Key West Views

Visitors to Key West love to check out the street chickens; I love to check out the bicycle tours. Unlike the chickens I see the pleasure in taking a bike tour of this town. But they still look funny to me, obediently peeling off and chasing after the mother duck flapping down Whitehead Street. "And over here we see a royal poinciana with fierce orange flowers....and over there the Hemingway House..." and obediently heads swivel.

And then there are the disorganized tours by family and friends who cruise around on bicycles, which I figure is a mode of transport reserved solely for vacations and time off. I wonder what the men leading the family parade (its always the men) would say if you gently suggested they ride to work.

I was goofing off looking at weird shit like these terracotta roosters with Cheyenne wandering and following her nose and some dude came stomping by and glared at me as he had to half side step my distracted dog. I was slightly surprised, but I suppose I shouldn't have been, he didn't trip over her leash, he didn't step into the street, and Cheyenne didn't stick her nose in his crotch so perhaps that was what miffed him. But the funny part was he was a middle aged dude dressed like a school kid trying to look fashionable or something.

Key West is a small town so the fact I wasn't so terribly surprised to come across the same stern walker a few blocks later still marching along looking like some grumpy juvenile who'd lost his team and couldn't find them. I hope I didn't wreck his entire vacation by not paying attention to his high visibility neediness, but I rather fear I might have.

I find it comforting people show up on the sidewalks as they are, not seeking color coordination or fashion as their guides. I feel I stick out a whole lot less in my perennial state of deshabille when my sidewalk neighbor looks like he got dressed in the dark. And the dude in the background is not on a bike tour. He's using a cellphone on his way to work.

Cheyenne wanted a rest so she parked herself on the courthouse lawn and I watched the world go by. I think I lost my mind for a while because this pink building that I've seen half a hundred times suddenly inspired me to take a picture. It looked somehow, I don't know evocative. Old, perhaps, lived in...

Well perhaps not as a pink building. How about a sepia tone?

Or better yet, how about giving it a peephole camera obscura look? I thought that looked how I wanted it to look. Modern phone cameras are amazing. I happily wiled away a few minutes fiddling around with the editing function in my HTC Android. I turned Southard Street into an unmemorable house in..Northern France?

The jury will forever be out on whether or not this peculiar contrivance passed muster in her doggy mind. Perhaps there was just the remnants of a long lost sandwich wedged somewhere in all the spray painted mess. It hjeld her interest as long as my senseless act of photography had held mine...

I guess it hasn't rained much in a while because Cheyenne has been enjoying proper clean water from dog bowls, both at home and afield. This one at Casa 325 went over a treat. Even as they cleaned the pathway with more fresh clean water. I was listening to a story on the radio about salt water intrusion in South Florida which is getting worse as sea levels rise, even small amounts. Despite the massive rain we get on the mainland (where the aquifers are located) salt water is penetrating the porous rock and displacing the fresh water which floats on top of the salt. Pumps are being moved inland away from the coastal salt water damage, but I can't begin to imagine how this environmental problem will be explained to the determinedly closed minded local souls who think air water and gasoline are a divine right: no further effort needed on their part, thank you.

One day maybe we will all be walking, not running or riding street cars...

From the Florida State Archives this picture of a street car with Old City Hall on Green Street visible behind it. This is how people got around downtown a hundred years ago, even though there were cars that could drive on a rough track all the way to No Name Key where the ferry transported them to Marathon.

And the Flagler Station, a memorial on Caroline Street to a railroad track that washed away never to be replaced and yet today, with all the crowding and angst among drivers on Highway One seems like it might be the best introduction to a string of islands that could very well be connected by rail once again.

In a town that can't figure out recycling, recreating a rail line, perhaps a monorail as has been proposed with no great conviction, seems far out of intellectual reach. It's possible I suppose that salt water intrusion will make it all moot. Not many people in Miami are mentally equipped to live off cistern water supplied by the rain. I've done it, and I think quite a few people down here might be able to get their heads around that.

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Too Cold

I  got home yesterday morning around 6:30 and it was looking dark and threatening. A normal human being after a night spent training a new dispatcher would fall into bed and a deep snoring slumber. However Cheyenne's Dad has other fish to fry first thing in the morning.

It looked like rain, as a jogger mentioned in passing, but it wasn't cold yet, the northwest wind was starting to blow pushing the previous night's rain clouds  ahead of the cold front. Cheyenne was happy and that's all that mattered.

By the time I was awake and more or less alert after lunch the day was changing. Not only was there daylight but the clouds, though thick were starting to dissipate. The rain was gone, we were in the throes of a classic winter cold front. It's been years since I've seen this pattern so clearly defined and in such a strong front.

