Were I to ask someone to name three state parks in the Florida Keys, I have an idea the answer might be, Bahia Honda, John Pennekamp (especially if they dive) and most likely Fort Zachary Taylor if they frequent Key West. I use the annual State Parks Pass to explore as many of the parks as often as I can as it allows free access. It costs something like $85 per calendar year for the pass while a day ticket for one person is $3.50 at the park entrance or $6 for a car. Ironically two people on two motorcycles thus cost more than four in a car!
The Monroe County stamp on the pass is applied by parks in the county to allow free entry to the parks in the Keys because that stamp on the pass costs five extra dollars. If you have a parks card without the stamp you pay 50 cents to get into Monroe County parks. Aren't we special in the Fabulously Expensive Florida Keys!
Long Key State Park is at or around Mile marker 67 just south of the City of Layton (see my essay of January 17th 2008, http://conchscooter.blogspot.com/search?q=layton), and it is in the pantheon of second class State Parks in the Keys just because they tend to be less well known. I like it a lot and on my first visit to the Keys in 1981 I stayed at a campsite on the beach, such as it is and used it as my base for exploring further. Probably one reason why Long Key suffers second class status is because it doesn't have a beach though it has a massively extended waterfront for a park a thousand acres in size.
The park is long and thin like it's namesake key wedged between the Straits of Florida and the Overseas Highway. The park promotes birds as one its major attractions including "herons, egrets, willets, sandpipers, plovers, terns, and seagulls," which should be enough for anybody. Additionally there is canoeing on the Long Key Lake in the middle of the park and there is camping in the slice of parkland alongside the Overseas Highway next to the water:
The Monroe County stamp on the pass is applied by parks in the county to allow free entry to the parks in the Keys because that stamp on the pass costs five extra dollars. If you have a parks card without the stamp you pay 50 cents to get into Monroe County parks. Aren't we special in the Fabulously Expensive Florida Keys!Long Key State Park is at or around Mile marker 67 just south of the City of Layton (see my essay of January 17th 2008, http://conchscooter.blogspot.com/search?q=layton), and it is in the pantheon of second class State Parks in the Keys just because they tend to be less well known. I like it a lot and on my first visit to the Keys in 1981 I stayed at a campsite on the beach, such as it is and used it as my base for exploring further. Probably one reason why Long Key suffers second class status is because it doesn't have a beach though it has a massively extended waterfront for a park a thousand acres in size.The park is long and thin like it's namesake key wedged between the Straits of Florida and the Overseas Highway. The park promotes birds as one its major attractions including "herons, egrets, willets, sandpipers, plovers, terns, and seagulls," which should be enough for anybody. Additionally there is canoeing on the Long Key Lake in the middle of the park and there is camping in the slice of parkland alongside the Overseas Highway next to the water:
The day use area has a small slice of sandy beach for people riding motorcycles or with picnics:
Which was where I spotted a piece of artwork as I ate a granola bar and emptied a thermos of tea for lunch:
For some people standing at the water's edge and admiring the view is an entirely satisfactory activity:
For others the way to pass an afternoon is to stand thigh deep in salt water water to try to catch fish. This dude was quite a ways out proving that my little pocket camera has quite decent reach with the built-in telephoto, and also that the water shelves very gently along these islands:
Some people enjoy cycling the roads inside the park, a way to enjoy pedaling and not get run down on the highway:
For myself the plan was to take a walk as I haven't been out in the woods for a while, so I headed down the main road... 
...to the boardwalk at the head of the main trail which heads towards the beach:
I found a chair parked rather mysteriously in the shade as though someone enjoyed taking in nature's glories in comfort, so much so they dragged their own chair to that very spot:
Along the way our thoughtful Park service puts up little notices describing flora, fauna and sights to left and right:
There was also a sturdy observation platform built above the mangroves but the view was I have say, somewhat less than enthralling:
My goal was the main circular trail through the back of the park on something they call the Golden Orb Trail which is named for a spider and is about a mile and a half long. The helpful signs suggest a leisurely hour long walk and even though I was wearing motorcycle boots and long pants I covered it in a little less than that.
The second half of the trail after I crossed the plank bridge shown above, is described as a hammock environment, which in South Florida means an area of raised dry land above the water level such that trees can grow in real dirt. Only thing was, this was the first sandy hammock I had seen. It reminded me of chaparral seen in western states:
And I was not entirely alone. I met another walker, rather more suitably dressed than I, and we played trail leap frog, exchanging remarks while not willing to impinge on each other's privacy too much:
She was a visitor to Florida and spent more time than I on the useful little signs along the way, though we exchanged a few comments as we passed each other.
Closing in on the parking lot, where the Bonneville was parked in the shade, it being that warm, the trail started to get the mulching treatment a sit passed trough buttonwoods that look more like a "proper"hammock to my untutored eye.Thence home, leaving unexplored the canoe launch and the Layton Trail, across the Overseas highway. The good thing about a parks pass is that it encourages return visits.
And by night:
The house on the other side of the entrance is less fancy but equally Key West-ish:
The porch has an emphasis on outdoor activity, required no doubt in a small house. The porch becomes an extra space, a place to store stuff or get stuff done, more than just sitting in a rocking chair and drinking lemonade.
This house is also framed by some yellow plants which I cannot identify, but I am reliably informed are the tropical standard frangipani:
What struck me about Sawyer Lane was the greenery and the flowers all over the place. The lane is but a block long and full of stuff sprouting:
I think the pink plants are hibiscus though I could be wrong though I should know if for no reason than that they were blooming in profusion:
Sawyer Lane is a bit of a canyon as the homes seem very tall and they in turn are overshadowed by old growth trees:
J Wills Burke in Streets of Key West says Sawyer Lane is named for one Benjamin Sawyer, mayor of the city from 1844 to 1846, which seems a short enough term to have accomplished much. Preferred candidates are General Abe Sawyer a famous dwarf who lived in the city and is now buried there. famous for what other than being short isn't specified. There are also two Sawyer bothers buried in the city cemetery, James and John who Wills Burke identifies as being the oldest residents therein. James' death occurring in 1829 and John in 1843. Who knew... 
I've mentioned it before but the idea behind the "eyebrow" was to allow windows to remain open out of the way of rain or sun but the overhang apparently traps hot air. It still looks pretty:
White picket fences are frequently derided as suburban stereotypes but on Sawyer Lane the picket fence looks perfect, naturally also displaying a plant or two:
This fence was unusual in that it was a double row of pickets, for what purpose, if any, I know not. Wills Burke notes that Sawyer Lane meets Roberts Lane at the end of the block, which in Google maps is shown as Roberto Lane. Mind you they also show Sawyer as Sawyers Lane so there is room for extra vowels and consonants in their mapping, good though it is. While I walked the two lanes I parked the Bonneville at their confluence:
Roberts Lane comes off Caroline Street next to Key West Marine Hardware known to boaters locally as Cuban Joe's, with the store's long private driveway parallel to Roberts:
Which ends in a gravel driveway to a large parking area, which, not to put too fine a point on it doesn't look like a public roadway:
It always causes me to wonder how such a small crowded island has all these unused spaces. Long may they stay that way. A final view of Sawyer Lane at night:.jpg)
Dark, leafy indistinct, as it should be on a warm tropical night.
It happened in 1982 that the Federal Government had one it's periodic crack downs and the Border Patrol as was set up a check point on Highway One to make sure "illegal aliens" weren't using the Keys as a back door entry to the US. This unaccustomed heavy handedness caused tourist operators to fear the worst for their income and they did the all American thing and took the Immigration and Naturalization Service (as was) to court.
The story goes that pressed by reporters on what he was going to do next, Mayor Dennis Wardlow, in consultation with his advisers huddled for a moment in the courthouse lobby sought and found the inspiration that sometimes strikes the desperate. So he announced that he was going to secede from the United States. A declaration that made headlines. And so it was that the Border Patrol (as was) found itself shamed into taking down the check point and restored easy travel between the US and the Conch Republic, which in the meantime, having got into the spirit of the moment pressed the US government to fork over some "foreign aid," seeing as how the islands were blockaded from the mainland. And so people gather under cloudless blue skies to watch other people make gentle asses of themselves in public:
In an effort to keep the revenue up for the "hospitality industry" the latter part of April is a time set aside for celebrations in Key West to mark the ever popular act of secession. Much of it involves the usual drinking, parading, and bikini contests with the addition of a "sea battle" which the Coastguard joins with local boats, and the whole thing wraps up with a bed race up Duval Street.
"Where else but Key West," my wife the former public defender wondered out loud, "would you find the cops escorting beds down the street?" 
The Conch Republic is big business for one week and they hire off duty cops to keep order, which needn't be a tough assignment at a family event like a bed race. Officer Standerwick was keeping an eye on the crowds as the start line:
When one says a "family affair" this is one human family, not at all like the Swiss Canton of Appenzell Innerrhoden which the BBC reports has voted by popular acclamation to outlaw naked alpine hiking, a problem I hadn't previously known to have existed. Key West doesn't actually allow nudity on the streets, but the One Human Family label covers a multitude of sins where the benefits of commerce are involved and peculiar garb, and the less of it the better, is designed to attract crowds and their money:
So they line the beds up two by two, and they push them down the street, raising money for charity, laughs for the crowds and cans of beer for refreshment:
Duval Street was closed for several hours on Saturday afternoon as the pushers pushed and the crowds cheered them on. Between pairs of beds Eaton Street was opened to traffic by Officers O'Connell:
And Jewell:
Rob O'Neal, a photographer from the Citizen was busy documenting the speeding beds, and we exchanged a few pleasantries on the future of Cuba, and the hope that the embargo might soon vanish:
Not least no doubt because the fuel is this:
Lest you imagine this chaos is the Beginning of the End of law and order in the Conch Republic, let me assure you Officers Villareal and Hartle (pictured) were carefully escorting each pair of racing bed frames down the city's main drag:
And my goodness what a strange assortment of beds they were:
One of the few rules that I could figure out is that there has to be someone riding in the bed in some manner. And there has to be motive power of course, which take their role more or less seriously depending on what they came out to do, preen, push or be pushed: 
A Key West husky:
Vital Key West cargo for safe delivery:
And there were a few spectators on their balcony at La Concha wondering what planet they had woken up on:
No longer in Kansas, I'm afraid, "Look at that!" One hopes the family album gets judicious editing before public display.
