Disaster Tourism

I am very relieved we are not Puerto Rico or the Virgin Islands, from whom nothing much is heard anymore. I did read that on St Johns they still have no electricity at all.This is Florida and be it ever so tenuous we are connected to the mainland. Yet this, after six weeks is how my street looks:

I have electricity, internet and air conditioning and running potable water from the faucet. Fantastic! My driveway is clear, my street is a mess. We call it Beirut-by-the-Sea, a jumble of trash, broken homes, wreckage and and rat infested piles of debris worthy of a civil war. The main road that connects our subdivision to the Highway is called Spanish Main, and here they pick up some trash and pour more in it's place:

US One, the Overseas Highway shown below as I was driving into Summerland Key is a mess. The trucks hauling wreckage spill stuff as they go and you are as likely as not to come across bits of RV parts, appliances, sheet metal wood and tree limbs as you go on the main road. Riding at night requires total alertness, even more than by day.

What makes it all so bizarre is that there is a three way public argument between the Florida Department of Transportation, responsible for highway debris, the county contractor responsible for side streets and the county. The state stays aloof and does its job meanwhile the county contractor can't get the required 200 trucks to clean the sub divisions along this hundred mile mess. He says FDOT pays too much and he can't compete with the state pay scale. He has but 78 trucks working. None have showed up on my corner of Cudjoe Key.

Imagine: this debris field stretches more or less from Mile Marker Ten a hundred miles north to Key Largo. In the newspaper county officials say they have removed 400,000 cubic yards of wreckage, as much as was generated by the hated Hurricane Wilma and its floods in 2005. They estimated there are 2 million cubic yards to clear this time around-  five times as much. And the county contract says my street should be clean by next weekend...No chance.

It just doesn't end. there's always something going wrong. There are no working gas stations on Summerland or Ramrod and only one in Big Pine. Think about this: cable television has been absent from much of the Keys since the storm. My neighbors got their first technician visit from Comcast last Saturday. We've had AT&T internet in my house for three weeks (we watch streaming TV) so we are lucky. Things just aren't getting done in some areas and as much as we cannot blame we cannot feel good about this chaos. I have seen societal collapse and I did not like it. Losing water, electricity, phone and medical services, fire protection and law enforcement all at once was  a lot to handle.

This Mount Trashmore on Ramrod Key is the scene of multiple trucks and excavators loading up every single day but the pile never shrinks. There's a bigger one at Summerland Key and a vast such pile in Marathon. It's endless. We have to give up the pretense that this lot will be cleared in anything less than months. Meanwhile it rains and smells mature.

I am not one of those who cares if people come by to photograph our misery though I have seen posts on Facebook protesting disaster tourists as though they should refrain. I understand the fascination but I would like amateur photojournalists either to not slow down or pull completely out of the way as they photograph our precious trash piles. I am so used to driving past wrecked homes and exploded RV trailers and piles of garbage I barely notice them. But I do notice people slowing me down as they crawl by fascinated by the detritus of lives upended by a Category Four storm.

There's plenty of crap to stare at too. And I'm not showing the houses torn apart, the subdivisions submerged in mud. Here is the refuse of all that destruction. This trash represents workers who can no longer live in the Keys and do their work. People living in FEMA hotels kicked out to make way for better paying tourists. 

They say flying the flag upside down is a symbol of distress. Well, we have lots of streets signs doing the same thing. I hope someone with authority to do something notices.

FEMA trailers, expedited housing permits, and those tourist dollars we crave being spent to rebuild our local small businesses. That would be nice.

Boca Chica Beach Then And Now

I have been trying to reintroduce Rusty to normal activities after his long road trip as an evacuee.

Boca Chica Beach was a favorite.

The trees were shredded by Irma but Rusty didn't care and that's part of the pleasure of a dog walk.

The other part of the pleasure is being in Nature though that is curtailed these days.

Before the storm it was  a pleasant shady place to sit looking out at the ocean:

Nowadays the view over the Straits is  from a bench created from driftwood.

And the Navy fence is frequently not there.

I preferred it when it was green and flourishing.

