintage into my life. I've never heard anything good about support for my favorite Italian brand so it was a no brainer to go with my parallel twin and I am very happy I chose the Bonneville, which is well supported! A lot of people wouldn't think of a 50cc Vespa ET2 as a rat bike but in Key West needs must...
And does anyone remember the short lived Pagsta craze, small framed, four speed 100cc choppers? this owner does:
A nice Honda Rebel 250 is no passing fad, these bikes have been around for decades unchanged, and a nice air cooled parallel twin is as good as a BMW for some people in these low latitudes:
Jiri regarded this next one with reverence, definitely not a rat bike, a Hondapotamus (ref Allen Madding), complete with bra on the front, just like a car, with stereo and all the accessories, including a Butler brand cup holder:
To each his own, one has to say philosophically, but if I want cup holders I drive my car. As I wandered off to waste time taking pictures while waiting for my reshod Triumph I saw two youngsters leaving the store. Their intensity, bowed heads and motorcycle lust reminded me of me years ago:
Let's face it,all you really need is an engine and two wheels. All the rest is gravy.
Robert and Dolly had it all planned and they instructed us to meet them for dinner at Mattheessens 4th of July where we had burgers fries and ice cream. Mattheesens on White Street is a replica of a restaurant dear to the heart of post World War Two Conchs who remember the original restaurant in the city and this one apparently does a creditable job of imitating it with a soda fountain and the ice cream and so forth. We heard about Robert's brush with death on a modest ski slope wherein he dislocated his shoulder five minutes after trying to launch himself on his skis, and like any self respecting Key Wester he retired from the fray to self medicate and wish for warmer climes."At least he got to see snow," Dolly said as though that were a good thing. Robert really must love her a lot as she is quite fond of Utah's ski slopes... and they will reappear in their future together.
The Armory on White Street is no longer used to drill the home guard or anything like that. The big cream colored building is devoted to Art and is home to a collection of artistic endeavors and actual artists, eleven of them apparently, in a group calling itself The Studios of Key West. I checked their website tskw.org which is irritatingly short of useful information but they have big plans and have all the usual suspects in the high profile/small pond artistic patronage department of the Southernmost City behind them so hopefully they will be around for a while. They probably had a jamboree opening last year and I failed to notice because artistic stuff comes and goes like lightning strikes in an expensive desirable little town like Key West. I'm going back for more next year when the snowbirds are back and demanding Culture, because TSKW, however awkward their acronym, put on a good show. The place was packed by the time we got to kick off at 8pm.
According to one of the presenters organizers had blanketed the guest houses around town for the event and people turned out in droves to see this singer of whom I had never heard. This tactic may have looked successful from the stage but it was a disaster for me. Imagine the two loudest most drunk heckler sin the room happened to take the chairs right behind mine. Now I'm pretty sure one of the witches was a big fan of his because she kept caterwauling at the artists to perform a song called "Burgundy" such that before the last song he politely told her it wasn't part of his repertoire and she grunted like a stuck pig. So did I, but heroically, under my breath. I am one of those obnoxious people who will come up to you if you are talking in a movie and will stare in your face and not very politely ask you to 
It was a pity because this Wilcox character is quite the performer. He sings, plays the guitar, tunes it endlessly between songs like a nervous oboe-ist in an orchestra, and packs his songs with imagery and allusions such that one has to really listen to get the most of it. "Did you stay awake?" Stephanie, a friend we happened upon at the performance, asked from the seat in front. I explained I was struggling to listen and she smirked. I think she enjoyed the fact I was sitting right in front of the harridan with the alcohol problem. I took a picture of Stephanie's rather fetching hat:
There was another dude with a cool hat outside on the street waiting for the concert to begin, and I snapped his picture before the light went away. Just for something to do you understand:
It was a fine concert and I'm sure Wilcox is all over the Internet where he will be seen and heard if like me, you have no idea who he is. One of his songs considered the problem of Jerusalem (!) and he allegorised the issue as three brothers getting a shared inheritance which was very thought provoking.In another song he compared our plunging economy to another opportunity to re-open the frontier, for us all to become pioneers, to open up to risk and adventure which was an image I plan to hold close in the months ahead. He also, in a tour-de-force asked an audience member to speak upon a subject of importance and he would write a song. That notion agitated the drunk behind me, I can tell you, and before she could get her oar in a woman across the room told a brave story about her therapist falling in love with her. Wilcox strummed his guitar (the drunk settled into a loud accompanying burble) and came up with a remarkable image of a man on the banks of a river filled with a log jam and his inappropriate love drowning him in the stream.I hate audience participation, I'd rather castrate myself than participate, but this effort was surprisingly effective. This was part of the auditorium in the intermission. Wilcox sang for more than two hours.
I don't doubt a more competent review than mine will appear in Solares Hill this Sunday as it's editor Mark Howell, sat next to me for the first half of the concert. Unhappily he wasn't there for the second half with the participatory composition which was a highlight for me. Howell spoke briefly to me and expounded on his Welsh ancestry (identifying me on the fly as a member of the English oppressor class, as well as a fellow immigrant- all in one!). He scribbled notes frantically in the dark reminding me happily of my former days of journalism as I luxuriated in the music, and the mental images of slow painful deaths I could dream up for the howling dypsomaniac in the row behind me.
I haven't had a gardening update for a while so here is a view of my Victory Garden, or Obamagarden for those inclined to view this dig for victory thing with some scepticism. I read last week that Michelle Obama got dug in at the White House but we here on Ramrod Key aren't just followers of fashion in these things I've been trying to grow my own vegetables for months.
My original attempt located the beds I built underneath my stilt house putting the seeds and plants too far out of the sun, especially in the heart of winter so I relocated the beds into the so-far empty lot next to my house. This has been a Very Good Thing.
I was eyeing the cauliflowers wondering about making some cauliflower cheese such as I enjoyed as a child in England. My wife who has not enjoyed the benefits of English boarding school life and grew up in Palo Alto California looked a bit dubious at my suggestion.
These canal side lots used to be worth anything up to $400,000 in the recent bubble economy before American International Group reduced us all to medieval serfdom and you can see my neighbors' boat trailers parked amidst the flourishing weedery in the middle of the lot. Elena came over to inspect the vegetables on a recent inspection trip to their canal home and she noted no one has been seen in the lot for years. Each spring I inspect the tax rolls hoping for a default but these people are all richer than God down here, especially when they don't actually live here.I am glad I get to borrow a small sliver of open space to test my growing prowess. My boat spends the winter on it's trailer firmly in my lot. My fruit trees are doing well:
I have had impressed upon me the importance of daily waterings so I bought a 25-foot extension hose and now i can water everything without using a watering can as an intermediary. That was a bit biblical, hauling water by hand, but I expect we should get used to it as a useful form of exercise in a post apocalyptic world. We'll be glad to have water then, never mind carrying it around like donkeys. The trees themselves have shown exciting signs of life (exciting if you are into this kind of thing). A large flower on the pomegranate, my birthday gift from Dolly:
As well as flowers on the Key Lime and the lemon tree:
I find it about as hard to photograph plants as I do to grow them, but here for what it's worth are flowers:
Tomatoes have not been the rip roaring success we had hoped. Most people grow these things almost by accident, in spite of themselves as it were. We don't, so my wife went to the Big Pine Flea market last weekend and bought a couple of plants with specific instructions. Here goes nothing:
And when in Miami recently Target yielded this upside down planter which seems like cruelty to dumb friends but supposedly the tomato plant should be delighted to hang upside down. It was a struggle of Mr Bean proportions to get the bag filled with dirt, tomato plant and hanging:
My two pineapple cuttings given to me by Lisa seem to enjoy their sunnier surroundings. One is a slug and not actually producing anything, the other one is starting to show signs of potential fruit:
We also have a collection of potted herbs and stuff on the deck:
(the porch light was on in the background because I was leaving for work and I turn the lights off downstairs so I can turn them on at 6:30 in the morning when I get home. In case you were wondering). My wife also got a lettuce plant at the Flea Market and we stuck that in a pot. It hasn't quite got going yet though I hope it will revive soon:
My jack fruit gown from seeds of a a fruit I ate at Fairchild gardens last winter are doing well. This one got a chunk eaten by that thrice damned iguana but apparently it's not to the lizard's taste happily:
So there we have it.Not exactly a survival garden if it was ever supposed to be.Lean times would be upon us had we to survive on this lot, though I suppose we would have to find out if iguana meat really does taste like chicken. On the subject of taste's like chicken, it's that time of year, snowbirds are out hiking up and down the street looking very busy:Another month and it will be peace and quiet again (they will have left for Up North) except for the sounds of thudding coconuts:
That will probably end up being our survival food, coconuts and grunts, which are fish. Which reminds me, my wife and I have sworn we are going to learn to kill fish for food this summer. That should be hilarious, we've each killed fish before and found nothing to enjoy about it. I prefer mine on Cuban bread at Sandy's Cafe. I like civilization. Damn AIG!
