I have ridden motorcycles all my life. My mother loved them and before she died, somewhat prematurely at the age of 49, younger than I am now. She bought me my first, a bright orange Vespa 50 in 1970. Since then the longest I went without a motorcycle was during a few years of being owned by a couple of dogs, which was ironically enough a time of upheaval in our lives. We were traveling by boat for part of it so not having a motorcycle was hardly an issue. Having dogs was, but they came everywhere with us, sailing doggedly to Panama from California and back north to Key West.
I like riding my Bonneville up and down Highway One. I've ridden the road for thousands of miles and I find it endlessly enjoyable, the variations in the colors, the clouds piled up and visible for miles, the glint of the sun on water and boats that come and go. My Triumph has just passed the 16,000 miles (25,000 km) mark and the engine seems looser and faster than ever perhaps because unbeknownst to me Pure Triumph removed the air injection system! I just noticed that the Trumpet has more get up and go than ever which must be due to the removal of the air injection system. Now the fuel/air mixture is as it should be for the benefit of the engine, if not the environment. Weirdly enough my fuel consumption has improved by about ten percent which might offset some of the negative environmental effect of the AI removal.
I took the saddlebags off for Tropical Storm Fay thinking perhaps that a slimmer profile might make the machine more manageable and less bulky to park in some out of the way spot during the storm, and I like the slimmer profile and I'm seeing if I can cope with reduced storage space for my commuting needs. One day I was dawdling along the road, the only road and I met one guy fighting the heat with his lightweight packing. I think he looked jealous when he saw my ride:
It was hot, hovering around 90 degrees (32C) up to perhaps 95 (35C) with lots of humidity. My wife found me pottering around under the house polishing the Bonneville, vigorously scrubbing the rust spots on my mirror stems and started panting just watching me. "Aren't you hot?" she asked. I just shook my head and she retreated upstairs pursued by the mosquitoes that don't seem to like my blood. I seem perfectly adapted to life in the Keys, immune to heat and mossies. I like the look of Mangrove Mama's on Sugarloaf Key, especially with a motorcycle, a Harley, out front white and shining in the heat:
Further up the road is the only traffic light between Stock Island and Big Pine Key. They put it in to help school traffic at Sugarloaf Middle School on Crane Avenue. We asked the state to have it blink yellow at non peak hours, but that request went nowhere so all day and all night it sits and changes and ignores motorcycles. Need to turn left onto the highway? Too bad.
Sugarloaf School, next to the light takes kids from kindergarten through 8th grade (about 14 years old I think) and also provides an elevated haven for cars when a storm threatens. In order to reduce flooding the school was built up a bit, especially as parts of Sugarloaf Key seem more like water than dirt. The thing is when a storm threatens , people in the area who remember getting wrecked by Hurricane Wilma (a recurring theme in the Keys) bring their cars to the school for safety and park up here. They did it for Fay and then more recently for Ike. I would bring the Bonneville here if I lived on Sugarloaf. In fact I saw a couple of Harleys up here during Gustav, or Ike, or Fay or one of those storms:
On some mornings when I'm heading home absolutely exhausted I've given consideration to the idea of laying down in here for a nap; as though I were a homeless dude. I haven't given in yet but some days it seems I am sleepy enough it might be safer to stop and snooze rather than keep on riding...There's a sign at the entrance to Big Coppitt that I thought related to the new sewer system we've been promised. It didn't seem very clear to me, as it's described as the Main Force Project which sounds sinister and conspiracy related. I expect a military checkpoint to appear soon. I wonder what main force means? So far it just seems to mean they have to tear up the highway and make it rough. The Bonneville flies over it all, indifferent as long as I wash off the road dirt:
They have been murmuring about sewering the Keys since I first came in 1981, but the plans never got off the ground. In the bad old days there was money for public works but now that the costs of sewering has become astronomical the State is all tuckered out financially speaking. Selling bonds in a state like Florida is akin to auctioning off your first born so we are under a state imposed mandate to have all homes connected to proper modern sewers by 2010 and no one has a clue how to pay for it. So, I hear you wondering what does happen to the sewage generated by 75,000 permanent residents. Well that's an interesting question. 25,000 people in Key West have a tertiary system already installed, that cost years of torn up streets but it's done and makes sewage potable so clean is the system (no one actually drinks it, don't worry). The rest of us, 50,000 people plus visitors use septic tanks which, built into porous rock are not the best filters in the world. And our county leaders furrow their brows and wonder why the reef is deteriorating. You would too were you eating so much crap. It pains me to think this could have been done and paid for twenty years ago when the reef was much more vital.
The exclusive, gated, private community of Shark Key pictured above from outside the gates, wants to have Keys taxpayers pay to sewer their private island too. Given the total lack of backbone among our leaders doubtless I will end up paying for their crap as well as mine. Individual hook ups may cost each of us directly more than $10,000 depending on which alarmist you listen to. They think to relieve the pain by saying they will add a monthly assessment to each home until the bill is paid. Enough of sewers. I don't even know how I got on the subject. Pornography; there's something vaguely related to sewers. We have several stores that deal in the stuff in Key West and I am too weedy to go into any of them. But I got close, in a manner of speaking. When I was riding the bus on my most recent excursion there was a guy sitting upfront and I couldn't help but notice he looked like the assassin from the French movie Diva (which I highly recommend though it has nothing to do with the Keys). He was short stocky and his head was shaved. He sat silently in the bus staring ahead listening to his earpiece. In the movie it was a Walkman apparatus playing French accordion music. In this case the earpiece must have been connected to the ubiquitous Ipod. He sat still and silent until we reached this spot, at about Mile Marker 8.
