Lazy Days

The plan was to spend a long weekend away from Key West as the new school year approaches and when my wife takes a road trip the days are going to be anything but lazy. However, owing to circumstances beyond our control we were forced to discover a new Upper Keys restaurant called Lazy Days hence the title of this post. I got back from work Saturday morning and we piled into the car for an early start on our drive up the Florida peninsula. That didn't go so well because by the time we got to Big Pine Key ten minutes from home I sat up bolt upright and announced I'd forgotten to turn off the garden hose after watering the plants so we turned around. Then, when we got up the road to Bahia Honda, twenty minutes from the house traffic ground to a halt. Three people had died in a wreck at the southern end of the Seven Mile Bridge and we weren't going anywhere, so we went home for a second time and took a nap. We finally left the house at noon but traffic was awful, looking like this...... and after three hours of crawling at twenty five miles per hour (40 km/h) we cried uncle and my wife called a colleague for advice on where to eat. This was the result:

It's at Mile Marker 79.9 in Islamorada and it turned out very well indeed. The building is a giant barn of a place, not particularly romantic but well set up to handle hordes of passing motorists and we soon found ourselves seated across from the well stocked bar:

When we don't know a restaurant my wife and I have a policy of ordering something safe from the menu, some item that is hard to screw up, just in case, and in the Keys a fresh fish sandwich is hard to get wrong. Our food arrived in remarkably short order, the food was on the table in minutes despite the crowded dining room. And it was good:

My potato salad was more potato than mayonnaise and my wife's fries were thick and chunky and crisp. The fish was excellent and my wife loved the kaiser roll it came on. The tartar sauce was just slightly spicy and the service was fast and cheerful. "We're coming back," my wife said between mouthfuls.Mercifully the TV was off and the management got points for sparing me the imbecile pronouncements of the idiot box while I ate. The tourists seemed to like the place too, there was a cheerful air to the vast room as plates of food sped out of what must be a well organized kitchen carried by capable servers identified by their uniform t-shirts:

We elected to eat indoors as this was the beginning of August and it's the hottest time of year, no matter how much sea breeze is blowing. For some people eating outdoors is the only way to go when visiting the Keys and Lazy days accommodates them with a very pleasant balcony with a view:And the views are what you might expect, looking south across the Straits of Florida. I would imagine the beach seating might find some takers at another time of year:
The restaurant seems equipped for the milder months of winter with what appeared to be a downstairs bar underneath the main dining room with direct access to the beach and views of passing traffic:
We were not alone apparently in our enchantment with this find along Highway One:
It is I must confess a bit irritating to be traveling the highway as much as we do without knowing much of what is available. Finding a spot like this will give us the option to pull over in our frequent headlong flights along the Overseas Highway and take a break. Judging by the first and only visit it seems likely we will not be disappointed.

Pure Triumph RIP

Well, this sucks. It wasn't enough that my Triumph dealer was 170 miles away, they have apparently succumbed to a gruesome economy and have closed their doors. Now my nearest option is Triumph of Palm Beach 32 more miles up the Turnpike. And Pure Triumph did good work too. The Triumphrat gossip website says Palm Beach Triumph also does good work, thank goodness, and they have taken over Pure Triumph's Internet sales. I hope their Pompano shop, a Victory dealership, only 11 miles north of Pure Triumph, takes over the Triumph dealership.

I am still intrigued to know how precisely how our economy is going to rebound when jobs are still being lost in the midst of the highest unemployment numbers in decades. And then the radio voices say 70% of the US economy is driven by consumers.