From time to time it happens that we look after a friend's dog and we enjoy it very much but each time we also enjoy getting back to an empty house once again. I fear I tend to prefer the company of dogs to people and the fact that we haven't rescued a dog from the pound makes me feel guilty when I know there ar eso many thta could use good homes. However the work involved in keeping a dog and the emotional commitment feels overwhelming... 
I take great pleasure in wandering the back country, but this winter I find the dry season is almost over and I've hardly done much wandering at all. It's shocking how time flies, so it was an extra pleasure to clump around in the mangroves under Florida's Big Skies with Emma. We walked out to an old dumping ground in the wilderness. A few years ago this trailer was parked upright but someone took the time to tip it on it's side; Emma found it fascinating:
We found all sorts of trash showed up around the trailer, like this wheel and even a sea buoy:
This sign said: No Dumping. Fat chance sez I.
I had a similar reaction to this one, though I doubt it was a serious offer in a semi submerged National Wildlife Reserve:
One thing that did puzzle me was where did all the broken glass come from? I guess the heaping mounds of trash all over the back country are testament to the inefficiency of the waste removal system or the frugal nature of earlier Keys residents who would rather foul up their back yards than pay to dispose of this stuff. Still the carpet of glass was quite intriguing, all those bottles:
These waterways are no longer a mystery to me or long time readers of this endless blog. In two words:mosquito control. Apparently they dug out the little canals, and put fish in them that eat mosquito larvae and that hibernate in the mud during dry season. Apparently someone planned a development in this most unpropitious spot:
I was, it turned out properly attired for the wet conditions, though thorns have a habit of penetrating the soles of the clogs and they hurt when they work their way through the rubber:
And there in the distance was the Maxima, ready to haul us home to refreshing cups of tea (me) and cold water (Emma):
Th pity of the dog is that it interferes with one's ability to ride a motorcycle. And no, I'm not yet ready for a side car, thanks for offering.
A beautiful spring afternoon in Key West and there I was with the car, picking up a dog for a friend and with nowhere particular to be, so I pulled out the camera on South Roosevelt Boulevard:
The great avalanche of Harleys is only rarely interrupted by the odd Honda Goldwing or a gaggle of "serious cruisers" riding BMW motorcycles equipped as though they were on an Andean expedition. Sometimes people rumble into town on three wheelers:
Of course it wouldn't be Key West without a few scooters and owing to the fact that I had positioned myself on South Roosevelt most of them were rentals as far as I could tell:
Scooter rentals come in gaggles too:
At least this lot wasn't honking their horns in the usual obnoxious manner. Youngsters like to look cool on their rides:
Others ride with their Dads and they wear helmets:
The only other helmet I saw that afternoon was covering this gent's noggin, who appeared to be seeking out the Khyber Pass in his colonial topee, rather than simply taking a constitutional under the Florida sun:
This dude was wearing a cool beanie as he passed Rescue Three on the inside:
I know a lot of people get their knickers in a twist over All The Gear All The Time, especially new riders, but in Florida anyone 21 years of age or older who has medical insurance can ride without a helmet so lots of people puttering around town do their thing helmet free:
This guy was riding his sport bike most nonchalantly with only one hand, probably because he is human and finds the crouched riding position of a sport bike tiring. It amazes new riders that motorcycles can be ridden with one hand only. But there you are, helmet-less one handed and enjoying the afternoon, and I don't want to hear it from the peanut gallery thank you. Snow bound Canadians need to remember we can only afford to bailout banks in the US. Single payer health care is too expensive, so we recover from motorcycle wrecks with bake sales and bankruptcy:
Well they are riding bicycles, it's true, but bicycle helmets are rare as hen's teeth in Key West, usually only seen on visitors. I have no idea why.
I have been reading about the excessively long winter with snow and all that stuff. Personally I have no idea why there isn't a line out the door of people heading south with resumes in hand, but I am told some people enjoy different seasons. I do too, pretty soon we'll be in rainy season which transmogrifies into hurricane season and then into snowbird season and so on. Instead of wondering if you can ride on snow you could be chatting up a neighbor on the seawall overlooking the Straits of Florida:
Or riding your scooter in shirt sleeves:
Or hauling your wife around in shirt sleeves:
And yes I know there are sandals visible on some feet in the picture. I remember reading on a scooter forum once about someone considering a trip to key West but she decided not to come because she thought she would look stupid dressed up in ATGATT (all the gear etc...) which is silly because no one cares what you wear. I even end up on Duval Street after my commute sometimes in my jacket and helmet and stuff and so what?
There are other ways of getting around that can be classified as unsafe. Running your boat aground is a pain and can be expensive. How this flush decked sailboat drifted into the shallows I don't know- a sleepy captain or a dragging anchor are likely culprits- but the owner of the casino boat at that has broken loose repeatedly around the harbor may get landed with an $84,000 fine to pay for the removal of his errant boat. This boat may be lucky if there's a high enough tide making an expensive tow unnecessary:
If you're a risk taker you can trying getting around on foot but that didn't work for me too well when I tripped and scabbed my knee a few weeks ago and which only now has almost healed...
Failing that there are electric cars, the cute kind:
Or the more mundane, if slightly more dignified kind of electric car: 
I was contemplating the beauty of the water glistening in the Straits of Florida when my reverie was rudely interrupted by more people having fun, and they too were helmetless I might add:
Just like this guy still cruising his sport bike...
...or this woman with that magnificent back drop:
Better that than bottled up and bored in a car:
I guess that fact that I was driving the Nissan made me a little sensitive to all the people out having fun on two wheels. 
Casa Marina Court by night is quite tropical and lush, even more so than by day, and wandering this street at two in the morning on a lunch break is a healthy reminder of that:
Casa Marina's boundaries are a bit vague, but like pornography which is said to be equally hard to define, you'll know it when you see it:
And so, time to stop playing tourist with the camera and get back to work.
Because we had to go to Miami my wife decided we should spend a little extra time in and around the metropolis so she booked us a room at the Redland Hotel in Homestead. Homestead is a sprawling suburban city surrounded by farms and nurseries in the rich soil that used to grow oranges where Miami sprawl currently lurks. Indeed the Redland Hotel owes it's name to the color of the soil in that part of the world- at least according to the Historical Marker plunked down in the hotel parking lot:
We had driven by the Redland Hotel many times on our way to our favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, Los Nopalitos at Mowry at Krome in downtown Homestead, and every time we passed the old hotel I mentioned how much fun it might be to stay there...so she called my bluff and reserved us a ninety dollar room. I mean, look at the facade at wouldn't you want to stay there?
