Survive The Savage Sea

"Key West Police" I answered the phone Thursday night in the usual way and found myself speaking with the US Coastguard Officer of the Day.

"I need you to run somebody," she said down the secure telephone line that confirmed her identity for me. I don't check wanted people for just anybody that calls, in case you were hoping... She spelled out the name for me, letter by letter and wasn't I surprised to realise I knew the guy. It was no surprise to me when he came back not wanted. Just a routine check was no surprise, Law Enforcement like to make sure felons don't slip through their fingers. What was a surprise was what the Coastie said next:

"We picked him up after he got lost at sea, twenty five miles out from the Dry Tortugas." And with that she hung up leaving me wondering what the hell I just heard. That's the nature of my job; even the most compelling stories usually have no ending. I first met Mike when I was working at Fast Buck Freddie's and he was weaving palm fronds on the planter in front of the Department Store on Duval. I liked talking to him, in between hauling boxes because he enjoyed his life, living on a boat and making enough money to do exactly as he wanted. He was comfortable, happy even, living on the edge:

And so it happened Friday afternoon that I was leaving my chiropractor's office and heading for a cup of coffee when I saw a familiar figure up ahead under his trademark straw hat. He crossed Duval Street ahead of me and got involved in a conversation. I was fiddling with my camera taking pictures when I got my second surprise in two days when he came up to me with a big grin on his face. "Hey," he said, "I lived through five days lost at sea." I don't initiate conversations with anyone which start with "I ran you for wants and warrants last night..." That kind of stuff is rather private, especially if I find a warrant! "I'm glad the Coasties found you," I said when I explained to him that his name had crossed my computer screen the night before. He grinned with the sheer joy of being alive, and I was glad to hear his story because I had been wondering.

The story was that Mike had decided he didn't need to be weaving palm fronds during bike week, the noise of the motorcycles was too much for him as he crafted his fronds on the sidewalk so he decided to take off for some sailing west of Key West. The problem came when the winds picked up and the seas got bigger and suddenly the mast,on his 24-foot Tanzer, came down and when he tried to get the stick back up with his halyard the bolts supporting the foot of the mast sheared and the stick went over the side. That left him rolling in seas he estimated at 18 feet, with the current dragging him out into the Gulf of Mexico. "Next stop the Yucatan!"

Confirming what a remarkable man he is, he chose not to panic. He saw a boat on his first day drifting but it declined to stop. He burned all his flares trying to get it to notice him but the boat kept going. "Smuggling Cubans or drugs," was Mike's estimation. "I got some rainwater in my poncho, funneling the water through the hood into my gallon jugs. I added hot sauce to make it taste good and sucked on mayonnaise packets for something to eat. "I grabbed seaweed from the water and shook it out over my frying pan. That got me a couple of large shrimp, and I ate them shells and all." His eyes gleamed at the memory. "You can survive weeks without food but I really needed that rainwater to stay alive." A National Marine Sanctuary patrol boat came alongside to rescue him after he was spotted drifting by some Navy jets training overhead. He was far out into the Gulf of Mexico by then, still not panicked, still working to stay alive. They fed him five meals-ready-to-eat to assuage his ravenous hunger on his way home.

Mike lost everything but his manuscripts (he's a writer of course!) so, unsolicited, I dug into my wallet and forked over all my cash. Mike was sucking down a beer but he grinned. "I'm gonna get me some Fausto's chicken ," he said. With my coffee money, and he was welcome to it.

Next time it rains I won't grumble, and when next someone else grumbles about Bike Week I'll tell them the story of the palm frond weaver and his Bike Week from Hell. We all need a little perspective from time to time.

Newman's Own

A new headline when I awoke this afternoon, something to take our minds off banking failure and bombs in the Indian sub continent. I have to confess I am bummed, but not surprised by the news of Paul Newman's death. There was a charming pre-obituary in last month's Vanity Fair and the name-dropping story confirmed my wisdom in thinking of him as a person worth admiring. I think we would be in a much better place had more people his self deprecating self knowledge and less of the preening stupidity public figures seem so proud to express. His death is just another confirmation I am growing old.

Mid Duval Street

Duval Street exerts it's fascination, it's the heart of the city of Key West. It's where visitors want to be, and it's frequently where residents don't want to be. It's the street that garners lots of attention from the city commission, it's the street that needs to be cleaned up- the problem child with it's obscene t-shirts, panhandlers, garbage, public intoxication and human weirdness. It's the street that if it didn't exist, as the saying goes, they'd have to invent it. Take away Duval and you end up with any old small town America. Duval Street is the heart of the contradictions that exemplify modern Key West.

