Long Beach Road, BPK

This a winding road a couple of miles long that finds it's way through a sub division rarely noticed I am sure by people driving rapidly by on Highway One. The turn off is to the south at the northern tip of Big Pine Key (abbreviated locally to BPK). It curves for a couple of miles through the inevitable mangroves:

I am getting a yen to explore New England, a corner of the US I have never visited and until I get to do that these mild corners will have to do.
No good thing lasts forever:

And that red diamond shaped sign indicates you are out of public roadway altogether. This area got a bunch of signs thrown up by a property owner indicating Armageddon awaits any who are incautious enough to penetrate the swamp. I used to walk my Labrador here but she went to her reward and nowadays I have no incentive to cross the line. The occupants of an SUV parked nearby were apparently enjoying the wilderness judging by their laughter. I got back to riding.
The small brown blob up the road is a Key Deer fawn, so if you are going to come down Long Beach Road to enjoy some twisties you might want to consider that you could get into a mainland style crash (just like New England) and go arse over tip. This one isn't so bad, bad enough I'm sure but it's mother was just out of sight in the bushes and she was big enough to kill an incautious rider.
People who live in these suburbs like to be left alone.
I wondered if this might be Afrikaans, but happily they translated it into the world's language for us kaffirs who haven't learned God's tongue. I liked the pineapple, a symbol of hospitality and welcome in the Keys, normally. Perhaps here it was offered as garnish:A long driveway like this gives lots of room to pick off intruders and plenty of time to fire up the barbecue to roast the impudent trespassers.The Deer Run Bed and Breakfast across the way has a rather less apocalyptic greeting:This neighborhood includes some older homes, cement structures with an air of having been around a while. The newer homes are BIG with lots of dinky little windows that make hurricane shuttering much too complex for a simple man like me.
I'm not sure how far the Conch Republic extends. I'd guess the Seven Mile bridge would be a suitable limit, but in pursuit of the tourist dollar people in the Upper Keys have organized their own Northern territory which puts them at odds with the Key Wester who claims the rights to the state of mind. The flag flies all over the place, and very pretty it is too.

If woody lanes and corkscrew country roads are to your taste the Keys probably don't hack it. I read of the impending arrival of Fall (Autumn) in the Far North and i rejoice that I live where winter is just like summer only cooler and drier. I used to dread the onset of winter when I lived in cold wet California.

Winter also has the side effect of bringing back lots of people who are currently elsewhere. These people rely on a chain to carry a message and spare us the ugly, superfluous signage.So there aren't any hills and yellow leaves to speak of, but that doesn't mean it's ugly around here:

And the ocean beckons:

Some people feel it's best to crane their necks to get an ocean glimpse:

These are the homes that enjoy Mediterranean architecture, delightful I'm sure but terra cotta tiles on the roof make no sense in hurricane country. Still, living in the keys isn't necessarily all about good sense. If it was they'd have built the roads crooked so we riders could have enjoyed them properly- year round.

500 Duval

They were playing reggae at Willie T's on Duval and a small crowd gathered. Small in stature too:She isn't about to slug him, this happy babe in the picture below, she was wiggling her hips on the sidewalk which is probably frowned upon where she came from; it looked that way she was having so much fun:
This sort of industriousness, shown below with headband proper cycling gear, should be illegal in Key West. People used to yell at me in Santa Cruz California when they saw me riding my bicycle without a helmet. Key West is Freedom, man! Even to stroke out in one hundred degree (38C) heat.

Everyone's idea of Paradise varies and mine does not include this as an option. If when I die I find myself still conscious, eternity at Willie T's would definitely mean I've lived my life all wrong:I don't expect to exist after death and I've given up wondering why an afternoon spent getting one's ear drums pounded and one's liver pickled doesn't seem like such a great use of one's time remaining on Earth. Lots and lots of people disagree with me, and spend d all their free time in Key West doing just that. La Trattoria for dinner? Lots of people would advise you to go for it, lady.

I'd cross the street to 915 Duval but I'm no tour guide. The newspaper tells us that summer indicators show Key West had the highest hotel occupancy rate in the state, and it had seemed, empirically to be the case. But now it's September and the Europeans have gone home, American families are back in school and the town is dead. Check out the 500 Block at about 5:20pm on a weekday:
I lounged in the portico at the San Carlos Theater renewing my acquaintance with the former Cuban Consulate. This plaque advises any who bother to read it that a piece of the walls surrounding Havana was laid here to cement the connection between Cayo Hueso and the Cuban capital (a capitol is a building, a capital is a city please note).

Technically the building belongs to the Cuban Government still though if you bring that up you are likely to get death threats from the Miami Mafia as Castro calls them. I read in the paper they were issuing such a fatwa against a Colombian singer who is holding a "Peace Concert" in Havana later this month. Peace through Death; very Orwellian I'm sure. The funny bit is that Jose Marti who died in a battle in Cuba in 1895 is claimed by both sides as a martyr for Liberty. Castro's lot argues his was fighting the oligarchs, a job that Castro's army finished in 1959. The right wingers argue Marti was fighting to end Spanish colonialism in Cuba. So this weedy little poet ands orator becomes everybody's symbol of Liberty.