It's been a long time coming but Diggy finally made it, and is now on the road with the Key West Police Department. The 37th class in Basic law Enforcement training graduated last Wednesday and we, his former colleagues in Dispatch, showed up to cheer him on at the Tennessee Williams Theater at the college.
I've known Diggy for five years and when I first met him he was an Explorer fresh out of school and eager to join the department. As soon as he was old enough he joined Parking Enforcement and went around town ticketing people. That was when I first noticed him. He kept showing up at accident scenes, and he soon qualified to direct traffic and support the officers who were doing the accident investigation. It got a bit annoying actually finding this parking control officer popping up on channel one, instead of knowing his place on Channel Two. "What's he doing on Bertha Street?" I'd mutter to myself, "instead of staying downtown writing tickets like he's supposed to?" He was really doing the work of a Community Service Aide, though he was being paid to write tickets. 
That didn't last because one day I came to work and found the parking dude with the weird name hunched over the microphone learning Channel One, the main police radio channel. It had taken me a month to learn the basics and get approved to run it on my own. Diggy was cleared after two whole days. Put me in my place why don't you!
It was the only channel he was trained to do, so for a year, night in and night out Diggy operated Channel One sending the officers hither and yon, always calm always quiet in his seat. He was reserved off the microphone too, keeping his counsel and speaking to not many people. I got him to talk a bit and he loosened up when I told him I'd been to Nicaragua and knew a little about it. His father, a short order cook, had fought for the government in their civil war and it was a point of common interest that gave us something to talk about. The more I got to know Diggy the more depth I realised there was to him.
Eventually when I became a shift supervisor in dispatch I got to work with Diggy and Noel for months, and we were a tight team. I used to joke that combined they had less years between them than I did alone. We all spoke Spanish so we could, any of us take 9-1-1 calls and translate them into calls for service in English. We did a lot of handing off and covering for each other on busy nights, and it was a stress-free time in Dispatch. We also had a lot of laughs, and Diggy's encyclopedic knowledge of parking laws and police procedure were invaluable, it was learning and laughing every shift, and I learned a lot. Then Diggy said he was going to go on the road. He had but one problem, he wasn't a citizen- yet. That was a barrier only briefly and all too soon he quit dispatch and went back to school for six grueling months, which all paid off last Wednesday, as he sat on stage to listen to the words of wisdom from his new/old boss, Chief Lee:
Donie Lee is a fifth generation Conch and has worked just about every position in the department (including Dispatch years ago when they used carrier pigeons) and he gave a warmly encouraging speech to the new recruits reminding them of the importance of integrity and service, neither of which should be a problem for Diggy. In turn Diggy, as one of two lieutenants in the Acadmey class, got to give his own speech thanking everybody:
("He's got some hand action going there," Noel muttered tartly as he focused his huge lens on his former colleague, struggling for focus) and then he got his certificate from the director of the Academy:
The cadets dressed in white have been offered positions with the Monroe County Sheriff's Department, but there were trainees present from all over the state apparently to take the 770-hour long course. The program ended with Chief Lee swearing in his three new officers: Chavarria, Dean, and Miller:
It was an emotional moment, after all those years in the wings and family and friends were there to egg him on:
My wife has been especially close to Diggy not least because her schoolroom is in the same building as the academy and she was there to give him a shoulder during the months of training and testing, so she got in on the act too: 
I'm going to miss Diggy in Dispatch but I look forward to telling Paul-91 where to go and what to do when he gets there. And if he pisses me off it will be my pleasure to deny him a meal break. 
It isn't that I was a wild youth in the conventional sense, I joke that I was the white sheep of my family when I took off and never came home. I was never into bars or drugs or the forced adventure of low people in low places. I would always rather have spent a night in the desert with a tent than a night at a strip club wedged into the bathroom snorting cocaine, which was what my contemporaries were doing in the 1980's. And now I am growing vegetables and marveling that my driver's license shows my actual correct address which hasn't changed in half a decade. I suppose some people would look forward to a day off as a day to be spent propping up the bar at Hog's Breath telling visitors how cool it is to hang in Key West. I spent my day off unpacking two very large cardboard boxes. 
I drove up to Miami (on another day off. It's lucky I only work 14 nights a month) in a rental van a couple of weeks ago and spent $430 on these babies at Costco off Exit 19 on the Turnpike. The drive up was hell on wheels as I was burning a gallon of gas every 16 miles (6km/liter) and it had all the acceleration of a pedal tricycle so where normally I swoop and pass and call the road my home at 43 miles per gallon, I was bouncing along like a pogo stick in this big white box on wheels. It was highly unsatisfactory.
In the event I was glad I rented the cargo van as the boxes were far larger than my modest 4 x 6 utility trailer, but I got them in and unloaded them at home all by myself. I was hoping indeed that these two boxes would magically transform into something "ideal for the garden" as our Francophone friends to the north would say. Zut alors! Magic was not involved, pas du tout, I had to get on bended knee and spend a day assembling le truc.
There was one error I spent some time mulling over, to do with the door handle where the letters did not correspond to the picture but I went with the picture and ignored GLL versus GLR and kept on keeping on. It worked remarkably well.
The vertical bit isn't actually a coconut palm, it's the first panel of the wall installed using enormous screw type contraptions:
In the instructions, everybody, no exceptions in any language, is sternly admonished to make sure each screw has a washer. I have no idea what would happen were I to omit one of those little black metal rings but I shouldn't be at all surprised if an EU Health and Safety Inspector didn't drop in to give me a stern talking to. I was very good which was easy because Keter is smart enough to supply one or two extra fiddly bits for each application, like spare screws and washers. I am starting to like this company whoever they are.
This was never intended to be a garage for the Trumpet, which is a good thing as the doors won't close with the topbox in place (I checked just to make sure), the idea is to relieve the congestion on my so-far-hurricane-proof wooden shed and give me a space to keep my increasing collection of garden tools and potting supplies for the vegetables. So if strong winds blow it down it won't be a terminal financial loss, though formed plastic is stronger than you might think. Well I was surprised anyway despite appearances:
I was hot and thirsty at this point but I was absolutely determined to get my shed in place before the wife returned from the salt mines, so I ignored EU Health and Safety Directives and installed the roof by myself. I got Fred to help screw in the roof panels, Fred being a large brick I keep lying around which I placed on top of the screw holes to keep the material in place while I forced the screw into it from underneath. The good news is the shed is going to live it's life mostly in the shade, the sun being the killer around here. I found a spot under a side deck next to a leafy West Indian almond tree on the north side of the house:
The doors and door handles were a bit of a conundrum with lots of fiddly pieces and me standing there saying to myself: "Why do I have to assemble every single last tiny piece goddammit!?" And then the other voice kicked in: "Because it only cost four hundred and thirty dollars you halfwit!" I then learned that the floor has to be exactly flat if the hinges are to line up properly so I had to slide and shove and get the erection lined up properly, until at last:
The roof even comes with a built-in skylight as the main beam is thoughtfully made of translucent plastic. The overhead light is helped along by a window, which really does need two people to install it as the frame needs to be compressed tightly, more tightly than Fred could manage using a broomstick (visualise that: a large brick balanced on a broom pressing the handle against the window frame).
There, all done and time for some long delayed lunch and a nap. It's not even too obnoxiously intrusive.
Hell's teeth! I 've still got to water the bloody garden and collect the garden trash to put curbside for collection in the morning! Being a settled homesteader is nothing but work, work, work, I tell you.
There are a couple of fevers gripping Key West at the moment. One is the Cuban Embargo that business leaders are hoping will soon vanish. Their fond hope is that reopening business links with the Communist Island will give our small town a boost. The sceptic in me is bound to wonder if cruise ships will choose Key West over Havana but hey, if I get that much talked about ferry service from Stock Island I will be happy. The other fever affects me not one bit. It's the prospect of sinking a ship off Key West to allow recreational divers, those that still have jobs in their real lives, to go diving from Key West. 
On Wednesday, a day no cruise ships were scheduled to dock in Key West four tugs showed up in the harbor dragging a derelict Navy ship that had been scheduled for scrapping, but now will live on forever as the world's second largest artificial reef. How do I know? Because even the slowest dolt in Key West can recite by heart the "world's secon..." etc etc. It is also very well known around town these daysthat the Vandenberg was a satellite tracking ship, and...
Flags don't fly so very well fifty feet underwater, methinks. 
My Bonneville is my main means of getting around. While it is true I have a fine Nissan Maxima parked under the house, and my wife cheerfully lets me drive her trash-filled convertible or even her delightful Vespa, the 2007 Trumpet is what I turn to when it's time to get on the road. 14 nights a month The Triumph and I share the Overseas Highway coming and going, and while I am upstairs in air conditioned comfort the Bonneville sits out in the parking lot at work, come rain or fog, salt air and dust. Even at home all the Bonneville has to call home is a patch of cement, exposed on the sides to the elements while I sprawl upstairs in my palatial 700 square foot residence. I should not be surprised then that specks of rust have built up in a couple of places. On the mirrors for instance:
Or the front fender (mudguard) struts which are in the way every time water is spraying off the roadway:
I have been noticing this build up of crap for a while but what with other things going on and the daily preference to keep the Bonneville on the road,rusty specks have been allowed, for some mysterious reason, to get out of hand. I put a stop to that finally, at least on the struts. I pulled out the toolkit and all the other crap necessary for the task:
Lacking as I do the air conditioned garage aforementioned, I was glad the weather had taken a small turn for the cooler, especially as April can be warm in the Keys, which is to say humid. I took the struts off which involved nothing more complicated than unscrewing some bolts. And in the case of the rear strut I had to unscrew the speedometer cable which was easy enough. Of course there was prep work, chipping off the worst of the rust then endless sanding to get the chrome remaining, smooth and ready to accept paint. Then I had to figure out how to get the Rustoleum primer and black paint onto these awkwardly shaped pieces of metal. They look like nothing quite so much as croquet hoops and they are not deigned for easy painting. I scratched my head for a while and eventually I figured out threading some string under my deck and attaching the hoops with zip (electrical) ties to the string. It looked eccentric but it worked:
Finally I got to work with the spray cans. Now I have to confess I am the world's worst painter and second worst cook. I have no patience for the fine art of applying color to anything, be it walls, paper or croquet hoops. Equally I would much rather wash dishes in the kitchen than patiently mix up ingredients and watch them simmer on the stove. I grew up with institutional food and an English boarding school education will equip one to eat anything, though it doesn't do you any good when it comes to learning how to be a good painter. Either you can daub or you can't. I can't.
the way I figure it, the sanding and primer will help the black paint to stick and may slow down the development of rust for a while. So even if it doesn't look that great (and photography is my friend in this instance), it's better than looking rusty:
The struts are done, the speedometer is reinstalled and all is well with the world. The problem is I got brave and thought about doing the mirrors too, but then I realised first I had to remove the Parabellum windshield, which isn't hard to do as it's just four screws, but I wasn't sure spraying the mirrors would be my best move. In the end I got some Brasso and reduced the rust on the mirror stems as much as I could and left it at that. I have painted the supports for the windshield previously as they rusted up almost instantly and they have held up okay for the past year and half though they do show signs of wear:
Here endeth the lesson. Much better it is to be riding than struggling with nuts and bolts, paint and primer..jpg)
The Bonneville looks fine even with a few spots of rust. It is, as I keep pointing out, a daily rider and that justifies almost any abuse. 