...an entirely adequate room complete with television and wi-fi Internet connection and the all-important adjoining bathroom...
...with adjoining expansive balcony, even though the view is only that of industrial roofs:
The view of the surrounding streets is no great shakes either:
But the front door has a nice way of separating the interior from the wasteland outside:
Which is advertised as an Argentine Steak House. We took the sampler grill at $29 for two and it was enough meat for a small army:
Steaks of various cuts, three kinds of sausage (including blood pudding) chicken and pork all piled up and sizzling. It was overwhelming and delicious as were the entirely unnecessary mashed potatoes, but fortunately for us the hotel provides a to-go box:
The only other occupants of the weeknight restaurant was a party of four English birdwatchers, I think, rather odious people making snide remarks about the colonial lifestyle on this side of the pond and laughing, or rather braying like loud horses as they tried to sort out in their avian brains the differences between England and America. They reminded me of people I'd rather forget from my childhood. You'd have been proud of me: I said not a word but chewed my Argentine steak, forcefully but silently, exhibiting better manners than they.
My wife, who tends to be critical about these things, found the bed to be entirely comfortable and I slept the sleep of the just. The next morning the repulsive bird watchers were infesting the parking lot with nary a polite word between them but it was a fine day to be out and about. We waved to the old Homestead jail as we drove by after loading up on cereal and fruit in the dining room:
And made a pact to drag Lisa and Josh out here for a night of meat and alcohol at the Redland Hotel, in Homestead. Who would've thunk?
According to J Wills Burke's book Streets of Key West the Catholic portion of the city cemetery was added in 1861...
...and just over the fence lies a little stub of a lane called by the same name:
Catholic Lane has but a few houses off Angela Street which runs alongside the cemetery fence,in a one way direction out of town, towards White Street:
The view from the lane is one of fencing and the most peaceful of neighbors, the dead. And coincidentally, scooters:
The lane itself is typical of the Old Town half block dead ends that litter Key West. Most passersby probably only ever catch a glimpse of the lane as there is a stop sign on Angela Street across the entrance, which has to be annoying to residents with sensitive ears, as the cars stop noisily and start up again in succession at that same spot. My wife says I am overly sensitive to noise so I am probably exaggerating the effect for normal people. The rest of the lane is delightfully peaceful:
Not forgetting snowbirds parking their bicycles:
The lane itself dead ends into a white picket fence and a bunch of bougainvillea:
Off to one side a giant tree overpowers the houses underneath:
While on the other side of the lane was a charming wooden cottage:
With a mailbox that looked equally charming if less useful:
And in the front yard a plant I don't see much of in Key West, a geranium, which in Italy where I grew up was said to be off-putting to snakes:
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The really suave thing about this house, aside from the OSP (off street parking) is that on the other side it faces Gonzalez Lane, a lane so uninteresting and short even I cannot create an essay to describe it. One photograph will suffice:.jpg)
The nice thing about this section of Angela Street is the assortment of greenery:.jpg)
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And all along the north side of Angela is the black iron fence protecting the Navy housing which used to be open space years ago until the navy reclaimed it. In yesterday's essay I mentioned the movie Criss Cross, and so it is today as the old Peary Court was the back drop to a night time baseball game played in the movie. These days Peary Court is just another housing development, where people apparently ride motorcycles:.jpg)
And raise children:.jpg)
Outside Peary Court, back on Angela Street there is the usual mixture of housing,usual for Key West that is:.jpg)
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This next house used to be surrounded by a high wall of greenery, some sort of flourishing vine but it has been stripped away and the air of mystery that used to surround this place has been ripped away with it. Oh well:.jpg)
Amazingly enough I saw the two jet skies on their trailer with a sapling growing up between them. Inertia on a grand scale..jpg)
And talking of stripping away the old Moose Lodge on Eisenhower at Angela has started a renovation campaign, with paint and yard work and new signs proclaiming this to be a family friendly club. Which is weird because all it ever was, was a place to drink in the dark. They used to have a big mural of a moose on the wall but that too is gone:.jpg)
Leaving a bland facade in it's place. You can spice up almost anything with a Triumph Bonneville:.jpg)
Another lovely sunny day in Key West, hot but not yet humid. .jpg)
When Searstown came into existence in the 1960's it was a huge innovation for the little fishing village at the end of the highway. The land here was fill created to help the railroad cross from Cow Key Channel to Trumbo Point where the ferries waited to take passengers to Havana. It's hard to imagine but New Town after World War Two was a bucolic open space with fields and dairy cows criss crossed by little white gravel lanes and the occasional home. This photo I found of Flagler's Casa Marina Hotel, the "other" railroad destination in Key West, at keyshistory.org a fascinating site well worth checking out:
Almost since it's inception in the early 19th century, Key West had been a city of twelve or thirteen thousand inhabitants clustered around the harbor on the western edge of the island. Then development came, with a vengeance and the shopping mall appeared, heralding the creation of New Town and boosting the population across the whole island to around 25,000. .jpg)
Ah yes, Publix, where shopping is a pleasure..."You have a Publix here?" was the indignant question from a friend visiting from mainland Florida, as though the intrusion of sophisticated grocery store chains was beyond Key West's ken even in the 21st century. I shrugged. Yup, and we have drive-through ("thru") fast food too, and some people get their food by driving thru:.jpg)
Visit Key West, wander no further east than Simonton Street from your Duval Street mega hotel, perhaps if you are daring, take a bike ride to White Street but let Sears remain outside your consciousness. The tawdry reality of ordinary people doing ordinary shopping will wreck the pirate stories told and retold at the bars downtown:.jpg)
Searstown is one of three big (relatively big) shopping centers which also include Key Plaza (KMart, possibly going out of business, Radio Shack Office Max and Blockbuster among national chains) and Overseas Market (Winn Dixie, Ross, Pier One, TGI Friday's) all lined up along the Boulevard (North Roosevelt). I suppose Key West would be more charming without them but really choices are limited enough this far from anywhere it would be a shame to force them out, and locals, Conchs most especially, people who hate driving up the Keys, would I have no doubt rise up in arms. There's a six screen mainstream theater at the Regal, another facility geared to youngsters who have "nothing to do in Key West":.jpg)
Some people really like deliveries from China Garden West (for those too exhausted to drive three miles from Simonton Street there is another China Garden at Fleming Street and a third on Big Pine Key, 30 miles north). Every Publix in Florida boasts a Chinese restaurant next door in every plaza I've ever seen. Key West is no exception: .jpg)
I am surprised how much I enjoy the occasional meal at Outback, efficient service, quiet televisions (which I hate in bars and restaurants and waiting rooms) and decent prices. I could pay four times as much at a fancy place downtown but I have a living to earn. Conchs love their sports so it's no surprise there is a chain sports equipment store, another facility for kids who have "nothing to do" in Key West:.jpg)
I've never been inside Champs but I do visit Conch Scoops, the coffee shop next door to Outback and Quiznos in this end of the shopping center. .jpg)
My wife and I frequently get a cafe con leche before I go to work and she drives home. Yvonne's family has lived here for generations and she knows how to make a Conch con leche which I can only have when my wife's not around as it involves sweetened condensed milk...Sears has an auto repair facility....jpg)
...and a garden center as well.jpg)
And the City buses as well as the Lower Keys Shuttle buses to Marathon stop in front of Publix:.jpg)
I look out across the expanse of this development and wonder what the scattered few residents of these fields would think if they could come back and take a look themselves a hundred years later..jpg)
It's easy to grumble about development but one has to consider too the fact that we get to live longer and in many ways with greater ease than previously. Perhaps I am getting more sensitive to the issue as I grow older myself, but I see a difference between these shopping plazas and the creation of million dollar condos. Like it or not Searstown provides services for people who live here..jpg)
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As the world economy shrinks I wonder what the Key West population will look like in the years to come, perhaps more wealthy visitors and retirees with a smaller population of civil servants to wait on them hand and foot... and I wonder what sort of job prospects there will be for the youngsters, who love their mainland fashions and their electronic devices..jpg)
Searstown has the necessaries resembling those of the mainland, the peninsula where home values have plummeted and people are reportedly leaving in droves. We have fast food:.jpg)
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Alternative "banks":.jpg)
Which businesses are part of a little strip mall inside the Searstown Mall called Peacock Plaza:.jpg)
But here in the Keys things only appear to resemble elsewhere because some things are done in a particular way. I occasionally read the Internet scooter forums where people new to riding marvel at their vehicles' abilities to carry a load. They post excited photographs showing how they make useful work horses out of their exotic Italian rides. In Key West a scooter is a daily ride, no muss no fuss for riders of all ages:.jpg)
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In another month the snowbirds will retreat and take their money with them to hot sticky cities across the north, and we will be left to fill the spaces left behind. Parking will magically reappear, the complaints column in the paper will stop reporting on issues of crowding and will revert to more interesting political sniping and from the parks many of the seasonal homeless will also depart in the other, less noticed migration:.jpg)
And for those away and thinking about Key West they can watch Goldie Hawn's Criss Cross and see if they can spot this location:
In the movie Hawn takes off her clothes there, but I'm advised this is in real life just another place to go drinking. Perhaps it's emblematic of the Keys, the islands are what you want them to be, whether real or not.