Lost Youth

"The past is another country- they do things differently there." I have always had a hankering for a Triumph Thruxton under my bum, to more accurately reflect my nostalgia for my very well spent motorcycling youth. Something like this:

When I was a kid I never quite understood who bought the "Touring" models of the motorcycles that interested me. My first bike, after my moped years, was an MV Agusta 350, with clip on handlebars, just like the 2007 Thruxton pictured above. My next motorcycle was a Moto Morini also the 350 Sport model with stubby little handlebars and a crouched riding position and another flame red paint job. After 200 miles on the Thruxton pictured above I admire my long lost youth more than I would have thought possible. How the hell did I ever ride Europe from one end to the other crouched like that? I can't do it any more, that's for sure! My wife said to me out of the blue one day last week "I've been looking up motorcycle rentals in Ocala but I can't find any..." and she then announced that when our little road trip stopped at Nancy's place in Ocala I would have the day off while they went shopping and would I like to rent a bike to go for a ride by myself...? Like proverbial wild bear crapping in the woods I got to work with Google figuring my wife just couldn't find what must be there- a rental in Ocala. Well, there wasn't but I did come across Modern Classic Motorcycle Rentals of Orlando and I started to figure how far Orlando was from Ocala. It seemed do-able so I called Frank. Clearly a man after my own heart he gushed about his Triumphs for rent-he's owned a Bonneville since they were first imported in 2001- and at $69 for eight hours I easily talked myself into a day on a Thruxton. For $49 I could have had a Bonneville or Scrambler! With insurance and stuff the total 8 hours on the red rocket came to just about $100 an excellent deal by any standard. I was real happy to find my way to Frank's house and pick up the Thruxton, a brand new carburetted 2007 model with just 280 miles on the clock. It looked incredible. The Thruxton (or more properly as Frank would have it the Bonneville Thruxton) is based on the Bonneville 865cc engine and frame with just a few modifications to give it the factory café racer look. It has a smaller 18 inch front wheel, clip on handlebars, and upgraded front forks. The foot pegs are rather fancier than the Bonneville's sturdy rubber clogs and Triumph has used some rather nice hardwear to attach them to the bike:

The rider's feet are pushed into a toe down position and the brake and gear controls are substantially lower than the Bonneville's... which combined with the truly tiny handlebars makes you feel like a boy racer as soon as you fire up the docile and easily managed engine.

Look at those big white clocks (tach included!) and those stubby little handlebars and that thick white stripe down the back of the tank, which tank is the same identical to the regular Bonneville's, but just looks different thanks to all the other subtle changes around it. The side panels are the same too, but the writing is different and more aggressive on that gorgeous red background:

The whole package looks a million bucks parked on the refurbished main street of De Land, a satellite community north of Orlando:After I signed the paperwork for the rental and insurance I found myself alone in downtown Orlando, maneuvering this red jewel through unfamiliar streets and onto the I-4 interstate highway with no time to get used to anything. It was a strange sensation, the controls are as smooth and light as I am used to on my own Bonneville, the engine which supposedly puts out ten more horsepower than my own Bonneville's modest 65, pulled smartly and the cone exhausts gave a pleasing though very civilized rumble as i moved through the five speed gearbox. Handling was firm, just like my own machine with any lightness produced by the slightly smaller front wheel amply compensated for by the short low handlebars. Looking over my shoulders at lane changes was much tougher than I am used to, and though I am short, 5' 06" (168cms) and I have short legs, yet I still was able to clasp the cylinder heads with my knees if I wasn't careful. For taller riders Triumph has added wire guards to the cylinder fins:

The Thruxton invites acceleration, I leaned over the bars, the bright chromed headlamp shell reflecting the sunlight and shining in my face like a beacon. I opened the throttle and the café racer pulled smoothly away. Some people think these modern classic Triumphs are short changed in the horsepower department, as though anything less than a hundred horsepower on a 900cc bike is somehow wrong! Perhaps this style of riding is incomprehensible to a twenty year old looking for a 14,000 rpm deadline on a modern water cooled four cylinder 600cc crotch rocket. The Thruxton is a very different ride and for my money much more pleasant. A few Harley riders waved as they passed in the opposite direction, some of them apparently recognized a classic air cooled ride. I got a second glance from T E Lawrence's doppelganger riding a Ducati 1099 on the freeway, helmetless with his middle aged dyed blond air flapping uncomfortably in the wind. He should have been friendlier as I was closer to a Brough Superior than he was on his Italian exotica. (Lawrence of Arabia loved his Brough Superior motorcycles in the twenties and thirties until he died on one). I don't know the Orlando area very well and though Frank tried to direct me to some twisties I wanted to try to get out of town and take some country roads well away from the traffic of the big city, and make no mistake, Mickey Mouse's home town is sprawling like you wouldn't believe. Florida is not known for it's great winding motorcycle roads but I gave it my best shot. Every time I saw a side road I took it and ripped up lanes and back roads big and small. I found a failed housing development deep in the woods and spent a happy five minutes snicking through the gears and weaving around my own private race course past the undeveloped housing lots. The bike was brand new so I wasn't pushing anything but I enjoyed the performance I did squeeze out of it. Very calm and middle aged of me. Besides my wrists aren't as resistant as they used to be and the heat was truly astonishing. It was hot as Hades out there, so much so I took off my gloves for a while for relief from the relentless fug of hot air to air my sweaty hands out and let some air up my sleeves.