People are frequently surprised to discover that a small town like Key West has distinct neighborhoods- Old Town, Casa Marina, The Meadows, New Town, and the area known to Realtors as Mid Town (White Street to First Street)- which can also be broken down into various streets and areas. Thus it should come as no surprise to learn that Duval Street itself can be split into zones. Everyone will have an opinion but roughly speaking the street comes in three pieces, Lower Duval where the tourist bars are, Middle Duval where the shops and stuff are, and Upper Duval at the southern end where there is generally less activity, which has been a sore point for some merchants who wanted to increase their share of cruise ship business. The middle part of Duval is also home to the better known gay bars on Duval, in the 700 and 800 blocks.

There was a time when Key West really was a gay haven, a small Navy town out of the mainstream and away from the public eye, and that was a good thing in light of the intolerance prevailing. Nowadays I hear that the trend is, and has been for Fort Lauderdale to attract the young up and coming gay community and some of my gay friends lament the loss of cutting edge status. Myself? I'm straight so I'm pretty much indifferent to the issue. Frankly I'm indifferent to the bar scene as a whole, though I kind of prefer the music from 801, the disco queens belting out across the street, rather than the dull noises groaning out of Sloppys and the Bull and those other straight dens of iniquity. The Bonneville I parked in a sea of dancing queen noise and it appears my motorcycle is as indifferent as I am to the blandishments of disco:The weather lately has been ruffled, lots of breezes cooling what is usually the hottest and stickiest of months and it was a delight to the skin to be out on Duval at two thirty in the morning. I was not alone. And this viewed from across the street seemed a companionable moment though they rather seemed to be letting the side down with their slovenly manner of dress. I mean I dress a bit like that and I expect better from my gay neighbors:

I find Key West generally is an evocative town to wander during the nighttime hours, as much as it is during the day. And even on Duval there are quiet corners waiting to be caught by the all seeing camera eye. I am always fond of the scooter culture that permeates Key West, and when I see a scooter neatly parked it reminds me of the good fortune of people who can stand to live in the city, in that they can substitute four wheels with two. Like this Kymco:

I always used to think I wanted to live in an apartment, in a city, able to step out and see the bright lights all around. My wife disabused me of that notion early on in our marriage and I guess she's right though the sight of a compact flight of stairs like this makes me wonder if city dwelling might not be in my future:

I'd like to be, but I am not the type, to shuffle out in my under shirt and carpet slippers to stand on the stairwell overlooking the street down below watching the world go by. Perhaps I should go back one day and lounge around and pretend I live there...a city dweller for an hour.

And what about this anonymous alleyway, does this not scream age and history and nowhere near modern day America?
It might be Havana or Prague or Dijon but certainly not Florida in 2008. Actually that is exactly what it is. Or this:This is classic Key West architecture and its yours for the asking, judging by the realtor's sign:It takes a fair bit of luck to operate a long lasting business in Key West. Martin's German Restaurant used to be on Appelrouth Lane, a little hole in the alley place but it has since grown to this on Duval, all blue and exotic:When I see a "For Rent" sign in an empty shop window I tend to get gloomy and mutter to myself about these weird economic times and financial melt down and the like:Of course stores come and go in the natural order of commerce these days but it is a bit unnerving nevertheless to see empty windows on the main commercial tourism street. The convenience store on Olivia appeared to be doing land sale business among the young adults, mere shadows really, hovering in front:

People ask me sometimes if there are dangerous neighborhoods or places where one shouldn't walk at night in Key West. I am not the best person to ask about stuff like that as I tend to wander at will at home and abroad and so far I have never come to any harm. I find Key West a totally nonthreatening environment to wander around in, night or day. Young people for the most part are polite and civil in a way that strikes me as very old fashioned. They step aside for an old gray beard like me shuffling along the sidewalks and they never behave in a way that might be construed as threatening. I walk, I take pictures and no one bothers me. That's city living as far as I am concerned.An hour seems too short for a lunch break some nights and I had to make like a leaf and blow. Like these guys all energized by the sight of a transvestite ambling along the darker part of the sidewalk across the street talking with a friend.I found it rather touching that somebody still lives in Key West who is moved to pull a sharp U turn in the middle of Duval to check out the blond wig and endless masculine legs tottering down the sidewalk. It's good to get downtown every now and again and see innocent amazement in all it's glory.