I parked the Bonneville in a motorcycle spot on Frances Street planning to stroll over to Nassau Lane to take some pictures. Imagine my surprise when it occurred to me I had already done that, and in fact using the "search" function at the top of the page I found the essay posted last December 18th 2008. Well bugger, I thought. This blog really has been going on too long. It was with some trepidation I went to Roberts Lane for a back up plan and honestly I couldn't remember for the life of me if I had taken pictures there or only thought about it. So I took some more. 
Fortunately the same "search"function revealed no previous entries by this name so here we are, off Frances Street between Southard and Angela, a stone's throw from the cemetery. Indeed Google Maps shows Roberts almost connecting with Catholic Lane, though in fact they don't seem to join without crossing private property...
I could hear sounds of construction coming from the house though I was discouraged from approaching as I overheard a most unusual conversation, as I stood on tip toe, out of sight) I hoped!). One male voice said: " I don't see why they'd come after me.I never killed anyone." Which is quite devastating as the opening gambit in any conversation when followed up by the next statement to his companion in physical labor: "It wasn't like I killed anyone,"he went on: "I was just the book keeper to the mob." Which had me interested. It didn't seem like he was in the witness protection program, though why would he be laboring instead of living off his ill gotten gains? Maybe rebuilding a home on Roberts Lane is deep cover? Like the sailors in HMS Pinafore I with caution feeling, softly stole away...to enjoy some of the architectural gems of this tiny lane:
It is traditional in Key west to paint the eaves over the porches in this or similar shade of blue. supposedly it keeps away insects, and more esoterically, spirits as well.
I am a big fan, as are insurance companies, of metal roofs which provide the strongest hurricane protection and I particularly enjoy the old style metal roof, almost scalloped looking like this:
Roberts Lane is also filled with Art which gave my wander an added fillip:
Roberts Lane has a little intrigue of it's own in J Wills Burke's book Streets of Key West where he discusses a Roberts Lane off Caroline Street. From what I can gather that would be the alley way alongside Los Cubanitos Marine hardware store which never had a name as far as I knew but on Google maps it shows as Roberto Lane which may be what Burke is referring to in some geographic cosmic mix up. Or not.
Burke's Roberts referred to any one of three historical figures, a "colored Sheriff" or a "colored businessman" weirdly enough a friend of Stephen Mallory, Secretary of the Confederate Navy. Ina any event the lane is here and not there nowadays. Very pretty it is too, off Frances Street:
And there on Frances runs the dreaded Conch Train blathering its endless repetitive spiel at 5 miles per hour (8km/h):
One needs the Conch Train as a reminder that this is Key West, not Paradise.
This spot is where the city of Key West actually has it's outer limits. North Stock Island was annexed by the city to make way for a golf course and related gated housing development and the northernmost lane of Highway One is in the city of Key West (as is College Road).
The other three lanes and the median strip are in Monroe County. Which means that if this runner were to get heat stroke he would be attended by a city ambulance. 
If he were across the street (where there is no bike path) it would be a county ambulance. Very confusing and completely uninteresting I'm sure. Just one of those oddities that strike the mind of a dispatcher. The Burger King is in the county, as is the big empty lot next to it. The lot was to have been developed by the indefatigable Spottswoods who felt the community needed yet another strip mall hereabouts. The damaged economy saved us the excrescence, the lot is for sale happily:
So what could that bright white light be that beckons from across the street?
Is probably not the liquor store, the place where you come for alcohol if you are desperate of a Sunday morning before lunch (!?) and can't wait for the city liquor counters to open up, when the Blue Laws relent at noon and permit such reckless behavior:
No, the bright white light is in fact our favorite chicken place, available on Stock Island of course:
And if you need gas 24 hours you can check out the Chevron at Mile Marker 5 more or less, awkward to get into if you are headed into Key West (where the other Chevron at White Street is also open all night as is the Citgo). This is the Chevron at the intersection of MacDonald Avenue: 
The approach to the Cow Key Bridge, the only bridge into the city proper, is a series of light industrial businesses, mechanics and the like, lining the southern side of the highway. It's not pretty but it is useful:
Not forgetting the all important Harley Davidson rental shop at Hurricane Hole Marina:
And with your rented Harley you too could join the hordes of lookalike cruisers parading up and down the Overseas Highway: 
I am forced to concede that cruisers make sense, for those with extra tough tailbones, in a state noted for it's flatness and straightness but I sure would like to see a little more variety on the streets of key West... And then, back on the road, we come to the bridge itself at Mile Marker Four, the place where the city really starts:
The last four miles of the Overseas Highway down to Fleming and Whitehead Streets are in the city and this is the formal notice of the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning if you are going the other way...
With an important reminder from your friends at Key West PD:
Should you choose to ignore the advice there is free board and lodging available at the Stock Island Hilton where they throw in a free body cavity search with registration. On the other hand should you find yourself needing to settle down in delightful Key West there us at least one bank with money to spare:
I was rather surprised to see the banner looking so cheerful on the way out of town, but there it is. Some banks apparently aren't in distress; we should all be so lucky.
My wife called me Mister Doom and Gloom last week and forbade me from speaking about the plummeting economy in her presence. That was before the wife of the Superintendent of Schools (he who is her boss ultimately) had to resign her position as head of Adult Education in a rather unseemly hurry. Apparently she stands accused of misuse of her school district purchasing card and the Superintendent's enemies on the Board are now ramping up to get rid of him as well. So all in all it has been a stressful time for those of us married to people working in the school district, a place rampant with speculation and gossip at the moment. And none of that uncertainty or angst has anything to do with me or my fears about the economic future. The economy generally still sucks though, and I'm still pretty grumbly about it. I wish I could declare myself a bank and get free money. And then claim I was "profitable." Enough of that though or my wife will spank me.