At first glance it's just another New Town Lane, hidden from Flagler Avenue, the main four lane street in this the eastern end of key West.
Yet it's a street with a couple of little oddities that I like. So I took my wife's Vespa ET4 for an outing and enjoyed a meander on Harriet Street. The first odd thing about Harriet is that is a very out of place jog at one end. In New Town, an area built up heavily in the sixties when conformity and trigonometry seemed to rule Key West's urban planning, a street with a weird angle is out of place.
The large two story house that forces the angle in Harriet's course, marks the end of the Smurf Village development. You won't find Smurf Village on a map, because it's a local nickname given to the collection of duplexes that in some people's minds resemble the homes of the cartoon characters known as Smurfs:
You can see their point:
The duplexes follow the same basic back-to-back layout but their owners have taken pains to decorate them to their tastes:
According to a friend of mine who bought a home in Smurf Village, this is an area of key West that has been hard hit by foreclosures, and some of the less well maintained homes are on offer for lower prices than one might expect. I saw one for sale by owner asking $203,000. Which may seem a lot for half a duplex that needs some work, but these places were selling for up to half a million before the housing crash. The problem now is that those bought as investment properties and rented out, are shuttered and temporarily abandoned by the banks who now own them outright and don't want to deal with renters. Judging by the state of the pool this might be one such:
Most of the homes are still occupied and treasured, and even in a neighborhood with a few empty homes Key West isn't the sort of town where feral urban decay takes over, happily:
I spotted this well used Tomos moped, a true moped with functioning pedals, and as I stood there taking the picture the owner came out and growled at me rather suspiciously: "Can I help you?" in that tone of voice that means: "What the @#$%! are you doing?" So I showed him the picture and he agreed it was as pretty as a ...picture. "I'm going to have to take a photo of it like that," he said, though he declined to pose with his pride and joy. 
He waved a cheery good bye after admiring my wife's Vespa, "You can't pedal that," was his parting shot as he turned left on 16th Street. I was continuing straight across to my other favorite part of Harriet:
I'm not sure this is really part of Harriet at all, and on the maps it isn't but as an alley it makes a fine adjunct to the street:
Until you skid along the gravel far enough to come out behind Poinciana Plaza which faces Duck Avenue. In the back it's all blank delivery doors and loading ramps:
This is the front of the Plaza, the respectable facade wherein works my chiropractor:
And just off to the end , which cannot by any stretch be called "part of" Harriet Street is the old Holsum Bread bakery. Long since shuttered, this store used to offer day-old bread at knock down prices which helped more than a few people stretch their dollars:
Now the Spottswood Real Estate Empire is offering it for sale. Funny isn't it. how Key West, so cramped has all these useful open blocks of land available for sale? 
No, not a snotty nosed school child though that would be bad enough, but a dragon:
This demented dinosaur (and noted garden pest) stuck it's head down as though no one would notice it, sunning itself on the hot asphalt. I figured the school bus driver wasn't going to make any bones about running it over, so for my good deed of this day, I rode the Vespa close enough that the startled lizard picked itself up and scuttled off the street. I shall probably rue this decision the next time one of these brutes decimates my ripe strawberries but I am weak, what can I say?
I have always wanted to live on a canal with a boat at my dock, and now that I do and have done for half a decade I find myself still marveling at my good fortune that my canal on Ramrod Key is overflowing with mangroves and the houses follow no distinct architectural models:
And then a pause for incoming traffic:
Finally up onto a plane, 20-something miles per hour out into Newfound Harbor. My boat, a 14 foot (4 meter) Dusky, has no lights or instruments, as simple a machine as I could find after years of struggling with systems on my sailboat, but it tracks true across the water:
My idea was to buck the light south wind for a mile and take a short cut to Niles Channel where I will head north with the wind at my back. The day was hazy and the water was hard to read but the bubba sticks made it easy to find my way: 
Past the boats anchored near the Niles Channel Bridge; these are the waters I stare down upon from the crown of the 40 foot bridge as I pass over on my Triumph:
The ability to be down here from time to time makes it entirely pleasant to be up there commuting, knowing that with ten minutes in my boat I can be down here. Some days I'm up there and the weather is foul and I'm glad I'm not down here, being tossed around. Beyond the bridge are the open waters of Niles Channel stretching to the Gulf of Mexico:
With the small matter of a shoal area in the middle marked by two mangrove islands. the northernmost one was I believe called Money Key, until a wealthy musician bought it and changed the name to Melody Key, though the chart shows it as Howell Key. The island is a couple of acres in size and has a house on it:
It seems an inconvenient place to live, a fact that has occurred to the current owner apparently, because for the unattainable sum of four point five million dollars, reportedly, this lump of mangrove could change hands. The views aren't bad if you, like me, enjoy flat waters:
Because I was alone, footloose and fancy free I decided to bugger about a bit off the main channel and explore the mangrove passages. I cut directly to the west across the top of Knock'em Down Keys, a spot that seems godforsaken enough that no one would be there yet, lo and behold, an angler:
Travel between mangrove islands in areas where the charts (if I'd had one) show shallow water is easy enough if you have a grasp of the basics. First read the water, and you need sunlight from behind you to do that. The ditty goes: Brown, brown run aground; white, white yes you might; green, green nice and clean; blue, blue straight on through. Which may or may not be helpful in determining water depth. I try to keep an eye on the vegetation because it's easy to slide too close to one side or the other of a channel if you aren't keeping your eyes open. Luckily the bottom in the back country shelves pretty uniformly in most places and it's unlikely you will go from four feet of water to none without warning. One hopes. If all else fails wave to the military at the blimp base on the northern tip of Cudjoe Key. Maybe they will take an interest in your welfare.
You'd better believe they'll take an interest if you stumble ashore on their heavily protected base. And as one turns and heads north again to open water there they are again, anglers feeding the fish all over the place:
And then finally, about 45 minutes after I left my dock, the object of the exercise hove into view, a long line of mangroves, from a distance a dark patch on the water, one island among many. Except, this one has a beach:
Tarpon Belly Key has the distinction of being an actual island with dirt, pebbles, a very little sand and trees of the casuarina type growing above the waterline. There is also evidence of human use on the island with large blocks of cement lying around as though tossed carelessly aside. Tarpon Belly was once used to farm seafood, shrimp as I recall and my friend Robert remembers when there was a functioning truck sitting on the island used to haul materials around. Now all is in ruins and very picturesque it is too, overgrown and deserted. Except I had forgotten this was Easter weekend and everyone and his brother was out splashing around at Tarpon Belly Key. It looked like an RV Park:
I figured this was neither the time nor the place for a meditative swim off the beach so I got back up on a plane, and made like a leaf and blew. Back out on the water buzzing along, the wind in my hair and the sunscreen bubbling under the sun, it could have been worse. They'll be gone soon, I said to myself, and I'll still be here. And presumably Tarpon Belly Key will be there too.
And so back to Niles Channel Bridge. I was pondering so deeply on the injustice of other people getting time off at the same time as myself that I managed to take a wrong turn and found myself once again blundering around in mangrove channels unfamiliar to me. This time it wasn't fun because I wanted to get home. It's amazing how invisible the Nile Channel Bridge can be when there is a mangrove island between you and it, for all that it rises to the giddy height of 40 feet above the water. Eventually I got my bearings and got going again. I wonder how people will ever recall the peculiar feeling of being lost, even if for a moment, in a time when people turn on their GPS receivers even when driving even on Highway One, the only road available to them.
I slowed down for a bit and played with the camera and the Old Flagler Bridge and the new arching Highway bridge.
And then, off I went to park the boat and take a walk..
...but that is another essay for another day.
Pohalski Lane is a block long and is easy to miss, even though for a change this short street is well marked. As I recall the brown building used to house Hornes, the last Harley Davidson dealership in Key West. He decided to retire and no one took up the flag in his place.
Considering Key West is almost entirely swamped by Harleys I find it surprising, though you can rent one at Hurricane Hole on Stock Island, and Jiri at JK Motorsports also on Stock Island does a land sale business repairing and maintaining them :
I enjoy the heat of a summer's night, the smell of salty water which for some reason reminds me of watermelons, all sweet and sticky. I like the quiet noises of a Key west marina,gentle creaks, minor sloshings of boats loosely tied to docks. When I lived on my boat tied to a floating dock in Santa Cruz's Small Craft Harbor, the night was punctuated by waves slapping hard underneath the dock and the bearings creaked and groaned in agony as the tide rose and fell. It's all much calmer in Key west, much less dramatic once the drunks have gone home and tumbled into bed. But as I walk the boardwalk at three in the morning I can spot the little telltales that indicate someone tucked up below decks. A cable television wire for instance, like a rat tail slipping into a port hole:
I have listened to the President and the Chairman of the federal Reserve try to reassure us that the worst is over and our economy has turned the mythical corner. Frankly I don't believe them, I find it hard to imagine a strong economy rising up out of a blasted heath of unemployment, false accounting and endless support of insolvency with public monies. So, despite the sighs of relief I hear from the top, I remain a financial sceptic. In my gloomier moments I wonder if things will force us back to a boat, a floating home, not exactly a fate worse than death but...I like our life ashore for now and I would be annoyed should I be forced out. Yet my wife admonishes me, she says we could easily move back onto a boat if we had to, we know how to live with less. We two could even live without a rubber duck between us:
My wife and I have lived off the grid as we sailed, we lived without schedules, without work, stretching our money. We bought ourselves a couple of years afloat by selling her convertible (my hated Honda Goldwing was long gone already, I hated that overweight monstrosity once I got over it's overwhelming power). It was easy enough to adapt to life without certainty, to sleep without air conditioning, to live with a new horizon constantly in one's face while paradoxically surrounded by one's own familiar home. Yes, I figure, we could do that again, live on 5 gallons a day of fresh water, on 30 amps of 12 volt electricity, on a dozen gallons of fuel in a busy week. I've done it once I guess I could do it again, and I sigh at the thought.