Bridge To Nowhere

The bridge is clearly marked on Google maps, in the middle of Niles Road on the northern edge of Summerland Key, but riding up the road past the few houses hidden in the mangroves, shows no sign of a bridge, and the road dead ends after a few sinuous curves perhaps a mile from the hustle and bustle of Summerland Key's businesses lining Highway One. Niles road is smooth and empty:At the turn out there is a barrier with a trail leading off into the bushes:And the pathway itself is pretty much standard issue among these islands in the Lower Keys, a meandering track: The odd thing was that behind the barrier, which is padlocked I found this:Just sitting in the grass, presumably no longer of use so they put the old trailer out to pasture. Neither reused nor recycled; just dumped.

This is not really the ideal time to go for walks in the Keys' back country, partly because it is really hot and sticky with daily afternoon temperatures hovering around or above 95 degrees (35c). Partly also the mosquitoes are out, though I did remember to apply repellent and sunscreen on this occasion. The other thing, which helps bring out mosquitoes, is the rain and it doesn't take a lot to make the trails impassable:Geologically the Keys are more like the Bahamas than the rest of Florida, but the limestone rock is frequently covered in a thin layer of marl, the clay dries to a rock-like gray consistency, which can produce surprises:In other words if you walk as I do, little-Johnny-head-in-air looking around at clouds and sky and in the branches of the mangroves you stand an excellent chance of taking a header. However the moisture has brought the bushes to life with a lot of sudden scuttling as I was walking along, probably a mixture of crabs, geckos and bogey men, but I could see nothing. Bleached bones perhaps? Not a bit of it, there aren't any cows down here:A common landscape feature that doesn't exist in the Keys, aside from hills, is a river. Yet I could distinctly hear a little brook a-gurgling, and not very far away either. The mystery was soon resolved as this trail is rather short. I rounded the last corner and came upon the object of my search:

And the gurgling noise was the tide running very fast through the shallows and hitting the sturdy timbers that still support the old plank bridge:

The bridge was built to take traffic, presumably cars and it was constructed with care and designed to last:And the road leading up to it was built up as well judging by the timbers outlining a plank road, and the whole thing looked like it should have been left for curious people like myself to stroll along for the experience and the pleasure:Instead, in order to keep us safe from ourselves they have disassembled the access end. Grrr. I should like to come back at a suitable tide and take a hike to the other end. The desire to peek beyond the horizon is still with me after all these years... However I am older and more prudent and it was clear the cooling north wind was bringing weather with it:I had plenty of time to slip slide my way back to the Bonneville and get all fired up:Some people think these islands all look the same, but call me perverse if you will, somehow I still manage to put on, if not the mantle, then at least the neckerchief of an explorer in these small pieces of more-or-less dry land. And if it wasn't for the camera I'm sure I might not even have bothered. And if it weren't for the Web you'd never have known I was out exploring Summerland Key's north shore. From wooden bridges to electrons, that's the modern digital world for you.

A Bonneville On CR905

CR 905 has, as far as I can determine, three main stretches: Matecumbe Key, Windley Key and Plantation Key, this last piece in the grandiosely titled "village of islands" the incorporated city of Islamorada. It varies between a strictly utilitarian look...... and occasional flashes of scenic beauty.

Of course scenery and scenic vistas are all in the eye of the beholder, because County Road 905, the "Old Highway" of pre-1982 years, is at sea level and not always within sight of the sea:I am not a great fan of the Upper Keys, not as a place to live. they suffer from the same affliction of all the keys except Key West; there is, as Gertrude Stein famously noted of Oakland, no there, there. The Keys are, more or less one long strip mall, interspersed by houses and around here many of the homes are magnificent. It is said that the further one travels from Key West, up the Keys (up in this context means north), the less liberal the people are and the more monied. I think proximity to Miami is one reason, there are a great many people within an easy drive of Islamorada with more money than God and a desire for an exclusive seaside home. So they come here.

And even if the home is modest, a giant waterfront lot looking out over the Atlantic down here is worth millions, even nowadays. Of course there isn't much money around for loans, but there are many homes for sale around here and I suspect people who don't need loans will be moving in en masse in the future, raising the bar for the rest of us.

In some ways I see the Upper keys foreshadowing what I suspect will be the future for the Lower Keys as well, those islands out of immediate reach of Miami day trippers. After the current housing crisis eases up, in a decade perhaps if the Japanese example of deflation holds true for us too, I think the Keys will resume their inexorable glide into the economic stratosphere. There will be less room to rent a room (with a/c, no less!) here:And this house available for rent by an apparently hopeless seller who is asking $362,000 will seem like a bargain to the next generation: The housing boom of the last decade brought plenty of gentrification to the Keys and what the "greatest generation" thought of as a nice fish camp in the Keys......has been transformed into this by their offspring:And so it goes. I saw lots of for sale signs so I guess a lot of optimistic beach goers stretched themselves a bit to get their dream homes in the Keys. Miami real estate has tanked in spectacular fashion, so it would be unreasonable to assume we get off scott free.

