Fog, Again

Moisture laden air is not unknown in the Florida Keys though usually we see it as oxidation on metal surfaces as salt air eats everything in sight. Every now and again we see actual fog, and when I out the word fog into the search function at the top of this page I got back half a dozen photo essays on the subject dating back to 2008. Like this one: Fog 2011  I got some rather decent photos I think, though I say so myself on my half a mega pixel android phone. I mention all this because fog has descended once again onto the Keys to the usual chorus of shock horror  and "this never happens here!"

It was warm yesterday morning and humid when I stepped out of the house at four in the morning to "check the mail" with Rusty. On my work days he likes to walk to the end of the street and poke around where the dogs from Venture Out trailer park have been walked the previous day. It is a lovely peaceful start to the day after the jangling of the alarm clock has been forgotten. Spanish Main is a major side street a mile long pointing due north at Highway One in the distance. Turn left and it's 23 miles to Key West and  turn right to drive 27 miles west  to Marathon.

My decision to pull over at the Sugarloaf Lodge (Mile Marker 17) was prompted by the fact that fog was still hanging around and I hoped for some atmospheric pictures in the low light conditions at the lodge, a pool of street lights on a darkened highway. 

This one below I liked as it looked like a film set, moisture laden air swirling under exotic palm fronds....Yes I know it's just the marina at Sugarloaf but I did allow myself to use my imagination just a bit.

There was a vacancy at the lodge but I had to be at work in 40 minutes and I wanted to stop on North Roosevelt and get a few more pictures of the fog in the city.

That never happened. I got stuck behind a long line of cars that decided they were unable to manage the hairy driving conditions and we crawled across the mangroves at a stately 45 miles per hour which put my arival time at the police station dead on ten to six when I like to be sitting down already.  I barely had time to put the kettle on before I took over from night shift.

Well I suppose that's all the fog excitement we shall see for the next year or two in the keys. That being the case I might not see it again, so I'm glad I stopped when I did. It was all gone by the time the sun came up around 6:30 and I had my first cup of tea.

Sugarloaf Fish Fry

It was the perfect day to go out and have lunch al fresco however when I saw the heavy traffic lining Highway One at the Sugarloaf Fire Department I had second thoughts about open air dining in a huge rugby scrum of a crowd.


We parked at Wayne and Chuck's and left Cheyenne comfortably ensconced with their dogs out of the sun in the cool of their home. We took off to find fried fish on an 85 degree, Sunday afternoon.


This annual event raises money for the volunteer fire station on Sugarloaf at Mile Marker 18 and they told us they have been there for 47 years. This year's event was heavily advertised so we expected crowds but it was quite then organized affair.


On our way across the crowded parking lot we passed early birds leaving with their loot and in fact later in the proceedings I found three novels worth scooping up at the book stand. Actual paper novels, not electronic downloads.


The firefighters displayed and demonstrated stuff.


While burly mannequins kept an eye on the proceedings including this fearsome character from the Florida Division of Forestry.


An unattended gas tank caught my eye as we got in line for food. It acted harmless, probably cowed by all the equipment surrounding us.


There were just two porta-potties which seemed inadequate for the number of people present but I never saw unruly mobs laying siege to them. "They're not selling enough beer," Wayne, ever the savvy businessman suggested.


The line seemed endless, winding it's way up the mountain side like a funeral procession in Shangri-La.


It looked even more formidable from the middle of the crocodile.
Wayne got bored and wondered about the grammar of the sign posted on the wall. It would have taken an eight foot leap to descend over the rail to the ground where the toilets were located, a fact that seemed more salient to me than the syntax of the signage.


It seemed like they were giving away fish on the scale of the miracle of the loaves and fishes...


And the crowds resembled the biblical proportions of the mob gathered to have lunch with Jesus and his Fishers of Men.


We shuffled forward and admired the recent hard work of the firefighters during the unpleasantness of Hurricane Wilma in 2005, up to their waists in water:


The fire station itself alongside the Overseas Highway took a pounding too. I did not enjoy Hurricane Wilma one bit even though I was secure in the Police Station in Key West. It was a stressful time.


Happy days are here again and we got our food in very short order. The line moved extremely efficiently and very smoothly to it's inevitable conclusion.


The fish was perfect, the batter crisp and not salty, the coleslaw had a mystery ingredient, horseradish by consensus that gave it a fresh bite and even the beans were smokey and rich. It was quite a delicious lunch for $14.


Interestingly enough the Fire Department was heavily promoting sustainability at the meal with t-shirts invoking recycling and reuse, cups were made from post consumer recycled plastic and the cutlery was effective and fascinating. It wasn't plastic at all but some form of cellulose.


This was, as Wayne insisted a slice of true Americana and he's from the mid West so he knows all about straight America's obsession with folksiness. The conversation at lunch was tedious with the questioning following the line of where are you from and whether we lived here year round, and having established that we lived in the Lower Keys our neighbor from far away Key West promptly started lecturing us about where to eat in Key West as though we lived on the far side of the moon.


That she liked all the massively expensive tourist traps suggested to me she needed to get out and explore a little but she had no curiosity about us or our lives or anything outside her own small orbit. I ate and kept my head down to avoid being rude.


We spent some time wandering the flea market where I bought my books and took a seat (for sale, 75 cents) in the sun to watch the world go by. The palms waved in the breeze as did some of the more extroverted headgear on display.


