The Grotto Strikes Again

What a difference a day makes. Ike is now intent on ravaging Cuba, though what they've done to deserve the strafing I'm not sure; perhaps they are just Godless communists and Our Lady of Lourdes decided they deserved a brisk spanking more than we fruits and nuts and idlers do. Anyway so far so good, the National Hurricane Center says we may only get sideswiped and that's all to the good. I'm still putting everything away because if I do get stuck at work for a few days I feel better knowing I took every (useless) precaution.

The gas stations are still packed and the lines are starting to get annoying. Tourists are evacuating so money is hemorrhaging out of the Keys and quite a few residents who remember Wilma seem to be packing up to go as well.I dropped the wife off at the airport this morning amidst a huge gaggle of Turkey bound women gathered at the unloading area and I got a nasty snit from the Sheriff's deputy telling me to move my car along. See if I send help next time she asks for it at two o'clock in the morning... Wouldn't it be great if I could pick and choose who to send back up to?

I dropped my hurricane bag, packed by my wife, off at the police station and now all I've got to do is enjoy the glorious weather until I go into work this evening. Tra-la tra-la.

I will be very disappointed if Ike lets us down.

Hurricane Ike And The Overloaded Suitcase

I got up this morning just after the eleven o'clock bulletin was issued by the National Hurricane Center. The news eclipsed the fact that my home is a chaotic shambles, my wife's plans to fly to Turkey tomorrow make our little home look like a Category Three has already mauled us, which means that as I'm off tonight I can look forward to a last evening together of sitting on bulging suitcases and frantic pursuit of last minute lost objects. My wife is a wonderful woman but to travel with her is to know how it must feel to watch your Sherpas abandon you on the slopes of Mount Everest and to be left staring on the trail at a large heap of all your belongings with no way to move them. The car we will use to transport Herself and her paraphernalia to the Key West Airport has been looking anxious for several days. Where was I?

Oh yes Hurricane Ike. Well I am officially pissed off. Every single day the National Hurricane Center has been edging Hurricane Ike's path nearer and nearer to my house and this morning it looks like it's either going to be Ramrod Key or Marathon that is going to be run down by this nasty looking storm. I think somebody at the NHC hates Triumph Bonnevilles and is putting the little dotted line over my house for a reason. Then at the bottom of the discussion they write "it's too early to tell where Ike is going to go exactly so ignore the dotted line..." Easier said than done. Perhaps I could get my wife to stay so all her ample suitcases filled with dead bodies can anchor the house down on Tuesday and Wednesday. (My days OFF please note! I just can't catch a break this week). The dance of the demented hurricane shutters is scheduled for Sunday afternoon, no matter what they say about the bloody dotted line.

2:25pm

Okay, now I'm anxious. I just got a call from work checking that I did volunteer to stay at the Police Department in a Category Four. Hell it was easy to volunteer on a cool sunny winter afternoon! Mind you I have no children (my wife says she has one every time we go shopping together) and as of tomorrow she will be safely out of harms way flying to Turkey. Talk about timing...

9:50pm

Now I'm told the city is planning visitor evacuations for Saturday morning and residents will be facing a mandatory evacuation on Sunday morning preparatory to a possible category Four storm hitting the Keys Tuesday. There are still lots of possible paths for Ike and I hope it chooses to miss the Keys. But it's only a hope at this point. Oh well, I went to the Grotto today- photos to follow...

Chasin' The Wind

I have quite a lot in common with writer Michael Haskins though I have never met him. Like him I sailed to Key West from California. He from Southern California, I from the northern part, which makes a difference to Californians. He works for the city of Key West, as do I though in radically different departments. He has written the novel I thought about writing a while back and never got to a conclusion. Or at least the only conclusion I got to was that I had nothing much to say that would fill a coherent book.He on the other hand did get the job done.I read the mystery and found it to be a decent workmanlike job. It's set in contemporary Key West and follows a more or less believable plot involving drinking, killing, boats and Cubans. The first person narrative is peppered with insider commentary on Key West, and I have to confess I found the separation of tourists from us locals to be tedious. I suppose it's necessary to give readers who don't live in Key West the feeling of insider status. Never did I live in a community where being a local conferred so much status inside the heads of some people. And the good writer takes notice of that fact.