On the other hand the Bonneville with 23,500 miles is rolling along nicely. I took a few pictures on Rockland Key at Mile Marker Nine recently and as they were for no particular purpose I labelled them as random pictures. I pulled over on Rockland because traffic on the Overseas Highway was all backed up, the evening commute was in full swing and getting stuck at the sewer works on nearby Big Coppitt Key, and I wasn't in the mood to do any stop-and-go so I turned off the highway altogether and took pictures instead:
I'm going to do an essay later on Rockland Key which has some points of interest but for the moment I contented myself with standing around admiring the setting sun and the salt flats. And the gigantic cargo plane taking off from nearby Boca Chica Naval Air Station:
The Navy base guards itself with heavy green fencing and I was quite surprised to see that Rockland Key's few streets are something in the manner of a peninsula surrounded by Navy land:
Further across the salt ponds I could see a roof, a rather intriguing splash of red amongst the green and blue:
Earlier in the day I had stopped off at Home Depot on North Roosevelt to get some painting supplies for a little project at home and I was put in mind of Irondad's thoughts about parking motorcycles (Musings of an Intrepid Commuter blog in my web list). You'd think with all the open spaces in the conveniently located motorcycle parking this Sportster rider could have figured it out. Not at all; he parked as though he were steering his large pick up truck:
On closer inspection the parking style wasn't the only oddity here, I've never seen stainless handle bar grips before, which probably speaks to my lack of familiarity with the Harley Davidson accessories catalogue:
I wonder how one rides in the rain without losing one's grip? Probably one doesn't ride in the rain is the answer to that futile query. I did see a man on a mission at Home depot and he was getting on with the business of being practical, hauling his load away:
I know, tut tut, no safety gear. I like it that some people in Key West use their two wheelers as practical means of transport, instead of just toys.
The shade of blue had a twinge of purple in it which was a bit off putting and the flames down the side looked decidedly puerile. I guess my inhibitions reinforce my desire to ride a staid Bonneville instead, I just don't have the nuts to exhibit myself on a Harley.
"What are you doing here?" was the question the officers directed at me as a I slunk down the sidewalks squeezing my camera as I went. "Lunch break" I pleaded the fifth.
"Learning to feel your pain," was my reply, as I remembered not to walk in the street. The Lieutenant had been adamant on the radio about the need to keep people out of the street- where taxis and scooters roam . It was a good experience for me to get out of the quiet serenity of the dispatch center, but I'm allergic to crowds.
Duval Street smelled like a brewery, filled with banshees squealing and yakking and managing somehow to carry on conversations,or if not conversations, the appearance of same:
Photography on Duval in that light was a bit of a challenge especially as all the targets were moving around frenetically, but I have never been a fan of the harsh light of a flash which makes everyone look like moles caught on a croquet lawn.
Night shift in dispatch at least has been quiet this winter and Spring break has made a lively change. But being out on the streets makes me glad it was just my lunch break and I could flee when my hour was up:
Officer Randy Smith was helping check id's at the entrance to Fogarty's:
The bucket drummer (he has a permit from the city to play upturned plastic buckets on Duval Street) was entertaining some lithe young women with a sense of rhythm:
And someone who is usually reliable, I can't remember quite who, told me this young woman won the bull riding contest at Cowboy Bills:
I seem to recall being slightly surprised she hadn't knocked herself out as she was a prosperous young thing. somehow by morning public works crews will be out mopping up the debris and rendering Duval Street fit once again for shopping to take place in the daylight hours:
I strolled past the Bull and it's hot dog stand unscathed,
But on my way back to the Bonneville at the end of Rose Lane I snagged the other hot dog cart at the other side of the intersection and I talked for a while with the vendor.
He told me sales are down by a fifth but he was happy with the Spring Break crowds. I guess we all should be, but boy they are tiring!
The great white pile that is the Fifth Street Baptist Church (the friendly church) looked very summery reflecting the sunlight like a giant wedding cake. The Bonneville looked good as usual I thought, but I would wouldn't I?
Fifth Street is a major connector between North Roosevelt and 
Across from the Yamaha shop is one the many Cuban delis that dot Key West, and I've heard some people claim that Kim's 
Fifth Street's saving grace, aside from convenience, are the trees and it has a few big ones casting their shade:
I saw a couple of homes I thought worth photographing, one covered in pink plaster and some distinctive fencing:
And this next one is sitting on little stilts, which would probably have been enough to spare it getting wet in Wilma, the great flood of 2005. New Town got hit particularly badly as did Bahama Village, and neither area is particularly endowed with raised housing. The Federal Government did have a plan to match funds to put houses on stilts but it costs tens of thousands of dollars. This manufactured home looks snug raised just a few feet:
Across the Street I saw a big old home looking large and solid flanked by some of my favorite palms, I've seen them at the botanical garden so I think I know they are Canary Island date palms. Though I don't think a date with them would be that interesting:
And the Baptist Church isn't the only one on Fifth Street. There is this Seventh Day Adventist Temple in Florida 1960's style: 
It was mid afternoon, under the broiling sun when I was out, not a snowflake in sight, and I saw these kids zipping by on a side street. I think its very cool that parents let their kids cycle freely around town. Hopefully they will soon get scooters and the motorcycle bug will never leave them:
And there was also a member of a lightly more mature generation taking his bicycle for a walk down Fifth Street:
Fifth Street is one of those annoying Key West Streets that suffers from two names (14
Super Mac, as he was labelled in England was known for his phrase, "You've never had it so good," as he told the British people after World War Two. Now you know. The name, Macmillan Drive is on the street sign but not on people's lips. It's Fifth Street for most residents. And here's the traffic light at 
An old timer pulled alongside and got a look of intense concentration on his face as he studied the Bonneville. I've seen that look before and pretty soon he started reminiscing about his racing days with a Triumph Trophy and the 500cc Speed Twin he rode on the streets. "Looks just the same as the 
This place always made an impression on me because, thanks to some architectural quirk you walked down a very long very narrow very dark corridor to get to the counter at the back of the building to drop of your wife's work clothes. And now it's for sale. we have to keep reminding ourselves change is good. 
I noted yesterday that Spring Break is in full force surprisingly busy and early this year which is all to the good in parlous economic times. I saw tons of youngsters when I rode by Smathers beach, out enjoying the sun and the shallow waters of the Straits of Florida, and getting tremendously active to boot.
It's a funny culture to me, the one where sex sells but sex is also vaguely improper and at the same traded almost like a commodity. Which one is the alpha male one wonders, that "gets lucky"? (horrid phrase):
Or with the excuse of taking the dog out for a walk one gets to enjoy the company of man's real best friend while checking out what's on offer:
Happily though for those of us so inclined the solitary pursuits are on offer all the same at Smathers Beach on a breezy spring afternoon:
Spring Break has struck Key West, and during the day the hard studying students refresh themselves at Smathers Beach on the south side of the island. Parking is a monstrous problem, but all those lovely meters, and the associated fines help relieve the city's $1.2 million dollar budget shortfall projected for next fiscal year.
I am completely unsuited to the study of young people and their mating, drinking and recreational habits, so for me wandering along South Roosevelt Boulevard this time of year is an alien experience:
One is supposed to find these youthful exuberant teenagers objects of desire, lost youth, innocence, unbridled lust, the capacity to suck down alcohol and remain upright in the burning Florida sun. All attributes lost to a 50 year old man wandering the sidewalk in long pants, a motorcycle jacket and an attitude of bemusement:
Even when I was their age (I was once!) I found no joy in sitting around on a beach getting drunk and obnoxious, you can imagine that these days I'm even less inclined to spend my time in the company of those desperate to be cool. On the other hand even a curmudgeon has to be able to appreciate certain things, and Jack Riepe notwithstanding, I offer these simply as a counterpoint to the gray and overcast and cold they have fled Up North:
Smathers Beach doesn't strike me as the finest beach in the world to relax upon but it is the best Key West has to offer and the youngsters take full advantage of it:
This year it seems like there are more Spring Breakers in town than in recent years past. Perhaps the funky economy works in Key West's favor over further flung, more exotic locations in Central America or Mexico. The fact is, the city is packed with young people chasing around on scooters, and the Overseas Highway is lined with small cars filled with bodies chasing the sun south. 
