I lay no claim to being a cyclist, but I do like to ride a bicycle, more accurately I like to ride a bicycle in winter. In summer I do it more out of a sense of obligation, for the exercise, and though Florida has never claimed to be a cyclist's Paradise, the city of Key West is a pleasant place to push a pedal. The suburbs where I live, less so, especially this time of year when the sun is ferocious, the mosquitoes more so, if they catch you, and the humidity will do it's best to drown you. Furthermore the only hill in my neighborhood is the forty-foot bridge over Niles Channel, which can be a bit daunting, for the traffic on the Overseas Highway, if not the grade.
My bicycle is a wonder of modern engineering, built by Trek with former Santa Cruz frame maker Bontrager supplying numerous ancillary parts. There is a box by Shimano underneath the pedals that collects electronic signals from the strokes and selects a gear and sends a message to the rear hub which obligingly changes speeds for the rider automatically. I swear its almost like riding a horse with a mind of it's own.
My wife's nephew found us these marvels and said they would be perfect for us with three speeds and a coaster brake, light, simple and reliable. Apparently they are made to last with very few steel parts and indeed after a year my bicycle makes no creaking or rattling noises and works as well as it did from new. To encourage us elderly folk they also supplied a nifty seat to stash some cash ( for the bus home) and a cell phone (to call 9-1-1 after we stroke out roadside):
When I was a youngster I used to mountain bike the Santa Cruz mountains and was I suspect one of the hooligans that got bicycles banned from most public woodland trails in the State. My apologies, but now I have a machine suitable to my infirm stage of life so I take it out and pedal for my life, literally, and work up a nice sweat.
Gustav has messed up our boating plans for the Labor Day Weekend and the canal is taking its sweet time recovering from forty mile per hour winds and rough seas. I took the picture at high, high tide (our home is on the Atlantic side of the Keys) and it was looking turgid and brown like repulsive oxtail soup, and was close to drowning my neighbor Alex's house:
Boating is definitely out for a day or two more, when we hope the sun comes back and the winds die down a bit. So I pulled the bike out of the shed and took off into a breezy gusty day with bright sun and was soon panting happily along the back of Middle Torch Key. With the southerly wind at my back I went too far, deliberately, to push myself a little bit and managed to find a hidden little trail head leading off most enticingly into the mangroves. I've noted it for winter exploration in the dry season.
The journey home was a bear, the wind was strong and gusty and I had my head bent over the handlebars all the way. I ride on the opposite side to the flow of traffic so I can see what's coming and there wasn't much traffic on my little side road. A Federal park ranger came by in his massive pick up truck and I wondered for a moment if he might stop by and render aid to a distressed middle aged cyclist out for a constitutional but he was busy on his cursed cell phone and breezed on by. 
The sky darkened which was a relief until I noticed the winds were stronger than ever in my face, directly out of the south indicating Gustav was at least level with, if not north of the Keys, which is a good thing for us. Then the rain started and down it came, in sheets, driving all before it, in gusts, off the frothy waters of Newfound Harbor. The cars coming at me on Highway One had their lights and wipers on, as if to heighten my lonely status as a berk pushing against the wind. Suddenly the rain stopped and the sky started to show a blue patch here and there.
The great thing about rain in the Keys is that it comes in summer when it's already hot and we could use some cooling, plus it doesn't outstay it's welcome. Rain comes and goes in the space of an hour or less and we don't see fog and endless drizzle. On the final stretch towards my home I passed a couple out for a walk after the rain burst had safely passed. They spotted me hunched and pedaling hard, closing in on my goal of a cooling shower and glass of lemonade and the woman's face creased into a look of appalled disdain. I smiled, or possibly grimaced, as I made my approach and said as I passed: "I'm just wet, not melting..." and skidded under my house, to the sound of a loud guffaw from her husband.
Bicycle good, Bonneville better:
Nothing changes that.
