New Triumph

I really quite enjoy taking my Bonneville to Pure Triumph in Fort Lauderdale. The trip is 170 miles each way if I take the straight route, from Highway One to the Turnpike and then follow I575 into downtown Fort Lauderdale, and there it is right on Highway One. It occurred to me this week that Pure Triumph (they also sell Ducatis at...Pure Ducati, the Italian half of the building) is an old fashioned kind of motorcycle shop lightly disguised as a modern boutique. South Florida seems to have a massive cruiser and crotch rocket market and the Japanese motorcycle shops are very different places. Pure Triumph has fast bikes for sale including the Daytona which has made a name for itself in the motorcycle press:However, unlike the other dealers Pure Triumph is a shop run by people who seem to genuinely like what they sell. Everyone at the shop owns a Triumph and rides it, unlike the dealerships, all too common, run by neat clean people in clothes that wouldn't look out of place in a bank. Pure Triumph has a large showroom and on the surface its just another up market bike shop, albeit one with a ton of Bonnevilles on display:
And while I waited for my own motorcycle to get a new rear tire installed I got to wander the showroom, and check out some of the models. Triumph has cost its owner some $200 million dollars since he bought the name some 20 years ago after the original company went bust. Finally Triumph is reportedly turning a profit for John Bloor a businessman who made a multi-billion dollar fortune in construction. Aside from the classic air cooled twins the company, which assembles engines in England and the motorcycles in Thailand, builds three cylinder water cooled engines for the "modern line" in 700 cc and 1050cc versions. The Speed Triple:And its smaller compadre the Street Triple:Which if I were twenty-something is what I'd be longing to own, small light and very fast. The Triumph Tiger is an old model name applied to a modern concept, a tall motorcycle designed to be comfortable on the street if you've got longer legs than me:And then my favorite alternative to the classic twins is the 1050 Sprint, the log legged tourer complete with hard bags and big old fairing:And in order to make a statement Triumph also builds the world's largest production motorcycle, the three-cylinder 2300cc Rocket:Conspicuous consumption at its most excessive. A walk round the showroom makes for quite a tour at Pure Triumph.

After spending some time eating my lunch and catching up on my reading on the deep leather couch I took a stroll back to the workshop area. The insurance company never twigged and I got to chat with Lucho as he reassembled a Daytona.Lucho grew up in Peru and raced motorcycles there while earning a living importing them as well. A punitive new tax code killed the Peruvian import business so he came north and has settled down to work in Fort Lauderdale. Lucky for me. His cohort Jason usually does the warranty work on my Bonneville and so far he's done a bang up job. There was my machine up on the torture rack getting its $169 tire, and there was Jason truing up the new rubber. Minutes later the taciturn English mechanic was on the sales floor waxing lyrical about his Daytona 675 to a young rider contemplating his first non-Japanese ride. At the 6,000 mile service Jason did a nice job and sent me home with a smoother running, better balanced pair of carburettors. Balancing the tire he didn't disappoint either.

On another lift i saw a a Guzzi 1100 Sport getting an oil change. Its the earlier model than my preferred V11 but my heart always does a little flip when I see a Moto Guzzi, as I've always wanted one and never owned one. And it doesn't look like I will for a while either.Lucho told me how he met another distraught Guzzi owner who bought a new Griso, a $12,000 motorcycle, but the fuel injection wasn't working and the motorcycle wouldn't start. Apparently the Moto Guzzi "dealer" in Miami has no trained technicians, no parts back up and no skills. And the motorcycle is stalled and won't run. That was the impression I got when i went looking at the Guzzi 750. That conversation made me happy I went with the Bonneville. Plus the Goodwood Green I got isn't made anymore though its replacement isn't bad I suppose:And I like it better than the Ducati 1000 Classic, a pretty motorcycle by any standards but it doesn't make my heart beat any faster than the Bonneville does. Which is just as well because Lucho says Triumph's parts distribution is second to none. I like to hear that. I like to see the smoothly operating shop and their respect for the notion of making appointments as it takes me four hours each way from my home.

I guess putting 1500miles a month on my motorcycle requires the back up of a good shop, not because stuff is breaking but because it gives peace of mind to the avid rider. Vespa Miami/Ft Lauderdale failed to keep my GTS running properly and I had to cut the scooter loose. Too bad, but good things come to them as wait. So far so good, and I'm already looking forward to the 12,000 mile service possibly in June before Hurricane season.

