I am 56 years old and I fear sometimes that I have lived too long already, that the Biblical span of three score years and ten will see me utterly worn out. I don't mean physically so much as mentally worn out. I have grown old in a world where we are assured that change comes faster and faster as electro I'd chips get smaller and more capable of transforming impulses int actions. I'm not yet ready for instance to take my portable telephone for granted. Every time I use it for something that a telephone was never intended to do, I marvel. Then I wonder if in fact this trajectory of GPS, mapping, locator devices, web based information hasn't been planned for longer than we think. People come on vacation to regress in time, they ride bicycles, they talk to each other, they lie under the sun. Key West gives them a brief respite if they want it, from daily electronic labor saving drudgery. Rent a bike, we've got plenty!
I am child-free so a lot of the stuff that happens because of children escapes my notice or my understanding. School buses I know, I used to drive one years ago in California, mostly because I lived in a big school district and they needed lots of drivers, getting the special license was a challenge and I figured one day I could move to the transit district a unionized job with more hours higher pay and similar benefits. That never happened but I think back to the Pajaro Valley Unified School District with fondness when I am stopped for a Monroe County School bus. I can honestly say however that I do not recall cyclists stopping for my bus. Perhaps they did and I didn't notice. They certainly do here.
Scooters in Key West that are used for deliveries, and a lot are, normally carry the food in ice chests bolted to the luggage rack like this one. I steer clear of these scooters when they are in action as the riders frequently like to prove their localness by talking on the phone while delivering or otherwise not paying attention while cutting corners for tips. In case you are wondering I have discovered ice chests make poor luggage carriers as they aren't properly waterproof and because they are insulated they tend to be hugely bulky on the outside considering the space available inside. And their lids have a tendency to fly open at speed. But I have never delivered good using one.
I liked the reflection in the window and as I looked at the picture I was struck by a doctor requiring appointments until I remembered she's a shrink. Still the reflection looked nice.
The sun still low in the sky became an actual sunburst through the truck windshield which was creating the effect as it was covered in dew, or last nights drizzle or something. Cheyenne just wanted me to keep moving.
Appitizers? I had to find out from a friend what might be a fireball or a Dr McGillicudy. A fireball is a cinnamon flavored whiskey and Shanmon says it makes her forgetful. The other stuff is flavored Schnapps which sounds lethal to me. Headache country I suspect.
Another day another few Key West pictures.











6 comments:
Like many other things Italian, style helps the scooter stand out. The light, open wheels and the red for starters. I wonder how reliable they are?
My second car was a Fiat 131 Mirafiori. Navy blue. I loved it.
Ebooks replacing real books? Never. I'd rather Fahrenheit 451.
I think it is the color scheme of the Aprilia that make sit so attractive.
I really like that first pictures with the bicycles. The colors are just perfect in it. I have a thing for bicycle photos though. I'm weird.
It is a phenomenon is Italian industrial design. I love Moto Guzzi but could never own.one as my primary wheels for fear of that I incessant nagging voice of reliability.
I never rhoygyt of the fiat 131 as pretty but it had its own style. And it wad exceedingly popular in Italy.
I shall post more pictures of the multitudes if key west bicycles...
I returned to Prague and found that Fireballs are the newest hot (no pun intended) drink here. They're getting some major global promotion from the whiskey maker and its distributors. As they say, tastes like Heaven going down, and Hell the next morning. Glad I'm too old for that kinda stuff!
Cheers,
George
My old Fiat wasn't pretty...that's for sure. But sure as heck was a lot nicer than the Ford Pinto my father bought me as my first car!
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