CR905 closely parallels Highway One; it has to, these islands are generally much less than a mile wide and it is frequently possible to spy the water through the yards and gardens of houses alongside the road, like this marina at Pelican Cove Resort: CR 905 offers a rarity in the Keys, a true alternative to the main Highway. Of course at every bridge the county road runs out and one is forced to rejoin the main flow of traffic but for a dozen miles across three islands one can ride parallel to the main stream, if not very far from it, physically. The bushy tree in this picture on Matecumbe (Mah-tay-coom-bay) Key separates Highway One from CR905:

Here the silver car is on Highway One and the Bonneville will be forced to join the Highway at that point before the next bridge:And seen from the opposite direction (now looking south) the entrance to the county road is behind the yellow car, almost invisible unless you knew it was there:

The cyclist in this picture has his back to the Overseas Highway:

As does my Bonneville in this next picture, taken near the Wide World of Sports store, with a recreational vehicle lumbering by on Highway One:

And on the subject of lumbering RVs CR905, should not of course be viewed as a speed track to get ahead of gormless cages, after all it has it's own speed limit: However I will say this, if you are coming south off the Tea Table Keys (a name to conjure with, I'm sure) bored out of your skull by dawdlers, and you see the Siesta Resort sign pictured above, and its a quiet time of the year it is possible to get on CR905 and pop out in front of the "island time" buggers before the next bridge. However if you are not totally determined, and if you are not held up by a law abiding citizen or a bicycle on this road......then I say it is possible, just, to get ahead of a chronic slow poke. How do I know? Well, let me just say I honed my driving skills as a callow youth in Italy.

Far better to take the time to enjoy the greenery, the exotic homes and the sights, like the recently refurbished monument to the 400 dead in the great storm of 1935, on Matecumbe Key:

That was the storm that essentially killed the Over-The-Sea Railway by tearing up the tracks on Matecumbe Key, wiping out homes, businesses and the relief train sent to rescue railroad workers. Bodies from the storm were found dangling in mangrove bushes miles away on the north shore of Florida Bay and Ernest Hemingway did his bit by sending north his eyewitness reports of the devastation. Shortly thereafter he went to Cuba, to escape not just storms but an angry wife (he had a fresh mistress on his arm at that point) and the effects of the newly constructed highway.

I like County Road 905 and I take it when I have the time, not least because it does remind me of the bad old days of slow trips up to the mainland. Not for nothing is it known as Old Highway:

And here is how you decipher addresses in the Keys: this mailbox is located on Mile Marker 87- the 445 locates the address within the "block" approximately as it happens half way. Thus Burger King on Stock island is at 5400 US1, which puts it at Mile Marker 5.4 and so on. Your useless fact of the day.

Talking of useless I took too many pictures but I rarely publish essays about the distant Keys so here are a few random pictures to extend this already lengthy essay including a random self portrait that I included because I am actually wearing a helmet, lest the forces of ATGATT (all the gear all the time, an acronym favored by new riders who put their faith in the power of Kevlar) descend upon me. In the interest of truthful disclosure most of the pictures I actually took helmetless and sweating between frequent stops:And here we have the positively glowing apartment complex, perhaps a function of a shortage of more moderate color choices?

I found more primary colors across the street, "bright" must be the fashionable house painter's choice at the moment:

And on the subject of bright colors, not everyone develops a rich tan immediately upon arrival:

I am struck by the history of tanning that suggests a hundred years ago pale skin was a sign of wealth and leisure and pale skin conferred status, where peasants toiled in the sun burning their skin to a crisp. Then the leisured classes took to sunny winter vacations when transport became available and a glowing tan was a sign of indolence and wealth to be envied. So fickle, is it any wonder I am not fashion conscious? Motorcycle boots and an indifferent collared shirt, and arms burnt brown like a peasant's:

They are in an attitude of prayer and contemplation in an effort not to photograph myself with my arms raised over my head as I squint into the camera. On the subject of nothing in that regard, my wife likes this Japanese restaurant near the Hurricane Monument if you are driving up the highway and feel moved to refresh yourself with raw fish:

You dawdle on Highway One as all good visitors should. Me? I'm racing home on the county road as far as it will take me:

That's as twisty as it gets around here.