Going my own way, miles at a time. With proper back up.

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Schadenfreude.

I can't help myself but with the news that the Governor of New York was, among many others, paying "high class" call girls $4500 a bonk I had to do some math.
My Bonneville with center stand, gaiters, windshield and all the luggage amounts to almost exactly $9000 on the road out the door taxes paid. So, accepting the oxymoron of high class and call girl in the same sentence, is a Bonneville worth two bonks? Plus the loss of a career, public humiliation and God only knows what from the missus? I think I'd need to move to France, or, here's a concept, take my Bonneville for a ride not the expensive whore.

Darkness And Light

Years ago I was getting an education from the monks at an English Benedictine Abbey and Dom Daniel was assigned to teach me history. As one does when one is a schoolboy one soon learns to insinuate oneself into the memories of the teacher, the better to distract them from the lesson plan. That I was genuinely interested in history accounted in part for my interest in Dom Daniel's war service during the Second World War. As we walked the Downside Abbey Gardens discussing perhaps the English Civil War and the dissolution of the monasteries, I pressed Dom Daniel on his time with the RAF. His blue eyes twinkled beneath is red tonsure and he laughed out loud. "It would not be good for my humility!" he protested in his soft Irish brogue, a slave to his monastic vows. The lesson plan progressed.

So it was last night I wandered down to Duval Street on my four o'clock lunch break. Spring Break has been hitting us fairly hard and I felt it was time for me to see the chaos up close. After all it is easy to get detached from the business of policing the street when one gets to work from a secure, air conditioned room at the top of the police department. Something after the manner of the late Dom Daniel of Downside I felt it would be good for my humility. It was very good for my humility as it turned out. I can't possibly do what our young police officers do, night after night, with good grace and cheerfulness, dealing with drunks. I am just the dispatcher thank you, safe from the marauding crazies, wandering the streets in search of a drink and a new friend:I wonder sometimes why it is I like living in the Keys so much, especially as I am not in the least bit drawn to the preferred activity downtown. On my nights off I would rather sit at home and give myself an appendectomy than subject myself to the noise and crowds and stale beer smell of Lower Duval so imagine my surprise when I bumped into, literally, an off duty colleague of mine who apparently can't get enough of the bars. By the time I showed up it was after 4am (summer time) so they were closing and crowds were milling on the street.Everyone was very good natured, shouting to be heard over the confusion and laughter. Apparently some fights did break out but I walked the sidewalk unmolested, dodging crowds of raucous young people too busy making their point, whatever it was, to notice me. The cops standing around were also too busy keeping an eye on the seething mass to engage in banter with a bored dispatcher on lunch break.The hot dog stand was doing a roaring trade, as well it should because the dogs are quite tasty and doubtless especially so after a hard night's drinking. I like the hot dog stand partly also because it reminds me of taco stands I've frequented in Mexico, where the populace is out taking an entirely sober paseo, evening walk.

For some people the scruffy sidewalks of Lower Duval are the perfect environment to allow romance to flourish, a notion I find a little hard to second but there it is.Especially as it was freezing cold with a howling north wind and temperatures somewhere south of 60 degrees (15 Celsius). Nothing like a sticky cold sidewalk to get the youthful hormones in an uproar apparently.

It was clear to me I am not an urban animal, as though there were any doubt previously, and I slunk away from the bright lights and noise of this vision of an urban future previously predicted by Dante Alighieri and more recently in the movie Blade Runner. All Lower Duval lacked for my sensibilities was the patter of acid rain. If God doesn't have a sense of humor I shall be doomed to spend the rest of eternity in a place closely resembling Lower Duval at four in the morning...

However I do quite like Mallory Square at that hour of the morning it turns out. Who wouldn't with that deep black sky and wide open expanse of nothing but street lights glowing:

There were a few other people on the far side of the square sort of defying the curfew and enjoying the cold night air but i fiddled with my camera, and sat back to look at the impenetrable sky.This thing is so silly it always cracks me up:I think I must be too insecure because I wouldn't be seen dead with my head in one but I ride down Lazy Way Lane at Key West Bight and I always see smiling people getting their photos taken in a similar model. I expect they had nice upbringings in supportive families and thus aren't afraid to look stupid in public. This particular photographer's model is in back of El Meson De Pepe the best known Cuban restaurant on the island. Its usually pretty crowded so I don't get there very often but I really enjoyed their second location on the other end of the island. It didn't last which was too bad, but at Mallory Square El Meson's outside bar was closed for the night and looked very evocative to my camera.Warm Havana nights, even though its actually a cold Key West morning.