At work we've been busy with good old fashioned drunkenness on Duval street late at night, but there aren't the law enforcement support of years past, the special court at Old City Hall, roving patrols of State Alcohol enforcement types and such. I spotted a stretch of Smathers beach sidewalk that looked like it does much of the rest of the year, not crowded, and it was reminder of the rapid approach of summer:
Summer, is my favorite time of year, hot but not as hot as Arizona, humid but not too humid ( for me) and quiet. But not completely quiet. One has to hope Europeans will continue to visit despite the weakness of the Euro, last year 1:65 to the dollar, this year 1:25. But we have palm trees and a modicum of sand:
And lots of pictures, of which more tomorrow.
Naturally I arrived early and with time on my hands pulled out the camera. The Bonneville was looking good in the sun:
Hum-de-dum-de-dum,I thought, a bit like Pooh Bear as i stumped around wondering if there might not be honey lurking behind that weird looking porch. And by gum, there it was, a huge undiscovered hunny pot:
Across the walkway I found a business center I had not previously known existed. It was almost a houseboat stuck out on the water on pilings:
Across the lagoon I recognized a couple of landmarks. Behind the palm tree I could just barely see the Checkers fast food sign on the Boulevard:
And a little further away I could see the dilapidated gate that used to lead to the dolphin aquarium exhibit thing that used to face onto the Boulevard but has been long gone lo these many years:
This was all I could find to identify the building:
So the street address suddenly popped out at me, but I'd never heard of The Heron before. So I tried to ignore the rather unfriendly No Trespassing sign and snapped a few pictures of a maritime flavor:
And me being me I had to wonder who designed a fire sprinkler to be located over open water:
All in all, mysteries left intact it was a most instructive seven minutes. My wife soon called and I had to trot off to amuse myself watching my wife's nodule get sonogrammed and pierced with a large syringe. While we waited for the doctor I found this brazen hussy in the waiting room:
All naked and everything she was, which put me in mind of a story that has done the rounds recently in the newspaper. It seems someone had called out the emergency services following the discovery of a corpse in a wreck off Archer key, to the west of Key West. closer investigation showed it was a skeleton wired to the seat of a sunken power boat tat closely resembled the display model I found at the doctor's office. It was speculated to have been an early April Fool joke.
We had had a busy night Saturday in Dispatch with lots of calls for service as one would expect on a weekend during Spring Break. Sunday night started out quietly enough until we hit ten o'clock and we got word of smoke and flames seen on the 500 block of Duval. The best known landmark there is Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville Cafe and a few doors down is the magnificent San Carlos Theater.
It appears the fire was centered between them at the crepe shop and two art galleries between them and has caused a lot of damage to those businesses but spared Margaritaville and the San Carlos. I went down to check it out after my shift was over.
Police closed several blocks of Duval and evacuated neighboring restaurants and let the firefighters do their thing. It wasn't just city fire, there were military firefighters and officers from the airport to help out as well and apparently it was quite spectacular with smoke all over downtown. 
I wonder if we will get our Breton Crepes back? Especially in an economic environment like this one. One firefighter got checked by rescue on scene but no one else was hurt, and by one a.m. things seemed to be levelling off at the scene.
It is an unfortunate fact of life in a town with narrow streets and well seasoned wood buildings one needs a well organized fire department. The last big fire on Duval was when the old Copa Club burned down in August 1995. Tonight was a really strong reminder of how much we depend on our firefighters in this town. 
Budget cuts be damned.
Mallory Square in the 19th and early 20th centuries was a working waterfront with proper docks and warehouses and all the accouterments of maritime trade. Nowadays its a brick plaza set up to accommodate tourist hordes who usually show up just before the sun goes down. The rest of the time it tends to be quieter but the arrival of a cruise ship at the nearby Westin Pier B will increase the flow of traffic across the plaza. It's a big enough space that it can handle larger crowds than this:
Back on Earth, one punter was trying to sort out a phone call in the bright sunlight, with Sunset Key over his shoulder:
Across the way another visitor was wrapping up lunch on one of the planters:
On my way out of the square I saw one early bird trying to make a living before the sunset celebrations began later in the day:
And as usual in Key West if you look around you'll see interesting roof lines,in this case the one in the back is the red Customs House Museum, a Federal design built steep to shrug off snow:
Soon enough they will all have to go home and we shall be left to poverty and peace and quiet. But first we have Spring Break to get through. 
I photographed this alley sometime probably a year ago at night, and back then it reminded me strangely enough of a visit I made to the Bay Islands of Honduras, stubs of land in the Western Caribbean. On the smallest of them, Utila a diving mecca, there are hardly any roads and the homes, set on a hill overlooking the harbor where my sailboat lay, were connected by cement walkways such as this. Of course, this actually being Key West, art abounds:
But like Utila and the other Bay Islands, practicality abounds in equal measure:
The house this washing line was attached to, looked barely strong enough to support the weight of a pair of wet bloomers:
The house was guarded by a dog slobbering loudly into a food bowl. I thought a picture of his/her hindquarters would look less interesting than a face, but my interference with dinner garnered me a fuzzy picture and a lot of noisy barking:
The splendid dilapidated mansion was across the alley from a modern trim neat and comparatively uninteresting cottage:
The ally debouches (ha!) like a stream into the river of Galveston Lane, which if you are the street sign maker for the city you spell Galvaston and which in any spelling leads to Bill Butler Park, about which I have already written:
Which, because it is winter is rather unsightly thanks to the pressing need to use it as a parking lot. The unnamed alley offers scenic vistas elsewhere and comfortable spots from which to view it:
The great porch life of key West. And there is the alley stretching back towards Elisabeth Street:
It's Utila, I tell you, it is.
...or the extraordinary evidence of life lived comfortably outdoors:
I also rather liked this al fresco garage which made modest little Whitmarsh look quite like the haunted wood:
Actually the street was haunted when Mr Kitty escaped from this man's home. He found himself in the undignified position of grovelling on the floor in front of a complete stranger hunting for his escaped pussy:
All's well that end's well and Mr Kitty was recovered intact by a man who managed somehow to navigate is way safely home with cat in tow despite there being strong evidence that drink had been taken. Cat and man slipped through the gate and I was left to ponder the value of phone booths as home decorative motifs:
I found a more conventional decoration upstairs:
By now I was about half way and looking back the view towards Solares Hill looked like this:
While the outdoor lifestyle was spilling comfortably out onto the side of the lane:
It's hard to be definitive about this but Whitmarsh Lane seemed a very comfortable little neighborhood, and the funny thing for me is that I had hardly given it a second thought recently but a police officer one night called out a routine check of the street, so naturally that prompted me to think of stopping by with the camera. Courtney's Place it turns out is quite flash:
They have their own extended golf cart yellow "cab"and enough off street parking for a gaggle of Harleys. And a short hop from there brings one to Petronia Street:
I quite liked Whitmarsh Lane...
And just to put the cherry on top it has no street signs at either end:
And even though this has nothing to do with anything it might be worth noting that Summer Time starts tomorrow morning in the US, a month ahead of much of the rest of the world including Cuba. So if like me, you listen to Radio Reloj (950am) bear in mind the time checks will be out by one hour.
