The speed limit is a sedate thirty not observed from what I could see by local residents, and a quick squirt of the gas showed the road is smooth and wide enough to take these series of s-bends at twice the legal limit quite easily. One takes one's motorcycling fun where one finds it in the Lower Keys. Little Torch ain't quite Manhattan but it apparently has pretensions:
The right fork of the main road runs out soon enough, and ends with the inevitable view of the water, wedged tightly between mangroves:
Little Torch Key, like Middle Torch and Big Torch, is named for an undistinguished looking tree that apparently burns like a ...torch when it is ignited. I have no idea what torch wood looks like, nor have I ever seen anyone wandering the back roads of the Lower keys holding aloft a burning spar, so I am forced to believe this piece of folklore is about vanished from the real world in which most of us here live. On the other hand there are things to be seen on Little Torch that come as a welcome surprise to the world weary traveler. Take mobile homes for example and this island is littered with them. many are winter homes shuttered up for the summer and protected by severe sounding notices:
Posted indeed. This next one appears to be appealing to Neptune for coverage in uncertain times:
It would have been nice had I noticed the lens was still a bit fogged from recent captivity in air conditioning but I'm trying not to sweat the small stuff. I am trying to remember to allow more open air time for the camera after each spell indoors. I also came across a mobile home that was decorated in a style I have never previously seen, all stuccoed and everything:
And I also found a swimming canal similar in all respects to the one I photographed in Geiger Key last week. This canal had a cute little floating platform in the middle. That was a first:
And similarly here I also came across a coral rock wall, this time protecting a waterfront Tiki hut. We know how to live well in the Keys, it would seem:
Keys Energy, the public utility is doing it's bit, planting brand new cement poles up and down the islands, leaving the old wooden poles to carry just cable and phone lines. They put them in on my street too, and I've read grumbles from people who think they are more likely to snap in a hurricane. Some people just need to bitch about everything:
It was a bight sunny afternoon yesterday, with a high near 90 degrees and a deep blue sky that made me feel good to be out under it, puttering around on my Bonneville.
I thought this old Jeep by the side of the road looked evocative of an earlier time in the Keys when people had a tougher time getting around and roads weren't so smooth, and as I took the picture a neighbor popped out of his trailer and we chatted about the change in the weather. He puffed about the heat but I told him I liked it, and I do. I like heat that comes with the clarity and brightness of a summer afternoon:
I could actually stand to see a bit more rain still, but even though the clouds mass, they don't yet seem ready to dump. My wife and I went swimming yesterday evening and there was a huge thunderhead building over Summerland Key with spectacular lightning and everything but it never seemed to get close and we didn't get a sniff of rain either. Looking among the mangroves it is obvious that to some degree this is the wet season:
I wandered for a while down the back roads on Little Torch, coasting alongside canals and suburban homes on stilts, some quite big too. I liked the "Adult Section" sign of this trailer park. One could imagine all sorts of debauchery but its probably just a haven from noisy youth:
Away from the salt water is where one finds the bigger homes on bigger lots and they end up looking like discreet hunting lodges in the forest. I hit up a couple of dirt roads, made friends with a nervous dog:
and found a whole new subdivision I want to come back to for some in depth exploration:
Back on the paved road, civilization and a straight ride home to tea and a properly behaving lap top, at last:
Not much gas burned for an afternoon out in the sun.
The mass of humanity jogging by on the sidewalk didn't even notice me standing there peering into the black box and grumbling. I have a lot of patience to learn as we go in to the Peak Oil period and high energy tasks start to take longer and longer. Waiting for a camera to get ready to take a picture will require the same patience as waiting for a bus. Good things come to them as wait:
Above is Smathers Beach looking west towards the harbor and not a soul in sight, while below the view is east towards the Airport. These pictures make Key West look like a beachy resort town. It's amazing how easy the illusion is to foster with just a couple of pictures. 
The ride out of town was easy this morning, not much traffic, not much headwinds and an open dry highway. The Bonneville has hit 13,000 miles since I bought it last October and I have slipped into the groove of familiarity with it. The handlebars fall right to hand, my feet fit comfortably tucked up on the foot pegs, the engine response is smooth and full of torque, the clutch light, the gearbox smooth. The engine with stock exhaust purrs quietly at sixty miles per hour across the Saddlebunch Keys. I manage to offend a dawdling Debonaire Air Conditioning van by passing him easily and quickly where the speed limit increases to 55mph, and he eventually puts down his cellphone or his sandwich or his newspaper, whatever the distraction was, and floors his boss's accelerator, damn all expense in a mad effort to catch me up so when he does manage to grow big in my mirror, I use him as an excuse to pull over and take a picture of this castle in the air:
I miss riding in Italy, where most drivers pull to the shoulder to let motorcycles go by, and pause at stop signs to give right of way to let the bikers disappear ahead of them. Here instead passing is a comment on manhood and even women drivers get upset because they want to dawdle and you don't, so as you pull past they speed up as though to deny my 865cc twin the open road? Days when I want to dawdle I pull over when vehicles catch up to me, days when I want to go faster people hunker down and block my way. People are weird. The clouds are fascinating by contrast, all bunched and black and full of empty threats of rain.
