Some days I permit myself to wonder if there is a perverse fate at work in my life, taking my days off and turning them into large puddles of moisture. Yesterday was one such a day. I got home before dawn, thanks to the blessings of daylight savings time and when I awoke at lunchtime the scene outside the bedroom window was one of gray clouds and rain dripping from the eaves.
We had our cold front earlier in the week with sudden plummeting temperatures, cold north winds and lashings of rain. The progression then leads to crisp sunshine and cool temperatures as the land dries out and the waters try to warm up again. Instead I noted with some profound irritation that on my two nights off this week, Wednesday and Thursday, the weather forecasters predicted a fifty percent chance of rain. Chance would be a fine thing; this was a certainty and down it all came, watering the trees, around my house:
The barbecue on my rainwater cistern that acts as a deck:
And my reading chair which faces west across the salt ponds, from where I can look up from my book and watch the herons and ibis hunting for dinner among the mangroves. Chance would be a fine thing, and no chance for sunshine on a rainy day like this:
Rain is a splendid thing because this is the dry season around here and plants need watering. Naturally we need more rain on the mainland because our water piped to us by the Aqueduct Authority comes from the aquifer being sucked dry under Miami. But when my roof gets wet the fresh pure rainwater gets funneled under my deck:
Where it is stored in a 12,000-gallon cement room waiting for me to filter the water before pumping it into my house and using it. My home was built in 1987, one of the first in a subdivision that had no electricity, the house came with gas lanterns built-in on the walls which my builder took out saying they were dangerous and the system is hidden by modern clean Sheetrock now. The street was unpaved in those days but now its black with smooth tar. My house is supplied by the Aqueduct these days, but I only use that when I run out of my own supply of rainwater hidden behind the whitewash that springs the odd leak when the water levels rises high enough. Built in 1987 out of necessity, my cistern still works perfectly to original specs supplying the whole house with clean water:
I'm glad to drink the rainwater and shower with the rainwater and wash my Bonneville with the rainwater. I like to use rainwater not only because it tastes good and is, in a manner of speaking, free; but also because I have an historically ambiguous relationship with rain..
Rain has always represented cold to me, because I lived where it rained in winter. Rain meant being stuck indoors, or in a car, rain meant limitations on my daily life. Rain meant being cold and feeling lazy and lumpy, rain meant dealing with mud and damp and smelly dogs. Rain has always been through the half century of my life, an imposition. Even yesterday when I had to go to school at the college I took the car, out of sheer laziness and a lack of desire to wriggle into and out of my motorcycling waterproofs. My nicely tarred street is wide enough at least for my Maxima.
I needn't have gone so far as to drive to school, but I knocked off a couple of chores for my wife, one ironically enough was picking up some water for us to drink, out of bottles from the discount store. It would have been hard to haul six cases of fizzy San Pellegrino on the Bonneville. So my motorcycle stayed home, under the house as the rain dripped down.
By the time I finished my mid-term exam the rain had eased up and the skies were looking a little lighter, with a feeble attempt at sunshine trying to break through. Highway One on the way home was dry in places, the temperature was hovering comfortably in the mid 70s. Lots of places in the country would have called it a warm day, an excellent day for a ride. My consolation when I see the cold rain come down here, is knowing that elsewhere people are fighting snowdrifts and blizzards. I'm churlish that way but as pretty as it may be, rain is limiting:
I need to get a fresh perspective on rain. It remains warm around here, especially as most rain falls in summer and despite raising the humidity a solid thunderstorm can bring temperatures down far enough to just about make me shiver in August. Rain gives life to plants and takes lives on the highways where people freak out when they are forced to drive in the rain, ignoring all that strenuous research to bring them the best tires humans have ever known. Rain is good, it brings variety to the seasons, and it barely impacts my life though I whine about it all the time. Its just another great thing about the Keys- here it rains when its warm, and when it rains it doesn't last very long. Here it rains and as I watch the drops splat I know they will be gone by lunch time, or tea time, or bedtime and pretty soon the skies will be blue once more.
I needn't have gone so far as to drive to school, but I knocked off a couple of chores for my wife, one ironically enough was picking up some water for us to drink, out of bottles from the discount store. It would have been hard to haul six cases of fizzy San Pellegrino on the Bonneville. So my motorcycle stayed home, under the house as the rain dripped down.By the time I finished my mid-term exam the rain had eased up and the skies were looking a little lighter, with a feeble attempt at sunshine trying to break through. Highway One on the way home was dry in places, the temperature was hovering comfortably in the mid 70s. Lots of places in the country would have called it a warm day, an excellent day for a ride. My consolation when I see the cold rain come down here, is knowing that elsewhere people are fighting snowdrifts and blizzards. I'm churlish that way but as pretty as it may be, rain is limiting:I need to get a fresh perspective on rain. It remains warm around here, especially as most rain falls in summer and despite raising the humidity a solid thunderstorm can bring temperatures down far enough to just about make me shiver in August. Rain gives life to plants and takes lives on the highways where people freak out when they are forced to drive in the rain, ignoring all that strenuous research to bring them the best tires humans have ever known. Rain is good, it brings variety to the seasons, and it barely impacts my life though I whine about it all the time. Its just another great thing about the Keys- here it rains when its warm, and when it rains it doesn't last very long. Here it rains and as I watch the drops splat I know they will be gone by lunch time, or tea time, or bedtime and pretty soon the skies will be blue once more.For some people in the Keys its going to be a long time before the skies go blue again, if ever. The State sent down some hatchet women yesterday to officially close down the PACE program (Practical Academic Cultural Education) for at risk girls. Just like that the program is gone at the end of the month, the Key West director was fired with no warning and the juvenile jail is probably next to go. They say Key West got axed to send a message to lawmakers currently in session in Tallahassee: no more cuts or facilities will close. Too bad the small town programs in Key West, where they make a real difference have to be killed off. Our at-risk youth will soon face a new education among the hardened young criminals in metro Miami where they will learn how to be real crooks and bring their new skills home to Key West. Budget cuts always hurt the poor first and load the land of unexpected consequences in ways we have reason to dread, even though we can't yet know the full ramifications of this fiscal shortsightedness.
A rainy day is nothing by comparison to what our leaders are wreaking upon us.
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.
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.
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 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. 
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.
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. 
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.
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? 
What happens in Key West stays in key West, that ever adaptable phrase.
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.