For myself I gave up on the idea of writing a book years ago. Aside from the fact I can't stay interested in my own narrative beyond a certain length, it's an unhappy fact that a modern writer has to be a modern salesperson and that isn't me. Perhaps it is Michael Haskins, he has a website chronicling the marketing tedium in a world saturated with mysteries. In his cover photo from the book he actually even looks a bit like me or vice versa:Not really, we're just two white men with beards you might say. If you need a Key West fix this winter check out his novel. It will put you right in the streets of Key West for a few fast paced hours, and it makes more narrative sense than my blog.

White Night

Key West streets at night look longer and much more mysterious than they do by day, not least because the city isn't filled with lights. There isn't even a huge amount of the ubiquitous neon illuminated signs:So Key West by night takes on a slightly old fashioned air. It puts me in mind of Prague in 1995 as modernization started to creep across eastern Europe. The streets of the city at that time were darker and old fashioned looking, lacking as they did the inevitable gloss of modern encouragements to shop and spend.I find it somewhat surprising this massive structure is still a real estate office on White Street. The bloom is definitely off the market, and I suppose one could argue that only the strong flourish in these hard real estate times. Laundry will always be a necessary chore, alleviated only by the superb profile of the Pegasus parked in front. It's actually my winged horse, my Bonneville:I wanted more time on my early morning lunch break. I wanted to sit and watch no one passing by on White Street at three in the morning. Instead I stood in the middle of the broad roadway that divides Old Town from everywhere else in Key West and took a picture of Glynn Archer School:I wonder what awfulness would happen should they turn out the lights and plunge the stone structure into darkness. Instead we burn electrons for some mysterious purpose. Across the street the National Weather Service was burning the midnight oil with reason:We have storms barrelling down on South Florida from all angles across the Atlantic, Hanna heading north, while Hurricane Ike appears set to head across the Bahamas straight at us (gulp!), as Josephine possibly peters out into a depression in the middle of nowhere. When interviewed by the Key West Citizen the meteorologists said they will hide in the toilets in the center of this building should a major hurricane promise us a direct hit.It seems a bit undignified but the National Weather Service tells us that is the only safe place inside their building should a Category Five storm hit them head on...Maybe I shall throw dignity to the wind and do the same at the Police Station when the Big One hits. Even the light breezes blowing across the Keys from all that Atlantic storm activity look pretty busy when viewing a palm tree under a street light through a slow shutter speed:All motion, no direction. While standing around in the middle of the street I notice that even from the hub of White Street at Truman Avenue there is no visible traffic. White and Truman is where the all night gas stations are and they also offer fried chicken and a gathering place for night owls, so its a well traffic'ed spot:There's time enough in the middle of White Street to take a picture of this decorated traffic light control box at United Street:I used my flash to make sure the last all-Cuban bakery in town really is dead:La Dichosa in Spanish means lucky (woman), and perhaps the bakery was lucky to stay in business as long as it did. It's departure leaves a hole in not a few home and restaurant tables around town. But Sandy's Cafe is still going strong, a place where you can buy food and con leches all the time. Their decision to stay open 24 hours added immeasurably to the food options in town for night shift workers, from cheese toast and coffee or the usual Cuban selections including Mexican specialties, as the staff are actually not Cubans, as their Spanish indicates they are from south of the Rio Bravo del Norte:Night shift workers include, need I point out, cops from the nearby cop shop:Whence I repaired at the end of my lunch break.

Tropical Storm Ike

Well, jeez, anyone would think this was peak hurricane season. Wait a minute, it's September now so that's exactly what it is. That's why Tropical Storm Ike is spewing out 50 mile per hour winds in the Atlantic, followed by another low that could become Josephine in a day or two. Not forgetting Hanna, a storm that is en route to handing Savannah Georgia, their lunch. Or Gustav that has already spanked Louisiana. It's is too early, in the mantra of the National Hurricane Center, to know if we are in Ike's sights but it does seem likely that next week could see me doing the hunkering thing again. All by myself this time as the wife will be enjoying the Hagia Sofia and pistachios and and bargaining for carpets in Turkey. Grrr.
Still want to live in the Keys, anyone?