.

This is the part of town where the tower of the Pirate Historeum glows in the night and Tifts Alley and Wall Street are empty, waiting for tomorrow's loads of cruise ship tourists, trolley passengers and souvenir hunters:

And so, to bed after all the excitement, except this was just my lunch break so I walked back to my motorcycle and rode back to work. In fact I did no such thing. The car needs to be driven from time to time and the back end of a cold cold front is the perfect time to air out the Maxima in my opinion. On such a cold night the guest's wheels at the Ocean Key House were tucked carefully away out of the breeze. Had I been riding the Bonneville I might have been jealous.
As it was the heater worked nicely in the car:The Nissan got me home in good order after work too, as it happens. Me? Hardcore Biker? Hardly. Wandering downtown in the early, freakish hours gave me a fresh perspective on why I do like Key West drunks and all. So much going on in one block, so little in another just a short walk away. Lots of room for everybody in such a small place. The magic expanding island. All mine at four in the morning offering at least the illusion of solitude.

Immature Adult Content

Walgreens on Duval Street occupies the former Strand Movie theater which paradoxically enough showed pornographic movies before it went completely out of business. Nowadays it is a most respectable pharmacy and knick-knack store with lots of entirely suitable souvenirs including modest t-shirts of the family type. Others however sell nasty messages on stupid t-shirts for everyone to see and enjoy...

The City of Key West is pondering the first amendment, and the pondering isn't going anywhere in a hurry. T-shirt stores on Duval Street are presenting a poor image of the city which must come as something of surprise to many of the 3.3 million visitors to the Southernmost City, who come here to drink and do things they wouldn't dream of doing at home. The problem is simple enough, people buy t-shirts with unwholesome messages on them, so store keepers display the t-shirts in their windows and people who don't like the messages complain. The city tries to react and round the robin we go.

For some reason I cannot fathom your typical t-shirt shop owner in Key West is Israeli. Its as though there is someone apportioning t-shirt stores to Israeli immigrants and no one else. This must be an exaggeration but it doesn't seem that way. The other weird thing about this situation is that people must be buying these gruesome articles. I mean, shopkeepers wouldn't put them on sale unless people bought them. I have never seen anyone ever parading around in one of these nasty t-shirts. And yet someone must be buying them; it stands to reason.

So the City Commission has formed a committee to inspect the stores and check out the visuals and they say lots of stores have voluntarily cleaned up their displays and everyone is delighted. However things are still pretty raunchy. Granted Key West is reluctant to sell itself as a family destination at certain times of the year, Fantasy Fest springs to mind of course, but the Chamber of Commerce makes a strong pitch for Key West as a family destination. And then our eager shoppers get to stroll past these t-shirts.

Of course not everything is crude. I rather liked this display of underwear as Art.

Campy perhaps, but humor is the essence of camp. The other stuff is just puerile and stupid. However it seems rights to freedom of speech impede anyone from preventing a store owner from inflicting this important message on passersby:I mean really, the first amendment?

The other thing is that one member of the city commission owns Ricks complex that includes some sort of strip bar called the Red Garter. I've never been in so I'm not sure what goes on up there but this young lady was outside the front door touting for business, and her IQ was nowhere in evidence unlike the rest of her:What happens in Key West stays in key West, that ever adaptable phrase.

I have no idea who buys these t-shirts, nor why. One can only assume that the buyers are drunk out of their gourds and that there are drawers filled with this rubbish across the land, impulse purchases regretted in the fullness of time. I cannot bring myself to imagine the happy reveler getting home and stone cold sober going downtown to his coffee shop for a Saturday morning breakfast with his buds bringing them this cheery message on his chest:Is the city commission being silly to ask the merchants to stop displaying this stuff so prominently? For the stout of heart here is a selection I found while strolling Duval. Not for the squeamish, I fear.