I know that Up North things are a tad more hairy, GarytheTourist inTennessee has pictures of ice, snow and all things winter, while my brother-in-law in the mountains of North Carolina says temperatures are below zero on the old fashioned Fahrenheit scale, 32 degrees of frost. Which is to say that's properly cold. Around here when Fat Albert the Blimp is on the ground you know strong winds are in the offing. The blimp used to be staffed by the Air Force, nowadays they say the migrant interceptor is staffed the weather people which sounds like a load of guff to me. Such statements make me think the secret squirrels are now in charge of our surveillance device. 

Winds are supposed to be close to thirty miles an hour, temperatures hovering below 50 at night and barely above 60 by day which for around here is very very cold. I get tired of saying it but even hard core arctic explorers who find themselves in the Keys in this kind of weather bitch about how cold it feels. For those of us who thrive in moist warm air the cold dry air of this sort of winter cold is an absolute Calvary of itchy skin and cracking fingernails. I do not like desert dry heat. I live here in part because I like heat and humidity. People who live around me and relish these cold blasts drive me insane: if you like living in a  fridge why take up valuable space here? I wonder as I look around at the lack of dirt and the cost of housing.  

 Because thank heavens most of the year it isn't like this and you can swim without a wet suit. And your back doesn't feel like a cat sharpened its claws on my delicate dry parchment-like skin.

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Cold Is Coming

I have been rather cavalier about the fact that for the past three years we have not seen temperatures below 65 degrees - ever. So now I get my comeuppance. Tonight and tomorrow we will be lucky to see temperatures above 50 degrees during the night. So naturally I figured yesterday was a chance to get out fell the warm afternoon air on my skin, and some dun on my face.

It was too hot for Cheyenne to have fun outdoors so I went for a solo ride. I had the excuse that I needed a lightbulb for the house so I stopped in Summerland Key for that. I took the old Vespa which I have sidelined for a while as traffic on Highway One has been intense and aggressive. Northerners freak when they see scooters, though the more modern 150 ET4 Vespa holds it's own, the 1979 has a more leisurely acceleration and the "antique" tag is like a red flag for New Jersey SUV vacationers...

It was worth running the gauntlet, the old girl did fine on the highway and I really enjoyed the old school scooting for an afternoon.

I cruised my old stomping grounds on the heavily inhabited side of Ramrod Key, putt-putting at 25 miles an hour in third gear up and down the Caribbean themed street names. Then we hit the highway again for a mile before turning north on the Torch Keys, my favorite testing ground.

Not many houses on Dorn Road, lots of straight stretches, right angled turns littered with gravel, underfoot wavy asphalt, overhead ospreys and all around silence when I turn off the scooter.

I have been in touch with the only other known P200 in this area. Jason and I exchanged texts as he has been following my rebuild progress and I wanted to make him jealous of my pleasure in the dun while he was at work. He is a much better mechanic than I and he has several classic Vespas in various stages of restoration. He also has a rather practical outlook. When I joined with him in lamenting the ease of rust in this climate he pointed out "chrome don't get you home..."

12 Italian horsepower will get you home. If the big trucks don't mow you down first!

I will hold on to the pleasure of this little ride as the temperatures plummet and I wrap myself in winter clothing such as it is for my evening commute these next two nights. Warmth returns Saturday, they promise. Not a minute too soon.

Commute by Triumph as the Bonneville takes no guff from zombies piloting cages.

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Latitudes

Van and Philip came visiting and we went to Sunset Key for lunch at Latitudes Restaurant. Out of the breeze it was lovely on the beach, the view across the harbor only slightly impaired by the necessary plastic screens. 

And the wind was noticeable as soon as we boarded the ferry at the Westin Resort on the waterfront. 

It was quite cool,  somewhere close to 65 degrees, but the boys, residents of Maine and former Key West residents were quick to admit they were feeling the chill.

 It only looked like the cruise ship was boxing us in to the Westin Marina. 

For some reason, even though the boat was empty my companions figured sitting outside was the thing.

 Nice views of the harbor...

 ...as we crossed the five minutes of water separating the city from the luxury island.

 Hoi polloi at anchor, next to Wisteria Key, known to locals as Christmas Tree Island, thanks to the Australian pines that flourish there. 

We were thrust into the lap of luxury, a place where drinks with umbrellas appeared as if by magic,  as we waited for our cheese plate first course.

Victor took our picture so I reciprocated while he was between plates, glasses, trays and orders. Latitudes is monstrous pricey (and romantic) for dinner but lunch is actually quite reasonable with a whole long list of sandwiches between fifteen and twenty dollars.  We lounged around talking and eating, and enjoying the sun, while Victor waited on us.