Thinking about an empty Schooner Wharf Bar before dawn reminds me of my wife's indignation when I proposed sailing away. "What?" she said, "give up eating out at restaurants?" she was incredulous. She laughs now, thinking back to that yuppie world we left behind and we laugh at me worrying so hard I was fit to be tied before we cast off. Once done it becomes easy and easier as time goes by. If called upon again we could live by our wits instead of our routines. Perhaps that's why I'm drawn back to the waterfront, for reassurance, for a reminder that as someone wrote in quoting Tom Wolfe, the past is prologue. I hope not, but I suppose it's entirely possible dinghy butt my be sooner in my future than I think.
A lot of people would say it's just a piece of PVC pipe stuck in the mud with a great deal too much of it showing above the water. What you are looking at here is a vital tool in the arsenal of back country navigators up and down the Keys. "GPS!" you argue, "bubba stick!" sez I, and why shouldn't I, because I know they work. Bubba sticks are seen all around the islands down here and they mark, in sometimes inscrutable ways, where the dangers lie. This particular stick tells the prudent mariner to turn and follow deeper water. The imprudent boater will tend to leave propeller scars like these in the shallow grassy waters behind the stick: 
That white crescent barely visible on a hazy afternoon on Newfound Harbor marks the progress of a boater who dug his/her prop deep in the marl and chewed up sea grasses vital to the nutrition and development of sea life. It is not a good thing to chew up sea grass. Lesser mariners also throw up clouds of mud if they get too close and sometimes the white fog in the water looks like a school of fish feeding voraciously:
Commercial (and some recreational) Keys fishermen, and they are predominantly men, like to leave marks behind so they can find their way easily through narrow passages and across some intricate channels through extremely shallow flats. The problem is that unless you know what they mean or the sun is bright enough you can easily read the water bubba sticks can end up looking like Sanscrit to people who were not raised to be polyglots. I mean seen from here with the sun still hazy and uncertain, can anyone guess what this stick marks? Where pray is the deep water and where the shallow? Pass at your peril:
This blob might be mistaken for a bubba stick but it's actually not; I happen to know it is a branch washed up and trapped on a spit of very shallow water off Picnic Island in Newfound Harbor. Get up close to the blob and you'll see for yourself -by which time you will be snug aground:
Remember, chewing up the sea grass is illegal and a Bad Thing, but it can absolutely lethal to your prop and worse yet to your transmission and all sorts of things mechanical. Stir up too much mud and you scour your impeller and tear it apart thus wrecking the cooling capacity of your outboard. So when you see the white crescent it pays to pay attention:
The thing about the waters surrounding these mangrove islands is that almost all of them are very shallow, frequently less than six feet at low tide and very often much less than that. GPS isn't that helpful sometimes in the narrowest cuts because the satellite system is still more accurate than the technology used to create the charts, and a difference of ten feet to the side, can put you hard aground. Physical evidence in the water is still the best way to go. The Federal Government's Coastguard service still operates automated lighthouses and navigational beacons for that reason. The channel entrance from my canal is maintained by my homeowners association (the implausibly grandiloquent Breeze Swept Beach Estates) and I am happy to pay my annual, very modest fee, because they do a good job marking the narrow, rock lined channel. They use Federally sized bubba sticks to mark it, though the old PVC pipes can still be seen alongside the edges of the channel, to this day:
Bubba sticks come in different formats, sometimes metal posts, sometimes marked with floats or other nautical artifacts:
My ruminations on bubba sticks led me to a passage that I have long been thinking about exploring. If it were deep enough it would cut half a mile off my trip around the end of the island that is owned by the Spottswood family at the mouth of Newfound Harbor ($18.5 million is the asking price if you fancy some lonely houses stuck on a small scrubby piece of more or less dry land). There are three bubba sticks and what the one closest to the camera, off to the left, marks I have no clue; the water south of the stick is deep and clear as far as I could tell.
The other two sticks obviously mark the deepest part of a very shallow pass between the end of Ramrod Key and the shore of the island. I've never seen a boat successfully navigate this channel and I've seen quite a few intrepid, imprudent visitors resort to pushing to get back to deep water.
I pretty much determined that at high, high tide I could probably get through but the current is fierce here so I'd like to do it at slack water to allow for some maneuverability. All of which told me this isn't really worth it... but I got out and waded up to the sticks. I have a 30 second timer setting on my camera so I had a go, and of course the focus focused itself on the pretty sky behind me and despite repeated attempts I ended up looking fuzzy and drunk as I tried to balance on the slippery rocks in the torrent of shallow water. Oh well:
The speed of the tide was encouraging though as it would surely sweep away any of these critters I had seen earlier:
Portuguese Men O' War are actually colonies of nasty little stinging things that apparently float around together and cause very painful grief for any animal caught in their lengthy stingers:
That's the nasty critter of the day, to remind people why they are leaving the Keys in droves at this time of year to enjoy sweltering summers in jellyfish-free places like Ohio and Indiana. And there are of course other dangers in these shark infested waters (arrgh!) like shallow patches that have come to the attention of the US Coastguard. They use those large bubba sticks to mark their trouble spots:
There is a shoal somewhere around this marker supposedly but I have not yet found it, happily. Which is why god invented the telephoto lens. And so back to the canal and a gentle putter up the clearly defined deeper waters to home:
A cool shower, a change of clothes and time to meditate on why summer is the best season in the Keys.
Besides which there are cool Italian scooters in Key West if you know where to look. I saw this golfer turning onto College Road on Stock Island. He was riding a rather cute little Malaguti "Yesterday" and not being the least bit snobby about it:
When my wife and were having dinner at Alonzo's recently in the Key West bight we took a protected outside table on the boardwalk and across the water I could see the sole waterfront building of the old Watermark development which became "Harbor House." The development has gone bust and ceased construction but this sole building gives an idea for what was planned behind Schooner Wharf and Lazy Way Lane. I looked at it during the course of the meal, and even though I'm glad the development got stopped by the economic downturn, I wonder how massive the completed buildings would have looked. I wonder if they would have looked as overpowering as their many detractors claimed? I hope we'll never know:
Because it was cool and windy ( it might have been as cold as 63 degrees- 17C) Alonzo's rolled down the plastic windows that line the outside tables along the boardwalk. I thought they gave an odd effect to dinner, like eating in a green house. Our neighbors, tourists, didn't seem to care:
Outside gray clouds rolled over the square riggers docked across the way:
And their flags snapped in the breeze:
The blue flag represents the Conch Republic while red St Andrew's cross is the flag of the State of Florida, one of many flags that have been raised over the state during it's history, (Spain Britain, France, the US, the Sovereign Nation of Florida during most of 1861 between secession and then there was another flag on joining the Confederacy, and since 1982 the Conch Republic flag in the Keys). Which could be the subject of this languid conversation on the dock, but I doubt it. Sports or fishing or a mixture of both, most probably:
Apropos of fishing:
I enjoy watching tourists, though I'm never sure what the protocol is when I see people studying a street map. Do they enjoy the search? Do they want help? Should I offer to help? Will I be rebuffed? Does that matter and should I offer to help anyway?
Apropos of nothing in particular I liked these pictures of Cow Key Channel looking north, Key West to the left, Stock Island to the right, with the Stock Island Hilton visible overlooking the water- that would be the Monroe County Jail to give it it's correct name: .jpg)
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On my recent ramble on the White Street Pier I noticed, for the first time, that the trash cans had encouraging little messages from the city, an attempt to incite people to put their rubbish where it belongs:
And finally because Miranda wrote in from Up North to remark on my picture of Sandy's cafe, here is another one I put on the Adventure Rider's website. Miranda worked as a clerk at the jail before she came to the police department to dispatch. She was completing her training just as I was starting mine and later I got to work with the reclusive grumpy Conch. The more I worked with her the more I learned to enjoy her dry, acidic sense of humor and her encyclopedic knowledge of Key West, local habitual criminals and the secrets of the jail record keeping department. I watched her repeatedly uncover identities suspects wanted kept secret and she could trace almost anyone from anywhere to anywhere. And then she left, seeking a wider world than the little island she grew up on. I keep enticing her to come back but so far I guess the stakes haven't got high enough. I just hope that the economic recession will close enough of the Malls in her area that she will be forced to get her old job back in Key West. Besides, there's this:.jpg)
Not to mention an award winning fish sandwich. If Sandy's hasn't got an award for it, they should have. Can't find that Up North.
Marathon is so named because the railroad decided it was a marathon job getting the tracks to the ferry terminal at Knights Key, just to the south of the Marathon end of the Seven Mile Bridge. Some people call this place "Marathon Key" which is very annoying because no such place exists, despite civic efforts a few years ago to rename the town. Marathon was incorporated in 1999 after years of bitching at Monroe County about how citizens paid taxes and got nothing back. They created a city ten miles long, starting at the northern terminus of the bridge and stretching out towards Grassy Key. The city commission got off to a rocky start with lots of squabbling about how to do what but things seem to have settled down somewhat at last. They have parks:
They have people sitting in their splendid parks:
Dive shops, this one backed by the Faro Blanco Resort (that the ubiquitous Spottswood Family is starting to restore):
So you can go diving from Marathon. even though Key Largo bills itself as the dive capital of the Keys, and the imminent arrival of the USS Vandenburg to be sunk off Key West as a diving attraction has a lot of divers excited. They have attractions in Marathon, at Crane Point there is the nature reserve which my wife keeps promising to take me to:
They have a couple of chain motels and lots of funky 1950s resorts:
And a humongous airport that could carry all the large jets that can't fit at Key West "International" owing to the short runway. The only problem is no one wants to fly to the heart of the Keys, and despite subsidies from the city, airlines come and go. Delta tried recently and promised to be back in the winter; we'll see. Cape Air gets a subsidy to the tune of several hundred dollars per passenger to fly to mainland Florida and they seem to be hanging in, but the giant runway and superb terminal sit pretty much unused.