He nodded solemnly to the driver as he descended from the bus and said not a word. He walked up to his job, a little figure dressed in black hugging the shade as he went. Before the bus had pulled back into the four lane traffic I saw the door swing closed behind him, sucking him into it's vortex of novelties and toys and DVDs. I'm told that porn shops do well near military bases and this one has done fine for several years. It used to be a welcome center and that closed. Then it was a restaurant and that closed. Now it's Island Spice and it even advertises on a large expensive billboard just up the road. There's money in them thar DVDs close to Boca Chica Naval Air Station.
Some people find the Overseas Highway endless and boring but for me every mile is different, every corner has something to see. It must be because I ride a motorcycle; I have too much time to think.
This is hardly a lane at all- it's more of an extended driveway off Elizabeth Street one block west of the Library on Fleming Street. I came across it pretty much by accident and I thought why not? Obscurity deserves it's place in the sun too:
I rather liked the side view of the enclosed bay windows through the shrubbery, the barely visible reading lamp hinting at long evenings split between a book and glances into the street:
On the subject of shrubbery there were a couple of some type of blooming shrubbery overhanging the lane. I shan't embarrass myself by even trying to pretend I have a clue what they are. One is purple, one is red, that's all I know for sure:
I grew up in large houses, my mother inherited a fifty room home and her husband wanted to live in big houses so spacious living was all I knew as a kid. Rebellion came to me in the form of not owning a car and living on a boat. For years I enjoyed living in a space small enough that I could reach all my worldly possessions while sitting under a reading lamp.
Russell Lane reminds me that there are innumerable alleys around town, lanes that rarely lead anywhere, and quite a few aren't even marked.
I doubt they knew or cared about the existence of Russell Lane but they seemed emblematic, through the palms of what people should be doing on the magnificent porch just around the corner.
So you live in the Keys and your oldest friend has just got engaged. You have no choice but to get on your magic carpet and fly off to Never Never Land known locally as Little Palm Island:
Little Palm island is a lump of sand halfway between Key West and Marathon, a barrier island at the mouth of Newfound Harbor. It is known as one of the most exclusive and expensive resorts in the Keys and a night here will cost you I'm told somewhere north of $1500. However if you really want privacy you can rent the entire island for yourself and your entourage and people do do that. Frequently they arrive by boat and park their motorboats at the island's docks and do what we locals get to do every day, paddle in the water:
check out the horizon:
and stuff their faces on some really excellent cooking:
For the rest of us mere mortals Little Palm is an oasis we get to enjoy for a meal and some contemplation before returning to the drudgery of daily life on our own self-serve slivers of paradise. Locals get a break so for somewhere less than $100 US each ($150 for you I think), we plebs get a ten minute boat ride to and from the island (private boats are not allowed to dock for anything less than an overnight stay), a fabulous brunch (gratuity included) and a pause in the stress of daily life in the shade of the magnificent lounging area next to the docks:
Down the canal, and out into the open waters of Newfound Harbor on a magnificent sunny day:
We took the comfortable seats inside the cabin allowing the visitors to toast outside in the heat of the day. Dolly doesn't really hang on every pearl of wisdom that drops from Robert's lips but she did tell us she is learning something new every day from hanging out with him:
It's kind of rustic but not really... and service is impeccable, which must be a mighty strain for a Keys lodging and, I really don't want to sound like an advertisement but Little Palm is really great fun and highly enjoyable.
I say this despite my reservations about such appalling decadence in the middle of a world that has enormous difficulty sharing the most modest of necessities. For instance alongside the numerous cold food buffets we got a menu of hot dishes which are more like samplers, pork loin and fried yucca seen here:
Or tuna on crispy rice:
Doesn't look like much does it? But you can order as many of each dish as you want, in addition to the seafood, cold pasta, vegetable and fruit and pastry buffets from which you help yourself. We tasted French toast, pancakes, soup, eggs Benedict but skipped the scallops and some other thing I can't remember. They also have a do-it-yourself vodka and champagne bar as well as a $13-a-shot cocktail menu. Really this place puts you in mind of Marie Antoinette. I think Robert and Dolly enjoyed it as much as we did, despite briefly suffering the same pangs of bourgeois guilt:
The waters of the Straits of Florida were sparkling in the sunshine and there was a cool fresh breeze (it seemed so to us!) blowing in off the water. Oh and then there was the desert tray, with a special message for them:
My wife and I enjoyed our tray every bit as much as we watched Robert scrape the chocolate lettering off theirs...rum raisin ice cream, miniature éclairs and Key Lime pie. Oh dear and I had quite a caffeine buzz on after our third pot of coffee. Or was it four? I lost count, as Julio kept whipping up a constant stream of stuff for our table.
This was Robert's first visit to the island but on a previous trip my wife and I got a tour of the island thanks to our friendship with an employee, so we knew of the charming alleyways, the upstairs spa, whose recollection gave Dolly an ecstatic look as she remembered immersing herself in a hot tub overlooking the open waters below.
Which was loaded into a hotel dolly, equipped not with the usual casters but with substantial rubber tires, suitable for a little off-roading necessary to get to the rooms on the island:
Everyone noticed the heron standing in the shallows near the dock, and for a moment it seemed hard to differentiate between the bird and people behind it. The big difference became apparent when Phil the piano player (whose wife is a a teacher alongside my wife) pointed out the humans were mere guests while the heron has been living full time at Little Palm for 15 years:
We should all be so lucky.