Imagine my surprise when I read in the newspaper that Sculpture Key West was up and running again at Fort Zachary Taylor. It seems like yesterday I was photographing sculptures at the fort. Well actually it was the day before yesterday and I was there to check out the 2009 crop of oddities. And quite odd some of them were too. Art as headache:
You can throw a pile of stuff on the ground and call it Ghost Siege and say it's Art, but to me it's more like the piles of junk I love to photograph in people's back yards. When it's an unfinished yard project it means something to me, it's an expression of the reality of daily life in a town that some people think of as an extension of Disneyland. 
There was a peculiar ramp that I didn't quite get either. Here it is in all it's three dimensional glory:
Sculpture Key West used to be a bit of a free-for-all but then the people in charge decided to make it a juried exhibit and there was, of course some grumbling about that. This year there seemed to be a few less exhibits than previously, but that could be just my impression or a function of the economy going down the toilet. This next one was provocative, a camper parked among the sacred pine trees of Fort Zachary- it is only as one approaches that one sees the little plaque indicating this is in fact an exhibit:
Which has quite a shocking effect when one peers through the door:
I think this one was called Comfort Zone or some such. All those papier mache hounds leaping around would be a shock to meet on the road (I noticed the trailer had a valid tag). Pity the poor officer making a traffic stop. Part of the pleasure of the art in the park as it used to known is the location, right on the waterfront looking west across the harbor, which gives a magnificent turquoise back drop to the exhibits:
In this next picture the pile is actually clean -up by the workers in the park:
This pile is actually an exhibit, a star shaped filled with cut branches and leaves that smelled rather pleasantly of cut grass:
Of course art can even take second place to fishing if you are that much of a philistine...
I measure my own art appreciation by the fact that at first I thought this was an exhibit:
The rake leaning up in debonair fashion was a hint that perhaps this wasn't an exhibit and I couldn't see a plaque anywhere so I'm pretty sure it was something other than an exhibit. I think. This next one certainly was an exhibit called The Stoop.
I thought this should be called Katrina Stoop with the house gone. Noel thought this was Dorothy's stoop after the tornado. Whatever. And with the flag up the mail box indicates outgoing mail. I'm sorry to say I forgot to check. Fences were a big theme this year:
Then there was the salt like house, made of dazzling white cow salt lick blocks in the form of a spiral:
With the obligatory annual self portrait:
This guy didn't seem overly impressed with the sign post exhibit:
Up close it was quite provocative:
And then there was the greenhouse made of suffocating plastic bags:
Lots of fun all round and one of the nice things about Fort Zach, a Florida State Park is that dogs on leash are allowed (not on the beach though):
And over it all the imperturbable brick walls of Fort Zachary Taylor secure behind their moat:
Any further south or west and your art would be in the water.
:The sun was starting to hit the horizon which gives the light a golden glow and perhaps that made the suburban street look prettier than usual:
And even though this isn't the world of narrow lanes and wooden tumbledown homes of Old Town it is pretty enough to pass muster in a world of bland mini malls.
I'm not overly fond of streets without sidewalks but there's lots of grassy edges to park on, or walk along if you are crazy enough to be on foot. Ride a moped, drive an electric car if you live in Key West:
According to J Wills Burke's book Streets of Key West there were two Von Phisters and either one could be the source of this slightly odd street name. The elder owned a grocery store where the Green Parrot Bar is today and his son was a magistrate in Key West in 1860. (J Wills Burke's book is available from your local independent books seller. Quote ISBN 1 56164 317 3). Nowadays Von Phister, which runs from Reynolds Street to George Street, shows off a whole bunch of architectural styles, the cute little Florida beach cottage:
The old Key West balcony:
And the mid century storm shutters that always look so appealing to me, be they ever so impractical:
I spotted more of these tin shutters with the red stripe on a house across the street, a home dominated by a giant casuarina, also known as an Australian pine:
I also noticed a lot of tin roofs in this neighborhood, which are a good thing in hurricane country but that doesn't mean you always see a lot of them:
Technically speaking, if you were to speak to a realtor they might call this part of the world "Mid Town" which was a newer designation for that part of key West that lies more or less between White Street and First Streets. Historically Old Town was the original area of Key West between White Street and the waterfront. Gradually as the city spread east, absorbing the open spaces where cattle had grazed, the newer suburban homes became known as New Town, rather unimaginatively. However, in order to differentiate between the far distant suburbs of First through 20th Streets and those named streets lying closer to White Street, the term "Mid Town" got coined, kind of. In a city that measures one's value by the length of time one has lived there, changes come slowly. Von Phister is New Town really and thus has lots of room for big houses:
It certainly isn't Old Town, but it has flowers:
...and Art:
...and some funky architectural motifs:
...and families:
But because this is New/Mid Town houses have room for the much desired OSP, off street parking:
And just a reminder that even though this is 24 degrees North Latitude we still have leafless trees in Key West:
I do like living in the Keys, you lot can keep your snow.
"Now there's a trick," I thought to myself. The business clerk didn't share my amusement. Also this week Solares Hill, the formerly free weekly now incorporated into the Sunday paper, had an article describing the travails of the college president. Jill Landesburg Boyle has been the object of a whispering campaign because she has improved the college beyond all recognition and in so doing she trod on some well entrenched corns. One got the feeling from the article she may have reached the end of her tether which would be too bad. 
The scarf actually belonged to Paula who grew up in New England and is used to the cold. Or used to be used to the cold before she moved to Key West in 1988.
She uses the scarf to keep out the blistering cold that the police station creates to keep our banks of computers cool and comfortable. We, the operators, just get cold, but it's weird to step out into even colder air...
I figure it's just another way we get to pay for the banksters' bonuses. On the other hand riding the Bonneville makes up for it, at least a bit.
As I trudged up Elizabeth Street it became abundantly apparent he wasn't peeing at all, he was just standing so for some reason I can't fathom I took another picture, perhaps because she found him interesting...
And as I crested the rise on Elizabeth Street (The Hill proper is 16 feet (5 meters) above sea level more or less, depending who you believe), all was explained:
A solid citizen, a family man, out walking his child and their dog. He called out to her that there was too much traffic as I approached but as they toddled off I wasn't sure if it was generic traffic or my arrival that prompted their departure:
No use, I suppose, telling them I am the police.
They remind me of how Germans used to take over large chunks of camp grounds when I used to ride around Europe with a tent. I had a friend visit Key West last week and she was huffing and puffing at the numbers and sizes of vehicles parked along city streets. I tried to point out that a most people who drive Hummers in Key West use a lot less gasoline than she does circling Palm Beach County in her Honda Civic, because most drivers here are reluctant to even leave town. My point was lost on her but the conversation did remind me of just how many cars are filling the city even in this winter of a catastrophic economy:
You'd think a cab would make a whole load more sense around town:
The pink cab is leased from the Five Sixes Company on Stock Island. It's called five sixes because the phone number is 296-6666. In the old days when phone numbers were standardized to seven digits, all prefixes in Key West started with 29 so residents got in the habit of describing their pone numbers as five digits. 292-1234 would be reduced to 21-234. Thus the five sixes. Cell phones have wrecked that five digit system. 
I guess picnickers and terrorists will now only be able to approach the pine forest by boat. Bummer.
Why I have no idea.perhaps just for the fun of wasting baggies. I washed this one and stuck in the drawer smelling only sightly of delicious coffee (Sexpresso? Oh dear Lord). The drinks sold at Baby's naturally come in most unnatural Styrofoam,- sigh-
the more ecologically correct paper, Starbucks style, has yet to penetrate the local consciousness. Besides Chris Belland had a column in the Sunday Citizen explaining exactly why Styrofoam is quite bad for one's health...