By the time I got back to Frank's place I had put 203 miles (305kms) on the clock and I think I got around the upper 40s in terms of miles per gallon from two tanks of premium gas that I used. For some reason my own Bonneville returns about 43mpg in the Keys and around 47mpg when I ride the mainland. Perhaps it has to do with the longer straighter, less varied roads:

Frank says he finds the Thruxton's seat more comfortable than the standard Bonneville, though that may just be a function of what you are used to. For me the riding position was just too low.It was great fun for sections of roadway that demanded your attention, and it was much more involving to ride head down and crouched over the front wheel with those delicious clip ons grasped in your mitts, but I found on the ling straight stretches I tended to adopt the more upright position you'll see youngsters take up while riding their crotch rockets at a leisurely pace. I put my left hand on my thigh and stretched my aching lumbar regions from time to time. There is a reason I guess why so many staid riders in north central Florida, where motorcycles abound, ride those steady old Harley cruisers. I did meet a few fans of those old Triumphs though, people who come up to you when you ride a modern classic and reminisce about the good old days. This dude picking up a 24-pack of Bud for a Sunday afternoon in front of the boob tube took a few minutes to tell me about his 1960s experiences with a Thunderbird. Personally I like the modern part of the classic thing- reliable vibration free riding on a machine that starts every time.

So what about my eight hours and 200 miles on the Thruxton? This is a motorcycle for someone more limber than me and stronger in the wrists, the newer Thruxtons have lost the clip ons and have rather higher, adjustable bars,much to Frank's disgust. I loved getting to ride the bike even if I now know I did the right ting by being sensible and buying the "regular" Bonneville, upright seating position and all. I'm not 19 any more and it's time I realized that. If I had room for a second bike in the garage I don't have, I'd love one of these for my occasional blast around the mountain rides that don't exist in the Keys...

It's stupid and sentimental of me I know but I love this bike. Before I took it back to Frank I sat and stared at it for fifteen minutes. I know its a factory café racer which is a contradiction in terms for the people who used to build their own in the 1960s but Triumph have really hit the nail on the head with this machine, no longer directly produced with carburettors and clip-ons, and thus so much more precious because of it.

As for Modern Classic Motorcycle Rentals you need to call Frank the next time you are in Orlando and he will deliver your bike to your location anywhere around the city, for as long or as short as you want it. He loves these bikes and wants you to love them too. Check it out at http://www.modernclassicmotorcyclerental.com/ or by phone at 407 583 6988 and I know you will have as much fun checking out your dream bike as I did. Next time I'm going to take a step ladder and check out how I do on the Scrambler and I'm going to get Frank to show me his favorite road. He's also thinking about expanding his fleet and I want first dibs on a Royal Enfield or the Harley XR1200 if gets his hands on those. I can't wait.

A Rotary Maze

I was out riding around town and my route took me down Flagler Avenue which is going through come convulsions at the moment. It's a good thing really, the city is reclaiming its right of way and building proper sidewalks along a stretch of forgotten Flagler between 1st Street and White. Residents are pissed off, especially if they incautiously built their walls and fences on what is in fact city property, and drivers have to deal with a diversion on streets paralleling the main Flagler drag. Which happened to put my Bonneville and I alongside this trailer which caused me to stop and take pictures.
I belong to the school of thought created by Groucho Marx and endorsed by Woody Allen, wherein I would rather not be a member of any club that would have me for a member. The Rotary however is a club that I really should want to join if I had any altruistic tendencies whatsoever. My sister in law is an avid Rotarian which is where I really found out about them and they do try to live by their core principles which seem so common-sensical it's astonishing they have to be spelled out. But they do, for all of us.
A permanent reminder of the presence of the rotary in the Southernmost City is at the end of the White Street Pier.