He also reputedly gave a speech on the subject of Liberty at a house up Duval Street that is named for him to this day- La Te Da is an abbreviation for Marti's Terrace (La Terraza de Marti) which claim is substantiated in J Wills Burke's excellent book The Streets of Key West. Now men dressed as women pretend to sing at La Te Da. Whatever. Some refreshment from the history lesson, a woman dressed as a woman riding a scooter:

A pigeon observing the scene. It makes you wonder what pigeons think if they do think at all about us beavering about down below. This woman had places to go and people to see.It was a slow day in the store so she stepped out for a smoke and had the added benefit of getting to people watch on the sidewalk:

It was a hot afternoon and food transport can make a man break out in sweat:

This guy I don't think would ever consider a bicycle as a proper means of getting around at home. He was wobbling horribly on his rental:

She on the other hand should consider moving here; she handled her bike like a pro. Oh wait maybe she is a local... we'll never know but she flew by straight as an arrow:

That's what I need in the living room. A bronze dolphin. D'you suppose my wife would mind if I spent two months mortgage money to drag that thing home?

Happiness is holding hands in Key West on vacation:

The folks above seemed to have appropriate foot ware, but I couldn't say the same for her. I'll bet she looks drop dead sexy when she's off the scooter though:

Youthful fashion puzzles me more so than even adult choices. I think that to cruise Duval this afternoon I will wear a black flowerpot on my head. Sounds about right:

$1:50 a minute and powered by high fructose corn syrup and fizzy water:

It was hot all right and who needs beads of sweat accumulating at the hair line? Much better to air it out.

Which reminded me my legs were swimming again inside my Kevlar lined Slider pants. Time to get to work and all that lovely air conditioning.

Anne's Beach

I first heard Anne's Beach described as a destination by a man I worked with when I was employed at Fast Buck Freddie's shipping department. He told me he was taking his family to Anne's Beach on his next day off. Granted, he lived on Little Torch but it seemed a long way away, in Islamorada (pronounced in Anglo Keys Talk as: isle-ah-more-ada and means "purple island" in Spanish though Cubans say it differently). Some beach that must be, I thought. So it has been in my mind to stop and check the place out one of these days...and that day came recently. I've stopped here a few times just briefly to use the facilities as they are quite handy and kept nice and clean. It's worth knowing they are here at Mile Marker 73 between sunrise and sunset, if you are ever unlucky enough to get taken short and don't feel like braving your common-or-garden gas station loo.

It has occurred to me that making a recommendation about one loo opens me up to requests that I publish a list of free toilets in the Keys but let me just point out here and now, that's not going to happen. On the other hand I can recommend not camping here, and there's a sign to support my position:I think if you were planning to camp here, a lot of people might call it "anchoring" instead. The "Village of Islands" as Islamorada pompously likes to be known ( if not islands, what, in the Florida Keys- no duh!) is a fussy sort of place and I doubt they are encouraging people to camp in the parking lot if they find the beach area to be waterlogged.
The brown stuff is not what you are thinking at all, the toilets work fine, it's just dead sea grass washed up on the beach as happens during summer. In winter it dries out but in summer it gets all mulched and soggy and washes up when pushed here by currents and storms. The weed also collects trash as it sits snug against the shoreline:Anne's Beach is a modest spot if you are looking for actual sand above the waterline, but the Village of Keys has built a massive and very impressive boardwalk along the waterfront. I walked the whole thing and am at a loss to confirm if it is indeed a quarter of a mile long as claimed. It seemed longer perhaps because I was busy stopping to take photos all the time, or perhaps because my boots and pant legs were wet from the recent shower I rode through. The tide was also quite high, it having been a full moon and all just recently.

And just to keep it interesting there are shelters, several of them provided with picnic tables overlooking the water or buried deep in the mangroves. The board walk winds it's way on and on:

And yes, from time to time you will see a handkerchief of sand, though if you want long spectacular beaches almost anywhere else in Florida south of Jacksonville on the east coast, or south of St Petersburg on the west coast will yield better beaches than those in the Keys:
You get nice views of water and Islamorada in the distance. You can also get an idea why they call themselves "Village of Islands" from this perspective:
And here is a self portrait. I remembered to douse myself with mosquito repellent I carry in a saddlebag so I wasn't swatting the air wildly, but it was hot and sticky and out there in the deep dark jungle:

The beach at the end of this 50 yard trail was a slab of rock decorated with dead sea grass, no sand to be seen:

But the water views south across the Straits of Florida are quite lovely:

I wasn't the only person sunning themselves after the shower passed through, though I am not sure 'person' is quite the right label for a turkey vulture: And that stuff I mentioned about being lost deep in the mangrove jungle? Anne's Beach, whether it is a quarter mile long or more along the water, is never more than a few yards from the Overseas Highway to the north:

And eventually the boardwalk spits the ardent walker out into the south parking lot where people more appropriately dressed for the scene were taking a gander at open water. This also the spot where the county commission erected a plaque to honor the woman who created this spot, Anne Eaton, and where the park was formally inaugurated in 1995. I was surprised to note that I recognized the names of the commissioners on the plaque. All I could find out about Anne Eaton was that she lived on Matecumbe Key and was a "conservationist." And I suppose that will have to do:
It's impossible to tell from the pictures but I was feeling rather annoyed with myself by this stage. I was wondering why I didn't pack a swimsuit and towel in my empty saddlebag? It would have done me more use than the waterproofs which I declined to put on in the rain showers on the grounds I'd get heatstroke. It was better to get dampened by rain that suffocate in plastic. However it would have been best of all not camp in these waters, but swim, even though the waters are shallow a long way out:
I don't think swimming in one's underwear would get a high approval rating from the Village of Islands, but beyond that the thought of spending a day in the saddle with all my unmentionables in the clutch of damp salty knickers was too much to contemplate. So I just sweated sedately on shore cursing my stupidity. This was not a well planned expedition, more of an impromptu escape from cabin fever. Highway One beckoned, this is the way looking south whence I had come.

I had plans to head north and check out some other waterfront park. Which is a story for another day.