There are still a few voices protesting cruise ship visits to the city but the budget is shrinking and port calls are a much more needed source of income than previously. Looking out across The Lakes to the west of Key West you can get the critic's point, this is a beautiful view:
Some people enjoy the view from aloft:
But my streak of envy was directed here as I stood in the cool north wind and photographed the statuary at Fort Zach:
Jib and jigger on a broad reach- next stop Mexico! Or, more likely, Sand Key, seven miles to the southwest... 
The tall buildings at the bottom of the street are Atlantic Condominiums and together with La Brisa across the street form a canyon leading north from the beach. La Brisa to the east:
Atlantic Condos to the west:
Florida is famous for its rows of massive condos lining beaches everywhere but it is a fad that hasn't completely taken over Key West just yet. The city now has a height restriction which attempts to control the desire of developers to build tall. These however snuck through...The rest of Bertha Street is pretty much just as homely, with an intersection at Atlantic Boulevard where cars take their lives into their hands crossing the traffic flow to head to Higgs Beach:
The rest of Bertha manages quite nicely to defy the common view of Key West as that picturesque little burg. Off to the right of this picture by a couple of blocks lies the Key West High School:
The houses and apartments lining the street reflect utility for the most part, but gthey show individuality nonetheless:
I never tire of noting that there are parents in Key West who nag on about there being nothing to do for their offspring in the city. Being child free myself it's a difficult judgement call to make, but here on unpromising Bertha Street we have this fine erection, a covered skating rink for the delectation of our bored youth:
Less magnificent but still critically needed by bored adults is the corner store further up the street. They were looking at me a bit old fashioned as I parked the motorcycle, so I sauntered off up the street looking for things to photograph and came across Hans Hamel's VW shop next to the new storefront church:
I've never seen the roll up door at Hamel's shop ever actually rolled up and that could be explained by the access alongside:
I also spotted this very useful looking contraption nearby; it almost qualifies as Art:
While across the street Shanna Key, the Irish pub, was doing a fair imitation of a sidewalk cafe in the evening sun:
The liquor purchases were still happening at the corner store down the street as I made my way back:
Gathering outside the package store is apparently a daily event:
And there you have it, the tough working class underbelly of the little town at the end of the island chain. Well, not really but it sounds good. Key West isn't all frou frou wine bars and conch cottages.
There is a street at the southern end of Stock Island, and it is only a block long but it is home to the two largest marinas for pleasure boats on Stock Island. Peninsular Avenue appears to be misspelled, a fact that always gives me perverse joy, but the old Peninsular Marine that used to live at the end of the street is long gone. Peninsular was a fabulous place, a slice of old Key West, that would give a bourgeois boater like me shivers of pleasure and dread. They hauled boats out at Peninsular, what landlubbers call "dry docking" and I spent many a miserable hour on the hard painting and sanding and getting sanded myself by the howling winter winds which raise dust clouds across the unpaved boatyard. A few hardy souls rented relatively cheap boat slips and lived in the marina year round. From the Florida State Library this is what Peninsular looked like in 1974 and it didn't change much until it was sold a couple of years ago. 
There used to be the fiberglass shop here and at the water's edge there was a sail loft where you could take a sail or a bag or a project and have someone peer down from their mezzanine space and tell you how much and how soon it could be done (that was in the white building across the water shown in the old photo above). On the other side of the sail loft there were some cranky old plastic chairs under an overhang and you could sit and look out at the boats in the slips and the travel lift nearby hauling boats out of the water.Even hardier types left their boats permanently "on the hard" and used them as apartments, as solidly aground as any house in Old Town. It was a weird place, with bathrooms that resembled Turkish prisons (as depicted in Midnight Express, at least) foul with God only knows what. That was then, Peninsular Marine was sold and a new Yuppie apparition took it's place:
Now it's all spic and span, fit even for my wife's Vespa ET4 to visit:
The travel lift still exists though in the former shrimp docks on the north side of Peninsular Avenue, now deserted and for sale:
There was a desolate air to the whole place. The old shrimp docks used to be vibrant with all the activity one associates with the fishing industry, and the crazy lifestyles across the street at Peninsular, and now this at the old shrimp docks:
And this at the gruesome new Yacht Club of the Americas, all big and clean and empty:
I guess the old Peninsular was more homey for me than this place ever will be. I'm no fan of gated communities with secret passwords and all that stuff:
Apparently I'm not alone. This place used to have some sort of a club house with a restaurant and they announced in the paper they were closing "temporarily" to regroup, but I doubt the world wide economic collapse has done their prospects any good. Down the street the old Oceanside Marina has been sold also and the new owners there took back the marina's old name Kings Pointe for whatever reason. And they too seem to be having difficulty adjusting to the new realities of life in the land of former abundance. $120,000 for a place to store a boat?
Silly me, banksters still need places to keep their toys...and Kings Pointe isn't a bad spot though perhaps not as flash as the moribund Yacht Club of the Americas (nee Peninsular). Kings Pointe has a gateway but mercifully no locked gate:
The docks here are of the fixed variety, and a few years ago you could buy one of these for something less than $200,000 as I recall. Oh happy days!
During the boom years they also built a bunch of apartments on the south side of the marina visible in the back of the marina:
The only good thing I can think of about this depression is that runaway development has come to a screeching halt. I just kind of wish Peninsular were still there, grody and grungy and always firm on their prices. I don't miss the haul outs at all, but now I realise I lived through an era that is gone forever.
For many visitors to Key West the big deal is to do what the locals do as the locals do it. I'm not sure that eating at Miami Subs is going to be such a desirable thing even after I have pointed out this is a favorite local's hang out. It's not a warm and fuzzy place to get dinner, and its not dripping with Keys ambiance, but Miami Subs serves up an honest plate of food for a decent price and one doesn't have to hang around to get it either. You can even do the whole drive through thing if you don't want to get out of your car:
Key West was in the grip of yet anther cold front one evening recently and I was fresh from my chiropractor's office as the sun went down. My wife suggested dinner and Miami Subs came instantly to mind. Cheap cheerful and efficient, two gyro platters, double salad no fries, a shared bottomless fountain drink and twenty dollars out of pocket:
A gyro platter (pronounced hero because them Greeks are a tricky bunch, what with their particular alphabet and all), hits the spot and even though the dining hall isn't particularly warm and romantic we enjoy eating there:
Clearly this isn't someplace fancy but you still have the choice to sink a ton of cash at Louie's Backyard or Sarabeth's or the Marquesa House, but Miami Subs in Key West is the local's haunt.
Noel likes their grilled chicken sandwich their milk shakes and fried mozzarella cheese sticks. His boyfriend Matt is partial to their wings and the Breyer's ice cream. Me? I like the crunchy bread they put around their hamburgers but whatever it is they seem to do it well at the Key West store.
I've eaten at Miami Subs in Homestead and in Miami but neither place comes up to the standard set by the store in Key West. The food here just seems better, besides which it has parking no small thing in Key West, and they also make room for motorcycles:
Beside if you aren't driving you can get beer or wine to go with your meal, alcohol is an important contribution to happy Keys dining. The chain was founded by a Greek immigrant entrepreneur in Miami which is why it has a smattering of Greek inspired dishes. In 2001 Konstantin Boulis was murdered in a Miami ambush by persons unknown and for motives only hinted at. The belief was that his sale of his SunCruz gambling boats to notorious Washington lobbyist Jack Abramoff might have had something to do with his killing which was quite spectacular apparently. Boulis was in his car when another vehicle cut him off and a second car pulled alongside and shot him to death in best mobster style. Weird but true. 
The other handy thing about Miami Subs in Key West is that it's easy to locate on the Boulevard next to the Circle K convenience store at First Street.
Eat like a local...at Miami Subs. Bet you weren't expecting that?
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