Developer Ed Swift was trying the build some sort of affordable housing in Marathon but that seems to have evaporated. Developer Pritam Singh got going on Tranquility Bay (where do they find these absurd names?) with it's Butterfly Cafe (nouvelle cuisine for working class Marathon) and the resort resembles... you've guessed it, Singh's developments in Key West -arrrgh! Everyone wants the "Key West style" celebrated at Truman Annex and the Golf Course and now found in Marathon. All those cutesy gables and porches and non-native coconut trees:
I don't dislike Marathon, indeed my wife and I looked at buying a home here but the commute to Key West, where our jobs are, was one hour and fifteen minutes door to door. Besides urban planning is viewed as a communist conspiracy in staunchly self reliant Marathon. This is the town where people who visit and live here year round really like it. I mean really like it. It's not Key West, it has the gritty old keys style that Conchs in Key West are always nagging on about but that they sold for a mess of pottage. Marathon hasn't yet had a chance to sell it's grit so alongside the beautiful Overseas Highway one gets a taste of all the necessary rusty things that are needed to keep a community afloat. Trailer shops, boat shops, welders, builders and crane operators:
This is Sarah Palin's real America in tropical style and though there is a community stage for live plays, it's not a place where one finds transvestite shows and gay tea parties and rainbow flags and all the rest that flourish in "the other place." This is where the work gets done:
Or used to get done. There was a Harley shop here with a ferocious reputation for servicing Harleys ONLY so MamaJoe's never got my namby pamby foreign rubbish business. And now they are gone which is a shame:
Despite it's shy face on the world Marathon can't stop the modern keys from making their way in. There's Publix, Winn Dixie, Home Depot, an excellent deli and liquor store next to the Post Office. There is a single screen movie theater with evening shows featuring tables and chairs and beer and popcorn. There is the best anchorage in the Keys. There are county offices staffed by friendly helpful staff which makes a change from suffering through the DMV offices in Key West. This is where I come to renew my driver's license. There are nice neighborhoods with full sized homes on proper lots:
This is a town where if you have a truck and trailer and a dog you can flaunt them, instead of looking out sized and absurd in narrow lanes:
Marathon has all the beauty of the rest of the Keys but is just a little reticent about showing it off. To find it you have to slow down, pull off the Overseas Highway and plunge down the rabbit warren of side streets till you find the open water:
If you missed my essay on the best bathing beach outside Bahia Honda you should search for Sombrero Beach in the archive, it's a fine public beach at the end of Sombrero Drive on the ocean side of Marathon. Marathon doesn't spring to mind as a bicycle or scooter friendly town but my hat's off to the brave souls who chug up and down the edges of the busy Overseas Highway enjoying alternative transportation:
I know it's there, the private Marathon, and despite my frequent shopping trips and feeble searches, I just can't seem to find it. Probably they don't want to share it because they've seen what happened to Key West when the developers got their hands on it. Who needs massive hotels and an invasion of outsiders when you have the perfect unpretentious town in the heart of the Keys that all those busy people rush past to try to find Paradise up the road. 
In order to keep the dock attached to the land (which doesn't move up and down with the tides) they created ingenious little bridges which acts as ramps. Some people block the ramps by engaging in a battle of wits with the local fish, and as you can see a low tide puts the ramp at quite the angle:
The floating dock principle is sometimes viewed as inferior to fixed docks when it comes to hurricanes and storm surge but the Galleon is still here and providing an easy walk ashore for all those hard workers and avid shoppers:
The boardwalk around the marina is fixed firmly to land providing a pleasant viewing platform for passersby, of which there are a few:
(No pets allowed at the Galleon). Walking past the boats makes boat living in a marina a rather public business. Imagine getting up in the morning, making coffee over the stove and looking up to see a nice person from Snowdrift, Iowa peering into your kitchen. It gets like that in touristy marinas, so it pays to be neat and not swear loudly and monotonously when you drop a wrench:
And be friendly, because being rude doesn't work as a business attractant. I guess a large wet cigar in hand acts as bait for macho men looking to go out and kill innocent fish:
If you prefer having someone else to make the bed for a few hundred extra dollars a night you can always rent a rabbit hutch with privacy and a splendid view of Key West Harbor:
You are also safe from falling coconuts, which is one of those perils that make life so interesting in the sub tropics:
But make no mistake this place is part of the Motherland, the place where one expects five star service in a five star marina, clean water and no funny money. One hopes all that and ease of access keeps the banksters and their bailouts coming to keep us all, more modestly, in the money:
The New York Times, itself in need of a bailout, suggested Key West might be recession proof. So far it looks that way to some extent:
It all makes you rather envy the low rent attitude of the pelican on the breakwater:
Bird brain used to be an insult; not so much these days. Care free, rent free, blog free. The life of a pelican even at the Galleon.
This time it was White Street Pier, a place that has already been the object of an essay in this blog. The pier juts out perhaps a third of a mile from the beach, and it is frequented by anglers, romantics, insomniacs and off duty dispatchers in the middle of the night. Technically the pier isn't closed as long as the activities taking place in it's further reaches aren't illegal my colleagues tell me no one will be moved along. 
To me the pier is a place of reflection and strolling it's sturdy cement and asphalt length puts me in mind of being on a boat. 
It's odd really to stand behind the ample barrier at the edge and watch the waves roll by, refract and head back out to sea, and to find oneself at the same time on a fixed and immovable object. 
On a boat one expects a certain amount of motion in relation to the waves; not here. On the pier there is time to lean against the railing as and watch the water, or the lights ashore:
Which makes the West Martello Tower look like a small hill...I always found it astonishing how things change their appearance between night and day when I was living in the water. At night seen from this angle it looks like a hill, by day it looks like the Garden Club,which is precisely what it is. This next picture looking seaward from halfway up the pier makes it look like dawn is breaking. It wasn't- I just put the camera on a 15 second exposure, propped it on the railing and let 'er rip; to see what it might look like you understand. The yellow strip at the bottom isn't a beach -it's the cement parapet!:
I suppose there is a municipal obligation to keep these corners lit up but it seems odd sometimes to see the lights blazing and no one home. The entire island looks that way from the pier, looking up White Street with the traffic lights changing and no one there to watch:
There were a few people out on the pier in the middle of the night. A guy (I guess that was what it was) sleeping al fresco:
The benches are designed not 
For some youngsters the pier is a romantic rendezvous:
To me the large plaza at the end, embossed with a decaying seal of the Rotary Club, of all things!- seemed rather empty and bleak:
And then a lone figure muffled in a jacket appeared and silently crossed the plaza to look out pensively at the waters to the west:
A good time and place to be pensive if you have something to work out.
I am told my trusty catamaran is rotting gently on it's Key West mooring having got away from it's new owners too busy to care for it. There are lots of boats at anchor in Boot Key and on city owned moorings for which there is a fee, somewhere around $300 a month. And lots of different boats enjoy the perfect protection of this lagoon,surrounded on all sides by dry land:
The city marina in Boot Key Harbor though hard to find, is located at the southern end of the city, and the entrance is through the Community Park which is marked by a little lighthouse on the Overseas Highway. The marina itself is a converted warehouse offering boaters all the facilities...
...including segregated dinghy docks, one for hard dinghies:
The other is for inflatable dinghies, the theory being that one lot won't damage the other:
Boot Key harbor is an absolute hot bed of dinghy activity with people coming and going all the time:
And I did manage to catch one dude rowing his hard dinghy back to the dock. A long waterline helps the boat slip through the water further on each stroke and this dude was gently pukling his way to the dock. It's easier to row in Boot Key than Key West owing to the totally protected nature of the harbor, which doesn't allow large waves to form. But there he was nevertheless stroking away, the consummate old timer:
You'll notice in some of the pictures that there are boats lined up at the seawall and that's because the City of Marathon charges boats to tie up, and for some people it's worth it not to have to use the dinghy. They also get to plug into shore power (120 volt electricity) which allows them to run air conditioning, which they need as there is less breeze at the dock...or they can use power tools, on their knees naturally:
The main marina building offers lots of facilities, Internet access, laundry, a book swap and lockers and a space to use as a workshop. It's a club house for boaters:
And let's not forget the all important pump out boat that cruises the harbor and, for a fee, sucks up and carts away your tank full of effluent from your toilet. There are boaters who prefer to dump it for free and illegally which is why many people don't want to swim in the constricted tidal waters of Boot Key Harbor:
The view in Boot Key Harbor is nothing to write home about thanks to the high rises that sometimes make this land bound place look as though it belongs among the condos that crowd the east coast of Florida:
But life on the water is still very pleasant, especially before the anvil heat and humidity of summer and before the arrival of the first hurricane scare. Storms wreak havoc on boats at anchor. Some people stay on their boats during hurricanes which to me is not foolhardy- it's the height of stupidity. A colleague of mine was found drowned in his boat after one of the 2005 storms that side swiped Key West. Jerry chose not to evacuate to his mother's condo and drowned, trapped in his half sunk sailboat. Still, on a less tragic note, modern life is miniaturized enough that one doesn't have to be deprived living on a boat. Modern communications prevail:
And sometimes people actually get to raise sails, whether to simply dry them out or to take off one can't always tell:
Ashore all those dinghy travelers need to get into town, so some use bicycles:
Others leave their motorcycles more or less covered for a stationary summer in the ample parking lot. Waste of a good BMW GS if you ask me:
While using a Sportster as a washing line might seem sacrilegious:
Behind my vital and alive Bonneville there was a Gold Wing rotting away, alongside a very elderly chain driven Harley and something shrouded in mystery:
In the back you'll notice the not so attractive electrical sub-station where the wires take off for their final trek south taking juice to Key West. 