      

Rusty was just fine with it all torn up

Spotted something out of the corner of his eye in mid bound:

Cheyenne in her younger days when I first got her enjoyed the paved walk along what used to be State Highway 4:

The road now is a bit different covered in sand and seaweed:

A year ago it looked like this:

Rusty went for a stroll on Navy property and even though he came running when I called a patrol vehicle showed up behind the parking lot while I was watering him and I don't believe in coincidences.

The beach with its huge shade trees and winding coastal path.

    I know it will grow back but the land is gone, the tide is encroaching and I doubt I will still be around then this lot returns to looking as it did.

Which I liked a lot. And even though the collection of twigs built into a structure still seemed to be there it was out of reach for a proper inspection.

   

And I know it was a refuge for nudists and al fresco gay sexual encounters but they never bothered me and the walk was always worthwhile. 

This picture put me in mind of a lakeside dock in winter Up North. 

This is what it really ought to look like:

Normal:        

Now:

May it all grow back soon. Before I'm dead maybe.

Denny's

To say the word got out would be an understatement. In times like these a hot meal served without fuss or delay is a life altering experience and people lined up for a slice of that.

I compare our situation to that in Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands and aside from wind strengths and construction codes one has to be grateful for the Overseas Highway. Also that it stayed mostly intact and the places where it didn't were quickly fixed. So we were lucky to get to meet the new Denny's disaster food truck. Seen here dispensing buttermilk pancakes and coffee to survivors. It was a truly simple yet great thing.

I ate at Denny's  all the time when I first came to the US in 1981 and rode coast to coast on a Vespa P200. I had never seen such a  place before with huge menus and over the top descriptions of food that sounded too good to be true to someone not used to rhetorical flourish in day to day use. I ate the Grand Slam Breakfast all over the place and pancakes and bacon and eggs set me up for the day's ride. I've always had a fondness for the quintessential 24 hour diner, much more so than bland fast food eateries which hold no nostalgia value for me.Denny's was the American diner only ever seen at the movies.

So to be served free food by smiling clean people in a fast moving line was really quite amazing. The offerings were smart and simple: pancakes bacon and hot coffee and cold water. Stand in line with hands outstretched and a few minutes later you got a seat all to yourself. Easy and fast - and free. It was so nice we came and ate here twice at Mile Marker 15.

In the photo above the lady on the left took a  few minutes to tell us about this eighteen wheeler serving food. She said it was a new idea dreamed up at Denny's headquarters in South Carolina after they saw the damage inflicted by Hurricane Harvey in Texas. I guess the food truck craze must have struck somebody because this is probably the world's biggest and it has to be the most organized. 

 It's hard to explain how much this gesture meant.

 But I'm not going to forget it. And in a world gone mad with fear and aggression and deprivation a plate of hotcakes and bacon makes a world...of difference. It's not a cure for cancer but it is a cure for the blues. At the moment you can't ask for more.

Next stop Denny's said was Immokalee. Lucky them, lucky us.

After The Storm

Many years ago, eighteen to be precise, my wife and I found ourselves going to the movies one night. We left the dogs on the boat in the marina after a very long walk, and picked up a cab at the gates for the drive round the waterfront to the more upscale side of town where we found a shopping mall with a theater. I forget the title of the movie but it was some Hollywood production, in English with Spanish subtitles as they rarely seem to dub movies in Mexico. Halfway through the film the projector stopped, the lights came up and we had an obligatory intermission when people could buy candy and catch up on missing plot lines. It was rather charming.

 Leaving San Diego October 1998, Baha Ha Ha VI Rally. Gemini 105 catamaran hull #529

After the movie ended we stretched and got up out of armchairs and waded through a  sea of wrappers and popcorn containers to the exits and then we realized once again we were back in Mexico, more precisely Acapulco and we had thousands of miles yet to travel before we reach Key West. Damn! For a moment there we had been transported back to the US in the dark, back to he familiar, the easy and the known. And it wasn't that we weren't enjoying the journey necessarily, we just wanted a break from the daily grind of living in a foreign culture.

