I found a small puddle of oil under the motorcycle yesterday afternoon and far from confirming that modern Triumphs leak like the old ones, I understood that I had been squeezing my Loobman chain oiler too much and not riding enough. I've done enough chores, I thought to myself, as I hunted for the keys. The roof of the shed is painted, the laundry is hanging out to dry, and there's only one thing left to do as the sun starts hitting mid afternoon. "Go to the bank" of course, which is the excuse for riding I needed. Plus I had to get my noggin trimmed as my curly locks had been getting excessively un-police-like. Big Pine Key must be the destination then.
So I took off with the helmet and gloves in the top case and enjoyed a perfectly glorious summer afternoon in January. 85 low-humidity degrees, bright sunshine reflecting off the water and traffic that didn't bother me a bit as I was perfectly content to pootle along at forty miles per hour.
I deposited my checks per the wife's instructions, bought a bottle of Dr Bronners Peppermint Soap at the weird Health Food Store, and the owner was there looking crazed as usual. Last summer on a hot slow afternoon I dropped into conversation with her and she told me a long and vexed tale of employee unreliability, which after 30 years in business on Big Pine you'd think she'd be used to it. I left after that monologue feeling virtuous, an unpaid therapist helping relieve tension in my community. This time I slipped in, snagged the $30 jug of Dr Bronner's (Fair Trade it proclaimed on the side, in startling orange. Honestly I'm as unconscious as the next shopper. I'd never thought of fair trade outside of coffee beans) and rushed back to the Bonneville. I really needed to ride.
The road beckoned. And I had choices- east or west? I went north instead, an oldie but goodie. In keeping with the laid back theme of the day I just blipped the throttle when some dork tried to cut into my lane before the traffic light; I assumed lack of attention, not homicidal tendencies and kept going.
I crept towards No Name Key on the back roads, clipping the dirt short cuts in first gear and missing the holes as best I could. The Bonneville, even in its modern incarnation is renowned for its torque, that is its ability to get up and go from low revs in high gear. What isn't so well known is that it has a very tall first gear which makes ambling at walking pace a little more tricky. I like to think I could pick my way through a dirt road or two in a more hilly part of the country but I think it might be quite an exercise in feathering the clutch or going hell for leather, which would, in either case, be unnerving. Dirt on Big Pine is mild and not so bracing.
So much so I stopped and played with my Nikon Coolpix point and shoot camera, fiddling with focus and light and wondering how I managed before the advent of digital when you took your pictures, took laborious notes and got it all muddled up when you finally got the pictures home. I could see my crappy ones immediately, by the side of the road. 
It wasn't anywhere near that dark, but I liked the definition I got on the cloud, which got a summery, thundery air. No Name Key has but one road leading to a dead end, actually the place where the old pre-Overseas Highway ferry arrived from Knights Key in Marathon. Nowadays the boulevard just stops at water's edge and the few people who live on No Name do so on typical side streets on canals. 
This was also the place where the Cuban counter revolutionary nutters practiced for the Bay of Pigs invasion in dreadful secrecy because it was all terribly illegal. Nowadays its a wilderness area, electricity-free and the bridge from Big Pine offers splendid fishing apparently. For me the end of the road was a place to play with the camera.
No motorcycle. Then add one motorcycle.
Then add a motorcycle part and let the exposure show the real state of the day.
I tried to take a trip down a dirt side road but soon enough the gruesome ubiquitous "No Trespassing" sign popped up with a locked chain dangling across the dirt. I positioned the Bonneville to hide the chain and highlight the motorcycle.
Then I figured the Bonneville's 865cc power plant deserved a mention and a thank you for giving me 5,000 splendid miles.
And on my way off the island I passed by this wonderment that caught my eye. I'll bet you can't get the decrepit structure at the end of this lane for less than say, 750,000 US dollars. Consider there is no electrical service on No Name Key so you'll need to learn to maintain the generator, replace the batteries from time to time, and drive 20 minutes just to get to the Overseas Highway, which still leaves you an hour from the fleshpots of Key West. You'd think with all these inducements to keep looking the owners would perhaps clean up one's first impression? Hell no baby! 
We don't need no stinkin' curb appeal. Nor vertical mail boxes apparently. Its all part of the charm and if you don't understand it, no one can enlighten you. And you probably shouldn't think of buying either if you think an expensive home for sale deserves the best possible presentation. This is as good as home sales get in the fabulous Florida Keys, when a crappy home looks like a million bucks on a sunny day in January.