And we end with one last view of Boot Key Harbor from the parking lot at the far end of the marina.
Simonton Beach was the place to go when a Spring cold front blew through town. Winds were honking out of the north and temperatures were down below 70 degrees (19C). I like to go to this tiny pocket beach at the north end of Simonton Street when the weather turns rough. It's a narrow window on the Key West harbor and you get a taste of nature's fury, though only a tiny taste:
It takes a hurricane to get really big visible waves but it was rough out there to a degree and I was glad to be on the beach. Usually there are a bunch of bums - for want of a better word- hanging on the beach but there weren't that many this cool afternoon, including a wannabe band member:
And a very busy dog:
The beach is also home to anglers, including this one happily dangling bait and catching nothing. He was an Englishman, possibly on vacation having a good time in the breeze:
At eleven at night everyone is supposed to go home:
People come by car or scooter for a quick look:
Some show up by bicycle, others on foot:
Some of the visitors come by stroller too; they get an early start on learning to enjoy Key West:
And quite a few of the visitors don't show up at all in person; they just like to watch, as it were:
Simonton Beach is something of a canyon wedged between tall hotels, the Hyatt to the north...
...and the Pier House, Key West's original waterfront development to the south:
And between them one gets a sliver of a view of the harbor waters, here with Sunset Key in the distance:
And here with the military base on Fleming Key jutting up to the north on the right of the picture and a tree covered spit of Christmas Tree island to the left:
Simonton Beach is a functioning launch ramp, though this four wheel drive truck spun his front wheels as he clawed his way back up through the deep sand...
...while the jet ski took off for the horizon to the west aiming at the area of shallow waters and mangrove islands known as The Lakes:
Some of those people living on their boats at anchor use the beach as a place to leave their dinghies.The good news is that it's free to leave your dinghy here but the bad news is it's wide open to any passer by. Thus it is most people leave less desirable hard dinghies here, that are also easier to lock up to a piling:
It would take dedication to decide to go kayaking in a cool north wind blowing 25 and gusting 30, but if you are young enough no water is too cold to paddle in:
And me? I had a date for fish at Alonzo's with my wife, and I managed to take enough pictures at that place for an essay about the Galleon Marina which will appear here in the fullness of time.
So it was south one block on Simonton, north one block on Front as odd as that sounds, and into the free motorcycle parking lot followed by a short stroll on the boardwalk to a Yuengling and clams and fish fingers and shrimp. I left the people to freeze on the beach.
The bridge used to provide land access to an almost uninhabited island on the south side of the city of Marathon. This is how it used to look as it started to open to allow a sailboat to get into Boot Key Harbor from the west (and these docks in the foreground are due for restoration as part of the new Faro Blanco resort that is in the works): 
Nowadays the only way to get to Boot key is by water and the reason is that old bugaboo: maintenance. The bridge was too far gone and no one wanted to pick up the tab for repairs, most likely several million dollars worth.
The state said no thanks, this road is a side show and serves no useful purpose. The city of Marathon joined with the county in saying no thanks, but unlike the state and the county the city was in a slightly more sticky position. Land owners want compensation for being cut off from their formerly uninteresting mangrove lots.
The bridge is squarely in the city of Marathon's jurisdiction and even though no one lives on Boot Key several people own parcels on the island and there is also an AM radio station that broadcasts from amidst the mangroves. You can see the antenna rising above the greenery:
The radio station owner got predictably incensed and the employees found themselves getting ferried to their jobs across the water. Hopefully they enjoyed the novelty, but by now months later the novelty must have worn off. I haven't heard what the latest plans are, if any, though no doubt lawyers are hard at work out of public sight. The bridge itself makes a convenient dinghy landing for liveaboard boaters in the channel:
The island itself I visited a few years ago, fed as I am by my insatiable curiosity. All I remember was a long straight road with a sharp bend at one point. It was smoothly paved and lined by the usual mangroves and discarded trash.I saw no reason to return, except now I have a place for photographs that I never took at the time. Never mind, the view west down the channel is charming:
And the view to the east kept these two codgers entranced as they shared beer and cigarettes and traded horror stories about the iniquity of prices at Winn Dixie:
I listened as I took pictures, and bid them a polite good day as I turned back the way I had come, down 20th Street, which stretched to the horizon, or more accurately to Highway One:
And there was my Bonneville on the proper side of the barricades:
Ready for a quick getaway from this sad and desolate place. 
The one big issue that faces people who travel on boats is where to park their dinghies when they put down their anchors and want to go ashore. For those with money one of the attractions of stopping off in marinas is the ability to tie up to the dock and simply step off the boat. For those who don't want to spend, typically between $30 and $100 a night (for a typical 30-40 foot liveaboard boat), but a night at anchor is splendid. It's self sufficient, it's got more privacy, better scenery and it's FREE! Then there is the problem of how to get ashore if you want to go shopping or see the town or buy spare parts. 
Things are always breaking on cruising boats and finding parts is a constant issue. So it is that towns that have boating populations frequently offer dinghy docks. Key West has two official such docks, one at Garrison Bight and this one, more downtown behind Turtle Kraals restaurant and bar ($6 a night or $80 a month, no dinghies over 12 feet in length, trash, showers and water included).
I wander along the waterfront from time to time and I watch the comings and goings of the water rats, many of them youngsters, some of them retirees and a very few in between, and I can't say I envy them, though I remember my previous life fondly.
I still have opinions about which dinghies make the best vehicles to get ashore, and they fall into two main camps. The inflatable dinghy made of hypalon or some such material:
Difficult to tip, easier to stow sometimes, surprisingly tough, though difficult to row. Or there is the hard dinghy camp which I think frequently ends up being the choice of the boater who lives firmly in one spot and rarely moves the "mother ship." Not generally what I call a "sailor" but more of a a liveaboard:
One of the observations I have made over many years of living aboard and cruising is that a person's mobility is in inverse proportion to the size of the dinghy. If you see a small sailboat with a large well equipped hard dinghy hanging off the stern you can bet they haven't pulled up the anchor in a long while. There is a form of snobbery among boaters about these things and people are always being judgemental about each other in the way humans tend to be. My wife and I belonged in the inflatable dinghy camp and on our Gemini catamaran we had what we considered an excellent solution for transporting our dinghy:
Some sailors think hanging the dinghy off the back of the boat in davits is dangerous at sea, but like I said everyone in the world of boating is a critic. This picture was taken while cruising the north coast of Cuba and we had hauled the dinghy from Santa Cruz California, off the back of our Gemini 105 without a problem. Some people with large boats have large dinghies. I remember being anchored in San Juan Del Sur in Nicaragua when a very large "gin palace" was visiting the town and we felt like peasants when the crew of the big motor boat stepped off a dinghy two thirds the size of our 34 foot (11 meter) catamaran. They had a steering console on their dinghy, but that's a rare feature for we the little people. I found on at the dinghy dock on a regular sized dinghy:
Living on a boat at anchor appears glamorous to land lubbers a lot of the time, but when you look closer it takes effort and energy and organization to do it well. You don't want to forget anything on your shopping list because in that case you do without. 
And you may be anchored half an hour from the dinghy dock across cold choppy waters...On an afternoon when skies are gray and the temperature has dropped to 70 degrees (20C) you might miss the comfort of a commute by car: 
And while we are pointing out the most romantic parts of living at anchor let's not forget "dinghy
Then there is the problem of dinghy motors. Hardly anyone rows any more, and even though some still do almost all anchor outs rely on small, two and increasingly, four stroke motors. Which don't always start when they haven't been cared for properly:
See, there I go being critical. Actually she sounded a little miffed too when she hissed: "Just get it started!" he was commendably restrained just pulling the rope in silence until finally he was rewarded with a grudging, choking cough. I'll tell you what though, if he doesn't get it sorted and reliable he will be single handing soon enough. This guy appeared to be single handing already and he was working on a recalcitrant old British Seagull, the original two stroke outboard motor developed in World War Two. And notoriously unreliable:
Actually they are very dependable if serviced regularly and treated with the care a small engine deserves in a harsh environment. If they won't start they are horrid, as the starter rope has to be wound round the flywheel for each try:
He too suffered in silence, pulling away and guiding his dinghy with his paddle between pulls:
He was smart, though, or experienced because he carried alternative propulsion with him, even it was just a paddle. A dead motor is crippling especially in Key West harbor waters which have fierce currents and lots of assorted traffic. Eventually he buzzed off as can be seen further up this essay. There are rules about what you have to carry including lights, fixed in this case though an all-round white flashlight will do if your dinghy is slow, less than seven miles per hour (12km/h):
You need life jackets and flares to be legal and registration if your boat has a motor in Florida. And if you don't you can expect to get stopped by the Marine Patrol, known these days as Florida Fish and Wildlife and get fined if you aren't in compliance. Occasionally Key West PD gets in on the act too, and because Key West is, effectively, a border town the feds are here in force, every letter of the alphabet soup, DEA, FBI, JIATF, and no doubt CIA though I'm sure they couldn't care less if your dinghy has lights or valid registration. Naturally anchor outs fancy themselves rebels so they make a point, many of them ,of flouting this or that. I always preferred to fly under the radar and not draw attention to myself. Which is why I still have factory mufflers on my motorcycle. I am a milquetoast rebel. 
Others have solar panels like this, in Gun Cay, Bahamas, though they work fine in a marina too:
Bicycles work well for people who live at or near the docks and boaters tend to prefer small wheeled fold up bicycles thinking they are easier to carry in the dinghy:
Which they are but they are never easy to get back on the boat. Plus they are cumbersome to store in most boats and end up living on deck and rotting away...that's my opinion and I'm sticking to it! Liveaboards are identifiable too, certain clothing choices, a certain swagger perhaps because they think they live a cool "lifestyle" which I suppose they do:
"Be safe!" she called out as though the dinghy ride to the boat is less safe than a roadway commute, a touch of the high seas adventure for people who's boating tends to be limited to the harbor waters. That became the problem for me. Living on the boat and working a job turned the boat into a parked vehicle, too cluttered to sail, too tired to clean up and take off. Now I live in my house I go out on my little boat far more than I ever did when I lived aboard, even in a marina, and held down a job. For youngsters and would-be adventurers the big back pack, the small boat and the envious stares of the land lubbers make it all worthwhile:
For those seeking photographs and commentary on the life truly cruising I recommend the Log Of Whisper in my blog list, a Caribbean cruise sadly drawing to a close, recorded by a young couple with lots of pictures and stories to tell of the high side of getting out there and breaking loose the anchor. The best reason, in this opinionated land lubber's mind, for bothering to deal with dinghy butt.