Panama Canal, Miraflores Lake, Emma and Debs wishing they were ashore August 1999

These days I feel like that a lot of the time. I wish I could wake up and walk away from this culture of torn up trees and quirky electricity and boil water orders and so forth. You can't make the argument that any of this is fun, but like choosing to go sailing with your family, choosing to live in the hurricane belt with your family is up to you. And even so there are good bits to being caught up in a Category Four storm,

At anchor in the wild and lonely Pacific Coast islands of Panama, of our favorite cruising grounds. 1999

To get to live through a major hurricane is an event in one's life that some people crave. They want bragging rights which I find odd. I knew before Irma showed up that despite leveling an entire Third World island that lacked building codes like ours (and ours could be a lot stricter!) only one person among 1800 died on Barbuda. The chances of my dying seemed remote, especially to someone who defies death every day by commuting by motorcycle. The thing is, the adrenaline rush passes, the survival of the event transforms into the survival of the drudgery that follows, and it is a drudge to survive after the storm has gone.

Now it is endless clean up, removing debris, filing paperwork, talking to adjusters, waiting for electricity, flushing toilets by hand and so forth. And just like in a Acapulco that warm tropical night two decades ago I would like to be transported away, even if for just a little while to a place where the grass is green and tree have leaves and no one is surprised to see running tap water or menus outside open restaurants. This is the part about the storm that people elsewhere don't understand. You don't die in hurricanes you just get fed up and bored and angry. You just want the damned electric lights to work and keep working. This is how for the past two weeks we entered and left our street. Had we needed an ambulance or fire truck it would have been curtains. As it was we all drove through our neighbor's yard to get in and out:

Just room enough for a sedan or a pick up truck thanks to the efforts of my neighbor Jose who propped the wires up on cross beams of his invention, no thanks to Keys Energy for their lack of help:

I am sure you are tired of hearing about the daily drudgery but my world has shrunk. For a week I was happy to forget the name of the President, Governor Rick Scott did outstanding work organizing relief and being a presence to remind everyone help for us was important to him and I am grateful. This storm has changed me. I am not willing to assume that there will be no more hurricanes. I know there will be more and this circus will be repeated. I cannot take for granted water or electricity or phone service after the abysmal collapse of everything civilized following Irma. My expectations are low. We have electricity now but tomorrow who knows? I came across friend steam cleaning his garage of mud with an electric appliance. I turned to my wife and said: "They til have electricity" as though it could have been in doubt. I keep doubting.

A group of Latter Day Saints came by a friend's wrecked house and put order inside and out in a couple of hours. She couldn't believe it. One woman said she flew to Miami from San Francisco the day before and there she was with her family of all ages tearing it up. It was a hell of thing and saved Kathy a bunch of grief and despair. Better change our stereotypes of the Mormons I guess. There is kindness in the midst of wreckage.

After it all goes into the history books I will be left with a vaguely unsatisfactory feeling that even when I know what to expect I still fail to measure up to my own standards. Hurricanes  get you like that, you never what exactly they will end up doing even if you yourself know the sequence of emotions that go through your mind after the storms have blown away. And still I'd rather be two hundred miles away in a green and pleasant land they used to call Florida - the flowery state.

Vespa In A Post Apocalyptic World

"What?" my neighbor said to me as he watched me get on 2008 Vespa S150 for the 25 mile ride back to Key West."You riding that moped on these streets?" He had a point things were a bit rough right after Irma landed. And in Key West where everyone rides 50cc scooters  a 60 mph 150 is indistinguishable from a 35 mph model. 

So how is a Vespa as a survival tool when civilization teeters on the brink?  In normal times I use the scooter to commute on the Overseas Highway where it's perfect. Speed limits vary between 45 and 55 mph and the Vespa allows me to keep up with the normal flow of traffic. With the wind at my back the 150 cc motor sends me down the flat straight road at up 65 mph (showing 70 on the speedo). It does not allow me to get into trouble by passing or speeding in the carefree manner my motorcycle allowed me to. My Bonneville got trashed by salt water and it does not look likely to be a survivor and with two Vespas at my disposal it doesn't look like I'll be replacing it in this phase of my life.

The Vespa is known for its metal body and sturdy construction and its load carrying ability. On my rides checking neighborhoods after the Category Four storm ravaged the Keys I came across all manner of things, including these pallets on Sugarloaf Key. The National Guard dropped off supplies for survivors and I easily loaded a box of MREs onto the seat.