Our conversation centered around where we might like to live. Van and Philip like to move around, buying and selling homes and tasting life here and there. We last visited them in the summer in Boston and now they live in Portland up the coast. What makes for a desirable place to live was the subject of our meandering lunch time conversation. Phillip had an interesting take: he said the town has to have an edge, citing Boston as being too clean and middle class in his neighborhood. I started the conversation by expressing my confusion over the state of Key West, dirty chaotic and unorganized, and yet appealing perhaps because of that. "Decadence" Phillip said, saying a touch of the down at heel makes a town interesting. I need to come to terms with it, an ongoing process. The meal was excellent, the conversation was thought provoking.

I did kind of splurge with red wine, coffee and a suggestion we go for dessert as well. My vote for white chocolate bread pudding got nixed but the three flavored  creme  brulee  was just fine. Everyone else preferred the coffee flavored section, I preferred the bourbon but I didn't mind the mango in the middle either. 

Sunset Key used to be called Tank Island because the Navy built fuel storage tanks here (and never used them) but when the city sold the place for a pittance to the people that own the Westin it's fate as a sterile "Key West style" retreat was sealed. I have been round the island and it looks pretty much all like this, as seen from the restaurant area. The wealthy and the famous come here to get away from their tedious fame and vacation bum-free, chicken-free and reality-free. If you want to stay on the island they do have some cottages for rent for the well heeled masses. Guaranteed to be quiet, though noisy colorful Duval is but a 24-hour ferry ride away....  

Tank Island used to look like Christmas Tree Island does today, created out of material dredged from the harbor floor when the modern deep water turning basing was created in front of the city. Sunset Key has a pleasant little sandy swimming beach for the summer visitors when the waters are properly heated by the sun.

 And then we were back, and the crowds poured off the boat and mixed themselves back into the Key West street scene. I was sitting outside on the way back, such was the crush in the cabin and next to me there sat a grumpy looking dude dressed half way to homeless (worse than me) who carried some large bag and put me in mind of Pablo Picasso. He said nothing and didn't encourage conversation but he appeared from the depths of the island so you can speculate as you will on who he is and what his story might be.

At home, meanwhile, Cheyenne got on with the serious business of getting some beauty sleep.

A good day had by all, was Valentine's this year.

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Park Key West

The city commission has not been doing a brilliant job lately, but leaving that thorny issue aside for a day or two, the subject of parking comes to mind in winter when traffic gets heavy on this small island. Two miles by four miles with a bunch of salt ponds, an airport, a marina taking a large bite out of the north shore...doesn't leave much room for the 23,000 residents' vehicles and all those cars brought down by visitors. So parking is not only a job for some people in this city, it's also an issue.   

And, boy does it ever get people all riled up. Residents clamored because in winter they couldn't find parking within blocks of their homes so the city placated them by creating a residential sticker program. For someone like me who lives in the county and works in the city this has created quite the burden, which I side step by riding into town on two wheels...Only city  residents, with documents can get the sticker which allows them to park in spaces marked  "Residential." The number of other spaces available to everybody else offer not much free parking for the hard pressed worker bees who live in the county to save money. So then they have to pay tourist prices to park. 

 Or they can ride two wheels...Cheyenne was not too impressed by this example of free wheeling Art. Especially as the front wheel is flat.

I was walking Bahama Street and I saw this sign protecting the Episcopal parking lot behind St Paul's. What would Jesus do? Have them towed or moved on I guess judging by this sign, which never moves from this spot. 

St Paul's is a great landmark on Duval and I enjoy their noon concerts on the church organ too, when I am in town at the right time.

Then walking past the Hog's Breath, a popular bar I noticed this parking lot for the first time, convertibles or toy cars only I guess. Or perhaps cars with low hoods? Every space is precious even those covered by tree limbs.

There's a vast spacious parking lot off Caroline Street. known to dispatchers as the Steve Walker Lot (why, how or who I don't know), and I got to see it this empty because I was being dragged along by Cheyenne at a particularly ungodly hour of the morning. Normally it's packed.

I've seen these parking signs before, always threatening tows, and yet people still park in them and call the police department indignantly when their vehicle "goes missing." We didn't notice any sign, they'll say...Can you see the tow away warning?

Some signs are rather less obvious but hardly invisible. This one is behind Wendy's on Duval and thus  a toothsome place to leave your car. Don;t say you weren't warned.

Scooters and motorcycles do have an easier time of it but blatantly parking on the yellow like this may not be too bright unless you know someone or something that isn't obvious. I've seen people park on sidewalks which is almost as odd as paying to park in parking lots. There's lots of free legal street parking around town.

 And a sticker proclaiming the occupant's Coastguard status has nothing to do with parking. I wish it did though. That would be fun.

To park a ship like the Disney Wonder takes a fair bit of piloting skill, so I suppose all parkig problems are relative.

The best advice I have if you want to park a car in Old Town in high tourist season, is to expect to have to walk a bit. Which I find to be quite enjoyable, walking these streets; I do it for fun. 

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