Next year come and spend some money because it's a well organized and run event for a good cause with delicious food.


It annoyed me no end but I had to admit to Wayne that he was right, it was worth it. Well worth it.

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Sugarloaf Planes And Pets

Its all change on Lower Sugarloaf Key these days. Riding toward Key West near Mile Marker 17 the venerable Sugarloaf Lodge is on the north side of the highway, looking the same as it ever did, and it's been there for decades. This is the section of the U-shaped island known as Lower Sugarloaf, while Upper Sugarloaf is the part of the island around the school at Crane Boulevard.


However change is on the way. The previous owner died a few months ago but not before a new restaurant was planned for the lodge which has thirty odd rooms in the motel section of the property.


Apparently a top flight wood fired pizza parlor is planned for the old restaurant which has been undergoing much anticipated renovation work.


The Tiki bar on the water has been operating along with the rooms even as the renovations continued in the restaurant but now the new Zaza's pizzeria is supposed to be on the verge of opening complete with proper wood fired pizza ovens.


Next door the airstrip seems to have lost it's mascot the single engined plane carcass that used to sit alongside the highway advertising the airstrip just up the side road.


Change is in the air I guess. According to their website use of the airstrip is free for flyers who stay at the lodge. And the lodge also takes pets according to that website.


They say Sugarloaf Key is named for sugarloaf pineapples once grown here but whether or not that is the case I have no idea. At least the name won't be changing....

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Sugarloaf Marina

On Highway One Sugarloaf Marina is the sort of place you ride by and hardly notice, it's just a collection of small buildings, a Realtor's office, a mechanic and some boats. From the water it is a convenient place to buy gas.Being the curious rider that I am, I actually took the time to stop and look around one night on my way home from an overtime shift.
http://conchscooter.blogspot.com/2008/07/sugarloaf-nocturne.html

By day we have a useful launch ramp which puts boaters 15 minutes from the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

The shaded gas dock is the usual mixture of convenience store, hang out and meeting place.

You'll see these signs in marinas all over Florida. The Keys get their water from the South Florida Aquifer by pipe along side the highway, so the water source is shared with millions of people on the mainland. It's hard to imagine 73,000 Monroe County residents make much difference one way or the other, but we must all do our bit and hope for the best.
Tootie, (or Zuzu) took a close interest in the proceedings.

The restaurant at the Sugarloaf Lodge is across the water. The place is being renovated and I'm told wood fired pizza is supposed to be part of the new eatery. The lodge itself continues to function as a motel as far as I can tell through the work on the restaurant.

There are moments when I consider taking a flight on this ultra light, a simple motorcycle of the air. There used to be one on North Roosevelt Boulevard in Key West and it seemed a very...elemental way to fly, as I watched it wobble into the air off the water.

We ended up following another boat north out of the marina after the refueling was done. I think non ethanol gas is around $5 a gallon but I was a guest this day so I averted my eyes from the bloodbath at the cash register.
Some of that precious fuel vaporizing as we got up on a place leaving the marina basin.

Hot sun, no rain, lots of gas and lots of salt water to explore. Another fine day in the fabulous Florida Keys.

Southernmost Car Club

I know nothing much about cars but there are people in the Lower Keys that love them and they have a club, like all properly socialized people with a hobby.It's all about nostalgia methinks, an emotion I am learning to come to terms with after half a century on Earth. My pleasure in motorcycles never translated into a desire for cars, perhaps because as a yout' I never drove much. Even I have heard, vaguely, of Dyna flow automatic transmissions. Haven't I?
They don't just have these in La Habana...A gathering of cars is a good place to make a political point. Perhaps it really is time we killed federal subsidies to Kansas corn farmers?This car evoked some memories for me. My stepmother had one just like this Triumph TR6. I mean. it's not a real Triumph but it's the best the four wheeled world can do. I need to show up to work in one of these.
Let us speculate wildly what club members are talking about.Speaking of lack of nostalgia, my first wife had one of these, a 1962 Bug. This perfectly tricked out 1962 is a lot nicer and more pristine than Carol's daily driver we used in Santa Cruz.We drove it on our honeymoon through Glacier and Yellowstone to Denver and back in 1983. Cute weren't we? Poor woman she was not right for me and vice versa, but she had some adventures which were out of character for her. Perhaps it's the VW thats makes one nerdy. Check out this modern couple, Eric the owner of the Bug and Tammie his boss.Police officers are just like you and me when off duty. You thought they spent time handcuffing each other for the fun of the thing eh?Drooling in public is entirely appropriate in these kinds of gathering. Back to La Habana for a moment of 1950s (I think) nostalgia.I love the open hoods. Show me the engine!

"Ooh, look! A kayak!" Tammie said. It did look a bit odd. I saw it on the Highway the next week so perhaps this is a daily driver with kayak. Cool. Not even tempted.Nope.My grandfather drove across America in 1925 in a convertible Packhard. This is a 1938 sedan, very Bonnie and Clyde. I could be tempted by these lines!Look at them. Isn't it amazing these lovelies live and survive and thrive in these tiny islands?Classic wheels of a different sort.By the time I could afford a Spitfire I was too late and they were out of production. I guess I was a closet Triumph man all those decades ago.This stuff is way out of my cultural comfort zone.Register, sign in, be clubby.Magazines? Of course!This wouldn't be the Southernmost Anything without a picture of a palm tree. It was a short stop but I enjoyed tasting a whiff of car nostalgia. It was fun.