Observing this happy couple getting a pedal down Duval I was forced to wonder if their pleasure in Duval was enhanced by the messages. It didn't seem likely and relying on voluntary compliance seems unlikely too.

In view of all this lurid action on Duval I have to wonder if its me and am I just a nerd, because when I think of what appeals to my inner fantasy my mind wanders from sex for sale to the true delights of life on the edge, as illustrated by this poster I saw at the Triumph dealer in Fort Lauderdale:

What could be more exciting than a Thruxton on a winding mountain road? Nothing I've seen printed on a t-shirt that's for sure.

Wild Ones

Tonight we set the clocks forward an hour, which will be delightful for those of us on the Bravo Night Shift at the Police Department. Up North, also delighted no doubt, the change presages the beginning of the possibility that motorcycle riding can once again become a daily activity. Down South the change of season is marked by Bike Week at Daytona Beach, an event big enough to spill over onto our modest little island. Haute couture is not de rigeur when riding, but even I try not to wear black socks when I'm cruising Duval:At least he is wearing shoes, a counter culture statement in Key West this week: The drag of it is that when motorcycles gather in Key west they are almost all of them Harley Davidsons or Japanese cruiser look alikes. Throw in a few BMWs of the hardcore traveling crowd (Key West is as far south as you can conveniently go!) and that is about all the variety you will see on our streets. The name of this store at 600 Duval makes a statement not heard by the bikers:Its not really surprising to see only cruisers in Key West because the road down here has great views, sure, but its not a challenging motorcycle ride. Youngsters, many in the military, ride crotch rockets, and try to ride slowly: It remains rare to see people riding motorcycles around town that aren't aimed at the cruiser market. I did find one guy, a rather taciturn character from Tennessee who warmed the cockles of my heart with his (albeit cruiser) Bonneville:But Steve wasn't much into conversation and my enthusiasm was not apparently infectious. This next one was wildly enthusiastic, but I knew Frank before he took his "retirement" job with the Sheriff. He was on the road with the Police Department years back and nowadays he commutes to the courthouse by Honda Goldwing, his pride and joy. He talked my ear off and to see one of these 900 pound machines up close was pretty remarkable: My 500 pound Bonneville seems heavy to me, but at least it doesn't need reverse gear! Frank is of Cuban descent and is heavily involved in the Latin American biking scene. He's taking his club on a vacation ride in...Venezuela.

The Marlon Brando film Wild One has been over quoted ever since it first came out, and its ironic nature has become more pronounced over the years especially since Harley Davidson learned to market their motorcycles to mid-life professionals. Especially amusing as any Triumph rider will be happy to remind you in that Brando was riding a Triumph in the movie. Even though full motorcycle gear is not a fashion statement among these riders they for the most part are pretty low key even on the highway where they more likely hold traffic up rather than pass wildly. The really scary riders are this lot, the spring breakers:And they are always dropping their rental scooters and breaking their faces and feet. The other Darwin Award winners are the feet draggers and phone users:

Its just cool to cruise an 85 degree afternoon at the end of the road, especially when you've towed your fire snorting beast out of a snow drift:

Yeah these guys on the fire engine red 'un are riding past a bar called Big Uns. I sometimes have to call that one out over the police radio at night. "Physical at Big Uns." I am impervious to embarrassment.

Key Westers are people who like to be practical and that means two wheels good, four wheels bad. So mixed in with all this $20,000 chrome machinery one can still spot the modest two wheeler doing its thing for the people that suffer through the loud exhausts and large (one hopes) tips:

And let's not forget the contributions of the late great Captain Outrageous, the investment banker turned artist whose contributions to mobile art are still occasionally visible on the streets of our gentrifying town.

This one was at Schooner Wharf Bar, not far from the late artist's gallery.

I have my status as a curmudgeon to uphold and though I am happy to see people enjoying themselves, happy to see the economy boosted at a time when we baby boomers finally seem to be facing our own generation's economic meltdown, I figure things can't be that bad because I still take the time, uncharitably to fidget when the streets are clogged:

So my parting gift to myself is a picture of my Bonneville, my rebellious Triumph, alone like a proper speed predator, among the stilt houses of suburbia, resting far from the madding crowd, ( maddening ain't it? That other irritating literary quotation turned cliche).Really, motorcycles are just too much fun even if they aren't Triumphs.