As dawns go today's was a bit of a bust, some mornings the sun rises all angry and red illuminating the horizon from end to end with white rays of light bursting from the edges of the clouds like a renaissance painting of the Transfiguration. Though I'm not religious there are mornings when I am surprised God in a white beard doesn't appear from behind these stunning arrays of light and cloud to descend onto the Overseas Highways and present me the Ten Commandments, or in a fit of absentmindedness to demand the life of my eldest (and non existent) son. The burning bush by comparison to these light shows was but a feeble ember. I ride with awe on my face and wonder why everybody doesn't pause in their commute to drink in the beauty of it all. But they don't, they're too busy, and on a pale colorless morning like this I hardly blame them, but I stop anyway to enjoy the gray and steely views and force myself to take a picture:
It costs me a few pennies more to fill my three point two gallons of fuel at my neighborhood Chevron, since they don't give me the five percent rebate I get with my Shell credit card . Nevertheless I like to patronize my local business. 
Three point two gallons of 89 octane with 141 miles on the trip odometer equals...um...forty three miles per gallon? All this open amazing road all 27 milesof it from my workplace, enjoyed for less than the cost of a con leche. Why do they commute by car?
Shark Channel, east of Geiger Key has seen an increase in anchor out boats, many of which I suspect are liveaboard homes. The waters around Key West are becoming more inhospitable as expensive beachside homes spread across slivers of formerly open land used to park dinghies. The result is an increase of anchor outs further up the Keys:
For Key West residents not used to the wilds of the Lower Keys this particular island is known for one thing, a bar of course, and a place that likes to rival Schooner Wharf as a slice of the "old keys way of life." There are no signposts to Geiger Key RV Park, Marina and restaurant but its there hidden away off a side road:
Alongside the working dock there is a sort of Tiki bar and a decent restaurant serving, of course, fresh fish. There is a certain sense of humor required to run a place like this, which styles itself the "backside of paradise," but success brings with it the usual crop of complaints. There are more homes scattered around Geiger Key than might at first appear and the arrival of live music and lots of patrons at the marina caused the usual rash of grumbling, which the business appears to have weathered:
And there is what passes for a small muddy park just beyond the marina where one could stand and contemplate the mangroves if one felt so inclined. Sitting isn't an option as the pea rock isn't that comfortable:
If one seeks a well-to-do tropical lifestyle such as is frequently touted around Key West, one doesn't seek it on Geiger Key. This is a rather more down at heel neighborhood, more like a comfortable old pair of bedroom slippers than a pair of name brand high heels. Homes around here are either double wide trailers or their newer replacements, homes, frequently modular, on stilts:
Either way their occupants get to enjoy waterfront living, decent sized yards (by Keys standards) and a certain level of privacy guaranteed by the absence of tourists or tourist related advertising. Canals were dug into the rock decades ago when such acts of environmental vandalism were not only permitted but encouraged in Florida's mosuqito infested swamps, and the happy result is easy access to boating in lots of places otherwise landlocked in the Keys. There are two types of canals prominent here:
This is a regular boating canal with direct access to Hawk Channel and the straits of Florida. A double wide for sale on one of these canals is advertised at $499,000 though I doubt the owner will get that sort of asking price at the moment. In 2005 people were lining up to buy these trailers at those prices, until Hurricane Wilma flooded them out. In the next photograph w see what's known as a swimming canal, a place where engines are not allowed and access to the canal is shallow enough that only a kayak could possibly might make it in and out. This particular canal emerges into the shallow back country of Boca Chica Key, the navy base west of Geiger Key:
These homes on canals are grouped into a small community known as Tamarac Park, not to be confused with the city of Tamarac on the mainland. Realtors advertise this area as "Key West" frequently because the zip code is the same as the city's (33040) but that's just because the post office in Key West delivers out here. This is unincorporated Monroe County, and as rural as one can get ten minutes from the city of Key West:
Supporters of urban chickens in Key West frequently make the claim that were the fowl removed from city streets insects and the dreaded scorpions would make life unbearable. Those claims notwithstanding there are wild birds, quieter and less invasive that quietly go about the same business. I prefer their gentle dignity myself, but tourists don't want to see egrets and herons and ibis gently pecking the public flowerbeds of Key West. They want chickens, until they settle in Key West and learn the pleasures of being kept awake at night by barnyard fowl. These guys are just minding their own silent business:
The other big disadvantage of Geiger Key is that it sits next door to Boca Chica Naval Air Station, a large military airport just across the water. Even since the island of Vieques, next to Puerto Rico was closed down as a military base, flight training has been moved to Boca Chica and the Florida panhandle. The result is frequent low passes by navy jets and concomitant noise. This of course produces complaints and counter complaints ("aircraft noise" versus "sound of freedom") with the Navy patiently pointing out they have been there longer than anyone else. Indeed every time a development is proposed in their neighborhood they protest for safety reasons and the county moves smoothly ahead supporting further civilian development which will lead to more noise complaints etc etc... 