Pedals And Gusts

I lay no claim to being a cyclist, but I do like to ride a bicycle, more accurately I like to ride a bicycle in winter. In summer I do it more out of a sense of obligation, for the exercise, and though Florida has never claimed to be a cyclist's Paradise, the city of Key West is a pleasant place to push a pedal. The suburbs where I live, less so, especially this time of year when the sun is ferocious, the mosquitoes more so, if they catch you, and the humidity will do it's best to drown you. Furthermore the only hill in my neighborhood is the forty-foot bridge over Niles Channel, which can be a bit daunting, for the traffic on the Overseas Highway, if not the grade.

My bicycle is a wonder of modern engineering, built by Trek with former Santa Cruz frame maker Bontrager supplying numerous ancillary parts. There is a box by Shimano underneath the pedals that collects electronic signals from the strokes and selects a gear and sends a message to the rear hub which obligingly changes speeds for the rider automatically. I swear its almost like riding a horse with a mind of it's own.

My wife's nephew found us these marvels and said they would be perfect for us with three speeds and a coaster brake, light, simple and reliable. Apparently they are made to last with very few steel parts and indeed after a year my bicycle makes no creaking or rattling noises and works as well as it did from new. To encourage us elderly folk they also supplied a nifty seat to stash some cash ( for the bus home) and a cell phone (to call 9-1-1 after we stroke out roadside):When I was a youngster I used to mountain bike the Santa Cruz mountains and was I suspect one of the hooligans that got bicycles banned from most public woodland trails in the State. My apologies, but now I have a machine suitable to my infirm stage of life so I take it out and pedal for my life, literally, and work up a nice sweat.

Gustav has messed up our boating plans for the Labor Day Weekend and the canal is taking its sweet time recovering from forty mile per hour winds and rough seas. I took the picture at high, high tide (our home is on the Atlantic side of the Keys) and it was looking turgid and brown like repulsive oxtail soup, and was close to drowning my neighbor Alex's house:

Boating is definitely out for a day or two more, when we hope the sun comes back and the winds die down a bit. So I pulled the bike out of the shed and took off into a breezy gusty day with bright sun and was soon panting happily along the back of Middle Torch Key. With the southerly wind at my back I went too far, deliberately, to push myself a little bit and managed to find a hidden little trail head leading off most enticingly into the mangroves. I've noted it for winter exploration in the dry season.

The journey home was a bear, the wind was strong and gusty and I had my head bent over the handlebars all the way. I ride on the opposite side to the flow of traffic so I can see what's coming and there wasn't much traffic on my little side road. A Federal park ranger came by in his massive pick up truck and I wondered for a moment if he might stop by and render aid to a distressed middle aged cyclist out for a constitutional but he was busy on his cursed cell phone and breezed on by.

The sky darkened which was a relief until I noticed the winds were stronger than ever in my face, directly out of the south indicating Gustav was at least level with, if not north of the Keys, which is a good thing for us. Then the rain started and down it came, in sheets, driving all before it, in gusts, off the frothy waters of Newfound Harbor. The cars coming at me on Highway One had their lights and wipers on, as if to heighten my lonely status as a berk pushing against the wind. Suddenly the rain stopped and the sky started to show a blue patch here and there.

The great thing about rain in the Keys is that it comes in summer when it's already hot and we could use some cooling, plus it doesn't outstay it's welcome. Rain comes and goes in the space of an hour or less and we don't see fog and endless drizzle. On the final stretch towards my home I passed a couple out for a walk after the rain burst had safely passed. They spotted me hunched and pedaling hard, closing in on my goal of a cooling shower and glass of lemonade and the woman's face creased into a look of appalled disdain. I smiled, or possibly grimaced, as I made my approach and said as I passed: "I'm just wet, not melting..." and skidded under my house, to the sound of a loud guffaw from her husband.

Bicycle good, Bonneville better:

Nothing changes that.