I have previously mentioned that in years past the city commission pondered the requests of neighbors asking that the southernmost point be moved to relieve them of the constant press of tourists. Geography is a flexible concept in the southernmost city, but for the moment the point continues to reside at the corner of South and Whitehead Streets. This is a small slice of Whitehead at 2:30am.
I find that photographing the most mundane thing in Key West at some ungodly hour of the night has the capacity to make everything appear far more exotic. The picture above resembles somewhere far away in my mind's eye, the Morocco perhaps of my youth, and it's just a scooter on Whitehead. 
For the price of a drink the guest house allowed locals to sit by the pool at the magnificent pile, but after the city commission denied them a permit to expand their operation the family sniffed in great vexation, swept up their toys and decided that no more would they allow hoi polloi by the pool. The stand off continues, and if you think petty nonsense has no place in paradise you'd be dead wrong. Either that or Key West isn't really paradise which is a thought no serious tourism agency would countenance. There is another fine structure across the street , the southernmost something else that I can't remember:
And if you park your Triumph Bonneville in the middle of Duval Street between these two structures and point your gorillapod-mounted camera due north this is what you see:
Duval Street sans people. Just how I like it.
The city's administrative offices on Angela Street got Wilma'd in 2005 and they have been rather unpleasant and moldy ever since. So the city is looking around and considering building new offices somewhere. Which is a pricey proposition at a time when even our leaders have noticed a bit of a problem with the economy. They had thought about buying the Gato Building on Simonton Street from the County for a nominal sum, but calmer heads prevailed and a more ambitious building plan is still under consideration at far greater public expense. The Gato Building named for it's 19th century builder, was created as a cigar factory, and it has a rather more refined air than one might expect for administrative offices:
The fact that it has parking attached and actually looks like a dignified setting for a municipal nerve center probably constitutes a second strike against it ever becoming Key West's offices. Across the street there is more open space available. A 1200 square foot (110 square meter) junque yard:
Pitch a tent and there you are, another variation on the not-quite-affordable housing problem in the city. I was running out of time, as seems to always be the case with my meandering lunch breaks, yet there was time enough left for the cup that refreshes:.jpg)
A cafe con leche, known to some sceptics as a "liquid candy bar" but they are bitter people who like their coffee bitter too. A little sweetener, a moment to sit and think of nothing at all at White Street's 24 hour cafe, Sandy's, the other landmark: .jpg)
And from there back to work, for a few more hours till dawn.
Snowbirds like to use their boats during the winter because, poor things, they know no better but the waters are cold, 70 degrees or so (19C) and winter winds ruffle the waters all the time. Far better to haul your boat and devote your time to riding a motorcycle, boating is for the summer months.
The hassle is getting the boat ready, and because I leave my 14 foot Dusky in the water all summer long I paint the bottom with anti fouling which requires sanding first, a foul job, and then painting which is almost as bad. Bottom paint is monstrous expensive as it contains copper but I got a couple of tins at sixty percent off this year. It was red which is a bit bright for my taste, but needs must and I slowly covered last year's black leftovers:
Luckily I won't be seeing this view too much this summer except when I'm swimming and then I shall cheer myself up by remembering the deal I got on the red bottom paint...
The other rite of spring is changing all the little fiddly bits that make the engine go. I skipped the impeller this year but I may do that later. I did clean the starter which was giving me fits last fall, and I spent a happy hour trying to get the brushes back the way they came out without losing any springs or breaking any wire connections. 
Eventually it went together and so far the electric starter seems to be working...for now. Luckily my experience with boats is such that I like to go small and simple where possible and three years ago I bought a 25 horsepower Yamaha with a built in pull start so my back up is ready to use any time electrons let me down. And they will, believe me, around salt water electricity goes walkabout all the time. I put my tools away, cleaned up the clean up:
And towed the trailer down to the community launch ramp at the end of the street. That's quite the round trip when I'm on my own. It's a bit like ferrying the wolf the lamb and the cabbage across the river. First I tow the boat to the ramp. I leave the car in the lot after the boat is the water. Then I drive the boat down the canal to my dock. I get my bicycle and ride back to the launch ramp. Then I secure the bike to the boat trailer and drive back to my house. Then I park the empty trailer:
I give it a fresh water rinse, park it for the summer and rejoice in the knowledge that my boat should be ready to give me six months uninterrupted service:
The only problem is that spring has sprung in Florida and that means honking winds are sweeping the islands, as they do until calm and thunderstorms come with the advent of summer. So I have yet to take the boat out into Newfound Harbor for my first swim of 2009. Call me fussy (and I'm sure the winter visitors would) but I hate swimming in rough water. It's not easy coping with Florida's seasons, but we struggle on.
The park is open technically from 7am to sunset, and people come and go all the time, by car, looking for a quiet place to park:
Some people bring their animals to the dog park:
Others walk their dogs around the main body of the park:
The dog park was built using private money (sixteen thousand smackers worth as I recall. Oh happy, wealthy days!) a few years ago and it caused a cloud of controversy. Change always does. I wasn't too fond of the idea of breaking up the park into component pieces but I've come to terms with all the fencing. The dog park itself isn't necessarily a place where huge amounts of exercise take place, other than tail and jaw wagging:
The dog area is fenced off into two separate spaces, for big dogs and small and they have facilities too for drinking (dogs) and sitting (people):
Outside the dog area is a sprawling stretch of grass dotted with some organized activities behind their own fences. Astro City is a kid's playground, a sand box where adults are not allowed unless accompanied by a child:
Remember this is the town where there is nothing for children to do...and, they say, not much for adults either! You hear that all the time...They could be out practicing their tennis strokes at the nearby tennis courts, bocce at the bocce ("bocci" in Italian-American) courts across the street, or even if they are alone they can bounce a tennis ball off the practice court here at Higgs Park behind it's own safety fencing:
Some people come to walk or run the paved roadway around the edge of the park:
Students come to find a quiet spot to do some studying in the sun:
Higgs Beach has made a bit of a name for itself as the place where "local subjects" come to hang out. With the whole country (planet) going through grim economic times it's not very nice to pick on homeless people but in Key West there is a certain population of vagrant types who better fit the description of hobos- traveling homeless people who hang out in public places and enjoy the amenities provided by the county and city - soup kitchens, free sleeping areas and so forth. Enough of these travelers have taken over the picnic tables at the beach that the county, in whose jurisdiction the park lies, has stationed a Sheriff's Deputy to keep order. There has been a pretty much permanent winter encampment at this table in the park since I can remember:
But as I wandered the park one recent afternoon before work I saw lots of empty picnic tables available for anyone to use across the park:
One step up the social ladder, if you can call it that, are the winter visitors who enjoy living out of their vehicles and they too spend daylight hours parked around Higgs Beach:
Others park their cars while they..walk their dogs... 
...some buggers park their motorcycles under the palm trees, imagine that!
...while some mobile snowbirds get onto the whole camping out in winter ethic:
Every time I mention coconut palms Scooter in the Sticks marvels which makes me rather self conscious about these non native trees. But their hairy fruit is available all over the place for those that want fresh coconut:
The mature trees around my house are producing massive great clumps of nuts too, so pretty soon I'll be drinking more coconut milk than I can decently manage. Monroe County has left over coconut chippings apparently:
I'm thinking about hitching up the trailer to the Nissan, not the Bonneville, and picking some up for myself. Higgs Park is also where the county keeps their maintenance fleet. In some places large wheeled vehicles like these are a common sight. But as there's no agriculture in the Keys tractors are mostly used for stuff like beach clean up, not ploughing fields. In front of the tractors you'll see the horse shoe courts for people to use, unless they get the idea there's nothing to do in Key West:
There's a back entrance to Higgs Park from Casa Marina Court which is open 24 hours- not wide enough to get a car through after they lock the main gate on White Street at 7 pm, but big enough for a scooter or even a Bonneville with some care and no saddlebags:
Making my way back to the parked Triumph I passed the bird sanctuary, which is a pond in summer when it rains, and a muddy depression in winter when it doesn't:
And then in the middle of the park is one final fence surrounding a shed and an antenna which is some sort of beacon for the airport or something. It seems a bit old fashioned in the age of GPS but I have no clue about these things:
I guess the Feds get a bit snippy of you mess with their beacons, as would I if you were to do the same to the Bonneville. It was untouched when I returned after my circuit around the park:
Looking good I thought.
Green Living and Energy Education has been trying to get people in the Keys interested in sustainable energy since 2003. They hold gatherings from time to time and round up things for people to see and think about. At the end of last month they had a fair at Marathon High School ...
...and I was wondering if I would go or not, then, shortly after I got out of bed my wife, who was in Marathon for a seminar, called and told me to get my backside over there. Nothing loathe, it was a gorgeous sunny, breezy day and the 25-mile ride from my house over the seven mile bridge was no trouble at all. And then when I got there I found several motorcycles already parked, including this excellent example of a Triumph Thunderbird, the 900cc water cooled triple that was the first classic styled Triumph since the factory reorganized at Hinckley:
Oh and there was that airhead BMW twin cluttering up the place. I felt bad for it, parked so close to the Thunderbird so I took a mercy picture of that too. Quite nice it looked, the perfect 900cc bike of yesteryear to fuel the dreams of a young motorcyclist of 35 years ago...
There was also a dude standing next to a truck filled with old computers, possibly recycling them or explaining how to recycle them:
I was a man with a mission: find the solar water heater. Which was easier said than done because the place was actually surprisingly large with all sorts of vendors. Vehicles:
Food stalls:
And science exhibits explaining how phosphate in commercial laundry soap does weird things to water:
And how solar panels do more weird stuff to water. Like operate a fountain pump:
I dunno, maybe on second thoughts, it's a malnourished Shetland pony. There were people touting their trade at the GLEE fair:
Centennial Bank "serving our community" jogged my funny bone as Centennial recently bought (not with taxpayer money) a local instituion called Marine Bank; so I'm not sure Centennial Bank headquarters knows which Key is up. But anyway there they were next to this lady selling solar powered swimming pools, as I thought. Which in part was true as frivolous as that sounded to a man looking to get rid of his propane water heater:
Actually she was one of three stands offering solar powered water heaters for the home. I liked this other one the best, seen inside the gym at the Marathon High School. It offers flexible installation choices and high quality components, good enough to be used on a sailboat I thought, all rugged and durable looking.
