There is something about food that is covered in a batter and deep fried that tastes particularly good, and even though such cookery wrecks the nutrition, Americans' favorite flavor I once heard it said, is crunchy. I am quite fond of the fish basket at No Name Pub, deep fried fish and salty crunchy silver dollar fries. Throw in a large glass of
Yuengling and you can see why such food is not on the list. So, to avoid temptation and stay on my wife's good side i rode out to No Name Pub at
a rather blisteringly early eight o'clock in the a.m.
Wilder Road flies straight as an arrow north from the traffic light in Big Pine Key on Highway One. The trick to finding No Name Pub is to start from the traffic lights and take the right hand road, not Key Deer Boulevard, past the Big Pine Shopping Center. Thusly per Google maps:
No Name Pub has built itself quiet a cachet as being hard to find but it's not really, and commerce overwhelms all other considerations so as long as you start out correctly you will find pointers along the way:
No Name Key Pub is actually on the edge of Big Pine key and one has to wander through residential neighborhoods on the way, some of them quite fancy with large homes on large lots backed by substantial seawalls which merit an essay of their own:
Once past the curiously named Doctor's Arm subdivision the pub is unmistakable in all it's lemon yellow glory:
This place is packed in the winter months and it is famed for it's pizza which is okay in my rather uninformed opinion, but comes a distant second to the aforementioned fish basket. They sell the obligatory t-shirts and quite attractive they are too as they feature the parrot logo shown above. I used to know a woman who worked here and she said it was a highly desirable job among local waitstaff, doubtless because it's so popular and tips must be huge. Nevertheless as far as i know it's a good place to work and the I keep seeing the same faces on the rare occasions I visit.
The interior is the usual mixture of dark varnished wood, uneven wooden planked floors, bright neon beer logos and the odd irritating television. Plus there are the dollar bills:
Similar to the Cabbage Key bar on the west coast of Florida, No Name Pub has a long tradition of sticking dollar bills to every available space. No, of course I don't understand it, but that doesn't mean there aren't thousands of people apparently willing to deface the currency for a dubious shot at posterity: 
If you are looking for a well lighted place to eat No Name Pub isn't for you, it's dingy and crowded and full of atmosphere but even if you think you won't like it it makes a fine destination for an hour long ride out of Key West (or Marathon) for those willing to step outside their comfort zones and take a trip:
This neck of the woods is where I come to show people who want to see them, because curiously enough where the signs are, there frequently are the deer:
There were two of them
gallivanting around, full of the joys of spring, but I don't think she was having any:
They ran around in circles for a bit and popped out suddenly as I engaged the clutch. Ha! thought I, what an irony were I to go down thanks to a deer, right in front of the warning sign. I made it onto the No Name Bridge, past the marina and bait shop:
The bard remarked that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but apologetically I choose to contradict the immortal one on that point. "Big Pine Key Pub" does not have the same ring as "No Name Pub" and I find it hard to imagine the pub would have lasted as long had it taken the former name. Nevertheless it is a fact that No Name Key is across a rather long bridge from the eponymous pub:
No Name Key rejoices at least for a while longer in the fact that it's residents enjoy cable television and phone cable service on their island but not cable electricity. This apparently has to change to accommodate a central sewer system, though that issue is up for debate. I thing electricity is one of the great benefits of the modern era and apparently No Name Key agrees as they most of them go to the bother of powering their modern appliances with generators in addition to less certain solar panels. This is not a community of eco-freaks off the grid. They just don't want power lines in their community which i find eccentric. Personally I'd let them sort their own sewerage out if they insist on living with their noisy smelly generators, but I am not the state of Florida, which is a good thing.
No Name Key's other claim to fame, aside form the electrical thing and the pub that isn't there, is that Cuban counter revolutionaries trained here in the 1960's to topple the Cuban government in the Bay of Pigs fiasco. Nowadays it's mostly a nature preserve and i wrote an essay a while back on a walk I took through there last spring.
I spent probably a quarter of an hour just lounging on the bridge, admiring the view and listening to the silence:
And then I rode home. I swear there was almost a chill in the air. It must be freezing somewhere Up North.
I published an essay a while back which I titled "Bridge to Nowhere" chronicling a short walk I took on the northern side of Summerland Key where I found a bridge at the end of the path which had been shorn of it's on ramp and as I stood there in my shoes and socks I wondered where the bridge went. The picture above looks back at the southern tip of the bridge and the end of the land where I had to stop last visit. I had returned to the spot armed with a pair of rubber clogs and the nerve to wade into the water and grapple with the end of the bridge.
The tide was coming back in pretty fast and I had this moment of wondering how cold the water would be, it reminded me of a cold mountain stream gurgling over the rocks. Naturally it wasn't cold at all, so the next obstacle was to haul myself up onto the wooden bridge. I threw my backpack onto the bridge to keep the camera safe while I dealt with the bridge.
It turned out to be surprisingly easy, there were nice solid bolts sticking out of the vertical post. almost like steps, so up I scrambled, trying not to worry about how i was going to get back down later. It wasn't real high, just six feet maybe, but I felt rather middle aged scrambling about like a child. Rather sooner than I expected I was up on the wooden bridge and walking to the opposite end.