 My MRE carrier:

Fuel: I found that riding at 50 mph indicated (45mph actual) I saved a ton of gas. The fuel gauge on on the S150  is quite accurate so it encouraged me to keep my speed down. Quite aside from the objects laying around on the roadways in the early days. I should have filled a five gallon jug before the storm but I was stupid and forgot. I know better...

So I had to round up some jugs find a gas station that was open and be very careful about how much I burned. This is a big issue for a scooter as survival tool. I could have used a front rack on the Vespa with a one or two gallon jug strapped on just for peace of mind. I did strap a jug on the floor boards but I like to keep that area clear in normal use. 

I always carry a tire repair kit under the seat and flat tires were constantly on my mind. The ease of use of the Vespa, the low weight the open body make it much more suitable than a motorcycle. Then there is the fact that the Bonneville has tubes in the tires. A flat would be truly awkward in these circumstances. 

To a population used to riding around in giant trucks and SUV type vehicles the idea of using a 230 pound scooter to get around in the best of times seems weird. In a crisis those big trucks look so self important with their heavy duty whatnot and then this hairy old hobbit comes rolling by on a moped. Oops!

But the scooter got me where I wanted to go. I did not drive through flooded areas but I dodged downed trees and power lines and I managed gravel and sand just fine. Having experience is decidedly a plus in these types of conditions which can easily tip and inexperienced rider. 

One thing drivers of trucks don't have to worry about is decapitation. Wires down are a serious issue for a rider after a storm and you need to keep a sharp eye out. Wires can come down later even if the road was open previously. This was one of my biggest fears:

The hospital was closed after Irma as there was no running water in Key West, so an injury could be severely inconvenient or fatal. That was always at the forefront of my mind when I was riding or doing anything else. No ambulances no hospital no help. 

Some heavy duty wires were so low down they even kept me out of my street. Luckily these were so thick I had no trouble spotting them and they were there for two weeks:

I even picked up a kid hitch hiking and gave him a 15 mile ride toward Miami. Florida is no helmet law state (for adults) and it was easy enough to pop him on the solo seat for a short ride. The Vespa did sterling work.

So how did my Vespa survive the storm? Well it was small enough to fit in the elevator at work so I took it to the upper floor safe from potential flooding of which we warned by the National Hurricane Center. I wondered who would yell at me for parking in front of the detectives bureau but I guess people had other things on their mind. There were only two dozen of us left to ride out the storm anyway.

Then of course I wondered what I would do if the storm in some way knocked out our elevators. Would my Vespa be stranded upstairs? In stressful times we worry about anything...

The fun factor is always there on two wheels  so if you enjoy riding, getting on the Vespa can be a bit of an escape too. My wife and dog were safely evacuated so I only had  myself to look after which made the Vespa perfect for these two weeks of isolation. I carried little and had no responsibility for others so my single seat ride fit the bill exactly.

The weather channel said this was a non-survivable event in the Florida Keys. When I found their truck stuck with a flat tire I let my feelings be known about the way they rated my chances of survival:

In the end I have to say my decision to keep and use the Vespa as a survival tool was perfect for me. On the other hand I am a confident rider after half a century in the saddle and that makes it easy for me to choose to use a Vespa in circumstances others may think bizarre or risky. Certainly there was an element of risk but I was cautious and took my time and rode slowly. I got where I needed to go.

The more I ride these ultra smooth perfectly reliable modern Vespas the less I miss the two stroke geared  Vespas of my past. These machines go and go and they do it well. 

My orange survival tool.
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I should point out I had a non survivable event shortly after I wrote this piece. My drive belt blew on the road and I had to get help from friends to round up my ailing car and trailer and get the Vespa off the road. I knew before the storm I should have changed the belt as it was nine years old even though the scooter had only run 326 miles when I got it. I changed the tires promptly but the belt...well I wanted to get a few miles out of it.Of course when Irma intervened in my life I was too late to order a new belt and when I locked the other Vespa safely away first... This was the one I had to ride. Yet  I knew I'd be better off riding the Vespa than driving the car and I hoped for no breakdowns. I got away with t till the very end.