Each $1200 set of tubes heats 25 gallons of water and considering our current modest 30 gallon propane water heater we think we might get away with just one set. I measured how much water I used in one shower and it came to five gallons almost exactly. Plus my wife likes the idea of storing the hot water in an outdoor tank and removing the plumbing from the bathroom closet creating more indoor storage space. I like the idea of not buying 100 gallons of propane every 8 months. Solar heated water is a no brainer in the Keys and if we combine that with a non-pilot-light gas stove we could make a hundred gallons of propane last for a couple of years. At $3.50 a gallon currently the price is only going to go up. We shall see.
My buddy Robert was at the next door stand inside the school gym, touting the benefits of the National Marine Sanctuary so we stopped and nattered for a while. The Florida Keys have a long way to go on the sustainability front, even recycling is a new concept around here:
......................................................... Racing Catalina 22. ..............................................................
...............................................Santa Cruz Small Craft Harbor Entrance........................................
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When in doubt photograph the Bonneville. I decided to walk around Garrison Bight Marina and see what I could see. (If you want daytime pictures check March 23rd 2008 or use the search function because there are lots of entries for this body of water). The Palm Avenue Bridge is a convenient high point on a flat island. Crossing it though, means taking your life into your own hands as thirty miles per hour (50km/h) is just a suggestion at two in the morning:.jpg)
The view from the top makes New Town look quite delightful at this ungodly hour:.jpg)
The view underneath the bridge is a bit more eerie. Without flash:.jpg)
Worse yet, with flash!.jpg)
The navigation light designed to keep boats off the bridge supports was dark and leaped out at me in the reflection from the flash. I dislike flash lighting, perhaps because mine is a basic integral flash unit and I'd rather use the gorilla pod to allow for a slo-o-o-w shutter speed..jpg)
Around Key West it's known for obvious reasons as the "Fly Navy" building but it's official title is the Bachelor Officers Quarters. It's an enormous pile clearly visible across the city from the upper decks of a cruise ship docked at the Westin pier. Garrison bight is home to the relatively new dinghy docks that are where people who live on the city moorings on the flats to the north make their connection to land. A new shower block is being installed and splendid floating docks provide secure dockage for dinghies ( if they are properly locked):.jpg)
Curt and I had a few escapades around here in the good old days long before the city offered moorings and docks for our dinghies. Harrr, in them days (the late eighties) we made our own moorings and snuck the dinghies in where we could (the bushes across from Burger King were a good spot) and we talked like pirates. Not really but it was fun for a while to live on the fly in Key West. Nowadays there is city sanctioned parking for scooters and bicycles:.jpg)
And even this ghastly contraption, a Chinese attempt at catching the brief craze for covered scooters. It actually runs and I've seen it around town, but whether it keeps the rain off I couldn't say. I hope it does because in the aesthetics department it is decidedly lacking:.jpg)
Back to the water, a quick shot of the boats on the seawall:.jpg)
A splash of color in the night (I kind of assumed they were empty, but anyway I'd just filled the Triumph at the all night gas station):
And back to work where I discovered to my annoyance that all hell had broken loose briefly while I was out at lunch. I was glad I had a pleasant hour taking some random pictures to make up for missing the excitement.
I've found that it doesn't much matter which vehicle I use to get to work, be it the car, the motorcycle or my wife's Vespa 150. I pretty much have to leave the house by ten minutes after the hour to get to work by ten minutes before the hour, door to door. The only exceptions are middle of the night rides for overtime when I'm on the Overseas Highway when most people are one hopes, asleep. Those are the times I can ride straight through and knock a few minutes off the commute. Passing doesn't do much overall, as one tends to get held back further up the road by another clump of cages ambling along admiring the scenery and failing to get a move on. Of course passing is fun but that's another sotry.
So I decided to be a bit more conscious of the differences between commuting by Triumph or by Vespa ET4 on my 26 mile stretch of Highway One. I enjoy riding the Vespa and as my wife has been having some work related shoulder problems she hasn't left it at work and I've been taking advantage of it under the house to ride it around a bit. The ET4 has become something of a Vespa classic as it was the first automatic four stroke Vespa built by the company known for it's manual shift two stroke workhorses. At the time it was a radical Vespa and thus much criticized by a lot of people including myself.
My wife's alabaster 2004 150cc is no longer built though the engine and transmission are still used in it's replacement the LX 150 (LX is 60 in Roman Numerals and is designed to denote the Italian factory's 60th anniversary). The LX 150 has an eleven inch front wheel which has to make the front end of the Vespa a lot less twitchy, and I have to say that's the first thing I notice when I transition from the Bonneville to the ET4, the front wheel feels very light. Which doesn't stop me from riding it altogether too fast, shown here indicating 56 uphill over the Niles Channel bridge:
The distinctive oval headlight is reproduced in the slightly weird flying saucer shaped handlebar cover which contains the speedometer, fuel gauge and a selection of idiot lights. The headlight is quite powerful enough for night riding which is good for me as half my commute is in the dark. I have always enjoyed having a windshield on my motorcycles, and I use a 22 inch Parabellum on the Triumph. For the Vespa I bought an Italian Cuppini shield which isn't very big but it does push much of the wind aside and seems to make the scooter a little faster on the flat. However a full size windshield on a scooter with just twelve horsepower would rob it of a lot of speed especially into the wind so this has to be a compromise. My wife likes it and notices the relief it gives from wind in her chest too.
We bought the ET4 in 2005 for around $3500 as I recall, when our house was worth a lot more too, halcyon days! It had 240 miles on the clock and was fully accessorised, with top case, floor mat lock and helmet. I think the woman who owned it dropped it at slow speed as we subsequently found a minor dent in the steel leg shield and I suspect she simply lost her nerve. Her loss is our gain and we now have nearly 6,000 miles on this little gem:
And then I get to look out of the Communications Center windowat the top of the Police Station all night and see my little cream colored Vespa 150 ready to take me home:
It's definitely a keeper..jpg)
Somewhere opposite Kyushu and the Azur guesthouse there is a narrow opening next to a large building that has been converted to apartments:.jpg)
A super deal indeed. You can either buy half of Vallejo California, recently gone bankrupt, or a two bedroom manky little condo on one of the noisiest streets in Key West. Economic crisis means something different in the southernmost city, a place of different realities. However this is also the town where people balls up everything by being inconsiderate, like this Navy brat using his out sized penis substitute to block the alley entrance:.jpg)
So the obligatory Trumpet picture looks a bit skewed. (Squealing off camera Omigod I can't work like this!).jpg)
Beyond it's irresistible allure as a place to dump large vehicles Wong Song is delightfully rural and unmaintained, a walk in the woods as it were:.jpg)
Lo and behold more coral rock, or is it limestone:.jpg)
Being blessed with a shorter stature I wanted to hold my camera on top of the wall and find out what was inside but I feared that doing so would end up being so fascinating i couldn't resist publishing the results here. Either that or it would so boring and bourgeois behind the secret wall I would fade away from disappointment. So I photographed the horse's head instead:.jpg)
They write children's books about places like this. these days instead I discovered young 'uns have to wear protective head gear and walk around looking a tad unbalanced instead of flying with their imaginations:.jpg)
They were on Virginia Street at the other end of the alley and this one was getting into the spirit of the secret garden:.jpg)
They were playing near the landmark that can be found at the Virginia street end of the unmarked alley:
Back in the alley I found not much architecturally to capture my imagination after the rock wall got me lost in flights of fantasy:.jpg)
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And the immensely practical wooden fence which is what I'd like around my own home to keep hoi-polloi out. Which as my wife points out frequently, isn't really a problem for us:.jpg)
But this being Key west there are intruders everywhere:.jpg)
He didn't take kindly to having his picture taken so he ran off, squeezing past the giant vehicle and he disappeared down Truman Avenue. It was a splendid example so I promptly followed suit.
Keith Rendueles would have been 29 last Saturday and his family and friends decided to have a party in his memory. Rachel gave the eulogy reminding us what a shining light Keith had been for all of us.
And Dave, the other best friend was too overcome to say anything, standing to the side mute testament to the power of loss and memory:
No one was spared, not Daxo, Keith's canine partner now retired from the department...
...and held in trust by Keith's family. I mentioned to Ira that Keith had been worrying about retiring Daxo, and we shared a laugh about how the prospect of retirement worried Keith more than his K-9 partner who was happy to stay abed:
Cops are no slouches when it comes to getting their sugar, and Keith would have come close to missing out had he been there spending his time being polite. But this was also an occasion to plant a tree in front of the Police Station to remind us as we come and go from work who isn't there any more:
I've seen the bush at the botanical gardens on Stock Island and it's leaves are in the form of a living notepad. Write on them and the tissue scars with the words. There is also a more permanent marker in front of the tree:
The announcement of the selection of a Conch to participate in the first manned flight to another planet was viewed as just another step for the Conch Republic, taking it's place in the world of science and discovery.
"This is a great day for Key West, and a huge loss for this Department," said Chief Donie Lee as Noel announced his departure from KWPD on April 1st 2009 for the Mars training station on Culebra near Puerto Rico.
"Sorry to see you going" was his friend and colleague, Diggy's sentiment (Noel's partner Matt is seen at the rear in the photo above) when he presented Noel with a token of our appreciation in the form of the Flag. "Culebra is part of the US, just as the corner of Mars you step on will be," he said, handing over the April First cake. Noel himself was unable to contain his excitement at the announcement of his selection as part of the Mars Explorer Team, "I'm sorry I'll be leaving Matt behind," he said, "but our separation is for a good cause." Matt was unavailable for comment.
Noel is already on his way to Culebra to practice space walking and learning how to remain unconscious in zero gravity in preparation for the three year trip to Mars. "April First," he said, " a great day for Key West and America, a great tradition refreshed." And with that- poof!-he was gone.
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