It was a glorious day in the Lower Keys, bright sunshine, sparkling waters and a fresh easterly breeze. Indeed the wind was refreshing though not out of the north, almost like the first cold front of the winter, even though temperatures were in the upper 80's. The bridge itself was surprisingly solid, despite years of being abandoned in the sun and rain and storms. The planks were bolted together and the galvanized bolts were still solid. It was a fine piece of engineering, and now entirely wasted as the other end was also removed:
From on top of the bridge I could see a trail snaking away into the bushes:
It was, even for me, the work of a moment to leap off the end of the bridge and start walking. I was curious to see what this elaborate bridge had been built for and why there were the remains of a road at the northern end. The old road took but one turn past some bushes and immediately it began to deteriorate:
I was wondering if the road might lead to the remains of a home, at least the foundations or something. I have seen abandoned homes in the Bahamas that had collapsed under the weight of time and in the old days they used to build homes in these latitudes with cement foundations and coral rock chimneys (Crab Key near Georgetown comes to mind). The bridge fascinated me because it seemed so elaborate merely to connect a homestead which in the old days would have relied on a boat to get around anyway. I kind of figured there had to be some kind of cottage industry up here to justify a bridge this well built....
The trail snaked around a fair bit and from time to time I could see a peak of water off to the west, or some mysteriously uprooted trees to the east:
But of human construction there was no sign on any side of the trail. Which probably shouldn't be too surprising as the shrubbery was pretty thick:
I wish I could say that it was a pleasant walk but despite the sun, the breeze and the invigorating blue sky and puffy white clouds it was a really clod hopping clump through the muck.
We are in the closing weeks of rainy season and everything that isn't asphalted is wallowing in water, and as result my rubber clogs were squeaking and squelching like crazy through all this water. Plus I was carrying my camera in my hand ready for any exciting thing to appear, so there was that to worry about too, as the camera is not waterproof.
The only interesting thing I spotted were a few faint footprints in the mud so others had come here before me, possibly walking a dog, though as I'm not Natty Bumpo I can't say for sure. I also found a few strategically placed planks to bridge the deepest water puddles. I was covered in gray clay specks at this point and I surrendered. Back I went and I confess I was glad enough to see the bridge reappear through the greenery:
I got back on the bridge easily enough and spent a good bit of time standing on the warm wooden planks letting the clay dry on my legs and feet and other places where wet mud isn't supposed to reach. I played with the camera checking out the manual settings and trying to capture the sparkle of the sun on the water:
Not very well it turned out, looking down Niles Channel towards Highway One. I think I was just dicking around to avoid facing the descent at the end of the bridge. I am well enough convinced I did a good job of poking around in the underbrush to be fairly sure there is nothing too obvious that I missed on the island though you could probably hide an Iraqi army in the spiky shrubbery. I shan't be back I think. The getting off of the bridge was a piece of cake, and I didn't tear my shorts or fall in the water or commit any of my usual pratfalls. Expedition successfully concluded I'd say.
I have seen two people jogging down my street these past couple of days. They have earphones and they look fresh and sleek like seals sweeping along so I'm pretty sure they are visiting for the winter. I don't see joggers on my street in summer, except Linda who waves each morning as I get home from work. There was a comment in the Citizen's Voice about dilapidated cars parked on the street, and could the owners of the work trucks please park them in their drive ways. I am seeing out of state tags popping up and someone tried to jump a line I was in the other day like her time was more valuable than mine. These are all signs that winter residents are back, and this first wave is down here early.
People who live in Key West year round have a rather split approach to snowbirds. It's that mixture of dependence and resentment that seeps into many aspects of our lives. Snowbirds bring money and spread it around which has all the beneficial effects of trickle down that keeps people employed. Plus everyone knows and accepts that wealthy winter retirees raise everyone's standard of living by virtue of the fact they spend money here. I doubt we'd have near as much live theater without them, or as varied restaurants, but that wealth also raises costs, notably of housing.
Snowbirds do up the houses they buy as winter homes, and pay more to rent homes and apartments for six months than many people can afford to lease for a year. Lots of people enjoy the quiet of summer in the Keys, as do I, but have trouble focusing on the good when the roads are clogged with all those extra vehicles in the winter. Parking? Forget about parking in Old Town - get a two wheeler! There again I wouldn't get paid as well at my city job without the increased tax base of much improved buildings in the city... Snowbirds are nature's reminder to keep an eye on the big picture while coping with the minor daily irritations of the little picture. For instance I get taken aback by the lines that magically appear at the Tropic Cinema, but without the snowbirds Key West wouldn't have an arts house in the first place. 
You have to think the residents of this little street must have developed a sense of humor about their burden when you read signs like these... NO "hunting, fishing trapping..." but I hear no humor in their voices when they call to request an officer to do a check of the lane to move along bundles sleeping in the bushes.
I, like everybody else, enjoy the architecture and beauty of Key West, but I like living in the peace and quiet of the island suburbs to the north a little ways. I too would get grumpy if I had to step over sleepers on my porch.
Peacon Lane is trim and tidy and at first glance is not particularly eccentric or odd but it has it's features for those willing to look.
This house put me in mind of the Pacific Northwest, for some reason. It has stained glass windows, not clearly visible in the picture and a heavily varnished front door:
The abandoned ladder put me in mind of unfinished projects (though my ladders are mundane affairs of aluminum and plastic):
And then this object of art under the trees:
I was pondering the puzzle when a lady walking her dog came by and was rather startled when I asked her what she thought. After she composed herself she thought for a bit and suggested it might be something on the lines of a merry-go-round.