A discarded Yamaha 225 a splendid little bike with barely 5,000 miles on the clock superficial rust, a torn seat that deserves recovering and lots of life left in the machine. Disuse kills engines.
Yes well, we are all dreaming of those cold-front-free southern beaches in Cuba in winter, mountain motorcycling year round and fabulous city architecture three hours south of here by high speed vehicle ferry. The timid souls in the White House so far are offering grossly over priced monopolistic charter flights for "approved" travelers only. Isn't odd how we have to get exit permits to leave the land of the free, just as the godless Communists used to require of their citizens when they lived behind a wall.
By the time the old guard Miami Mafia dies off we'll be too poor to dream of riding the Sierra Maestra on a worn out Bonneville.
Still for now we have Old Town lanes which are no bad thing to be limited to.
I'd rather have central air than a window unit and a TV dish. But best of all is a shady porch.
Shade came in handy despite the cooler temperatures. It is still warmer than 80 degrees even though seawater temperatures have dropped lower than is comfortable for swimming.
I want bamboo in my garden but I don't want the work to keep it corralled so I enjoy other peoples'.
Hibiscus, I'm almost certain.
This is the old style Key West that existed only in the good old days. There was a small spat in the paper when one old timer talked of the good old days as a time of raucous drunken noisiness and another responded that it was a time of fellowship and caring.
I expect they are both correct, but for my part I remember Key West in 1981 as rather dusty and isolated and for a young straight man looking for the bright lights of some kind of a city it was rather too insular. Of course now I'm old I'd like that Key West back, please. Havana Dreaming?
Key West dreaming!
I'll take the lanes and alleys and cottages and never mind the raucous drunken good cheer and fellowship. Not least because that's what's left.
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