Outside the rather limited developed areas Geiger Key is a swamp of mangroves and shrubs and these rather peculiar grasses. There are trails among the mangroves but because I am a law abiding sort I don't even try to slip behind the institutional green hurricane fences put up by the Navy and I limit myself to yearning from afar:
Of course I happen to think even mangroves are enhanced by the presence of a Triumph Bonneville:
Well worth a gallon of 89 octane even at $4:25, in my opinion.
Last night I went for a walk down Truman Avenue and forgot my new tripod which would have made picture taking so much easier. But I made use of found objects, crates, trash cans and light posts to discover what I could picture.
This is the heart of the city at night, police officers gather here at the intersection of Truman and White Streets to drink coffee between calls, though last night the only vaguely police related vehicle was my Bonneville as calls for service seemed endless, including a scooter rider who rode through a fence and smashed his head. A helmet would have saved him a ride in the ambulance and a drill into his skull to "relieve the pressure." What pressure I didn't dare to ask the ambulance crew. Instead I took a lunch break around 1:30 and parked next to a little Conch cottage for sale. I wonder if they will get anything close to the $650,000 asking price for this "cute" 2-bedroom?
And you've got the convenience of a busy gas station right outside your bedroom window. All this at a time when rumor has it real estate is tanking in the US. Nobody said Key West is grounded in reality; why would I keep a diary if it were?
When is a bike shop not a bike shop? When the landlord's real estate office burns down and he needs to relocate upstairs. I found it quite telling when the realtor admitted in the paper that he would like to return to White Street but there may not be enough money in real estate these days to allow him to make the move. God knows the realtors' association is spending a fortune advertising to try to get people to buy homes. The bike shop seems to be doing okay, every square inch of space packed, as is usually the case in Key West:
I am not much of a shopper, I insist on pointing out, but this shop window struck me. I like the term "upholstery" not least because it's not a term (like "haberdashery") one sees that often in modern shopping America. But it's on display on Truman Avenue along with cushion covers of a typically Key West leafy style:
Upholstery certainly isn't the oldest profession, as old fashioned sounding as it may be. For that one wanders across the street to the not inappropriately named "Bare Assets" because for reasons lost in the mists of time it has been deemed illegal for men to pay women for sex, so this rather sordid and sad activity has to be masked with all sorts of euphemisms:
They are advertising for help among women who want to "make money, have fun and always feel safe." The ad goes on to say that they offer "full nude pole dancing lap dancing, and VIP rooms and private champagne rooms." Call me cynical but it quacks like a whorehouse to me. I am forced to rummage around the want ads owing to the fact that I have never been inside Bare Assets and I confess I would rather drink champagne alone than in their company.
Key West boasts lots of yoga and spa and fitness centers of one sort or another. This is one of two gyms in this very part of town. The other, more bzarrely is located behinmd the used bookstore, a place that deserves an essay of its own. I find Iron Bodies about as intimidating as Bare Assets. And while we're on that subject there is another outlet that never seems to have a customer but that appears unlikely to go out of business:
And you thought the Internet made "Adult Stores" passe. Truman Avenue should be renamed Euphemism Way, come to think. I did like the bike rack, a very Key West touch I thought.
And some stay in business. I liked the homely abandonment to the night of this architect's office. It looked like a stage set to me, blueprints, desk chair and artwork all laid out just waiting for the players:
On the one hand the desk offers splendid people watching possibilities, on the other all those people get ot look in as you doodle your work day away. I wonder how architects face up to the reality of Key West architecture, rooted in ship's carpentry, rigidly encoded and hemmed in by tradition and expectation. There are some nice examples on Truman Avenue:
There was also another example of Key West architecture across the street with a fine example of a shadowy Key West resident taking in the midnight air, warm and humid, and greeting his friends and neighbors in two languages, as they passed beneath:
Further up the street is a business (no, not that!) which my wife has enjoyed with friends as I am not excessively fond of raw fish served on rice balls. Don't get me wrong, I'll eat sushi and sashimi but not with the gusto demanded by the price. Kyushu enjoys the sort of architecture that I notice every time I ride by and though it cannot be obvious in this picture they shade their window panes with white paint to simulate rice paper. I find it charming and goofy:
Across the street, sort of kitty corner to Kyushu is one of those confounding addressesKey West specialkizes in, Wong Song Alley. When I first received a call for service on this street early on in the 9-1-1 center I had no clue where the nice lady was calling. "Yes," she sighed, "the cops always have trouble locating this address." She was very patient. So, as I always do when I get an address I don't recognize, I took a ride to find this secret alley. It's not really hard to find especially if tou are looking for it, though I discovered it is hard to photograph effectively. I include this shaded picture in homage to Wong Song Alley's elusiveness:
Wong Song it turns out is a bit like Sasquatch, and photography only increases the doubt...look hard under those trees, stranger, and find a grassy lane that leads away to the south, they say it was a wong song, though what the white one was I wouldn't know.