Underneath the maze of fencing there is a compass rose painted by the Rotary (or at their behest, I know not which) that is looking resplendent these days in its fresh coat of paint: I was out on the pier enjoying a 2 am lunch break ramble and I was attracted to the fencing placed somewhat at random but in a way that put me in mind of a maze. I'm guessing the barricades were put here to keep people off the fresh paint but by the time I got there it was dry and I walked on it happily clicking some pictures.It is entirely legal to be out on the pier fishing all night if you so choose. Sleeping or otherwise misbehaving is not allowed but I got to hang out a while and wonder about the camaraderie of an late fishing expedition. I'm not much of a fish killer in addition to my other anti-social tendencies and I feel bad about my indifference to the sport, as for many men living in Key West would be fishing Nirvana. I enjoy swimming with the fish not hunting them.I remember when I was a child my family went to Hampton Court a royal palace made famous by Henry the Eighth, he of the six wives fame. The palace has a maze on it's grounds and I have had a hankering to go back and see just how complex it really is. I must have been less than ten years old at the time (the Beatles would have been in their heyday, imagine that) and the thick hedges seemed scary and impossibly complex.It was odd, finding myself pondering my distant childhood, listening to the sounds of Cuban fishermen having a night out, while trying to reconcile all the cultural diversity in my short life. It had been a shitty night at work, crazy people calling the police all night long, and here I was out under a velvet sky with a gentle breeze and no one begging for my attention. It was enough to make one's head explode.

I hear the damnedest things in Key West, and frequently from people who are entirely sober. They say there is nothing to do here, that they miss mountains or rivers or snow mobiles or some other such thing. They feel sorry for me that I work nights as though I am in exile expiating some unspeakable sin. I'd like to take them out to the end of the pier one night and listen to the Cubans laughing about their fishing and overhear the residentially challenged talking in loud aggrieved tones about how they hate the cops and how they pulled one over on those fascists.Me? I look out across the water at Higgs Beach and think how much there is to like here, even if I'm not a Rotarian doing good, I certainly don't miss snow mobiles or even the fog of San Francisco. There's too much to photograph and too much to think about just standing here in Key West, on a hot muggy summer's night.

Doctor's Arm

It's just a subdivision on the backside of Big Pine Key, but it has this weird name. And there's this weird Bonneville parked there. No, that's my wife's Vespa I stole because she can't ride it for a while after her shoulder surgery. Doctor's Arm seemed an appropriate place to take the patient's 150cc scooter for an outing and as the place is next to No Name Pub this could also be a good place to visit for refreshment. the subdivision is to the left whence exits the SUV, the pub is in the distance on the left where the cars are parked, on Watson Boulevard:
This is rural Florida Keys the place were contrarians come to hole up and avoid too much contact with the world. It's also the place where you can goof off and hope not to get disapproval from newcomers not used to the laid back ways of those already here. In California this sort of thing is strictly not kosher:But happily I'm not in California anymore and riding in a towed boat (on land) is just another way to get where you are going.I don't think I've ever seen this before either. Look closely above and you will see a large fungus type thing sprouting succulents dangling from a child's swing. I guess you have to hang it somewhere.

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I think I was going to give up an explanation for the peculiar name for this sub division but I got distracted. In that vein the houses around here are a typical mixture of various stilt styles:The one below is actually a manufactured home on stilts, a popular option in the Keys to get an affordable home out of the path of floods. Insurance for homes not on stilts tends to be twice as expensive as the raised homes.
So why do they call it Doctor's Arm? What a good question. In the meantime here's a mailbox for Celia who likes them decorated:This next home was the scene of a triumphal return by the hunter gatherers in their boat, applauded by the damsel at the balcony:
This next damsel was peddling around her neighborhood but wasn't exactly talking to an over sized flamingo, it only looks that way:
The flamingo's owner was inside the back of the van. though it isn't obvious in my sneak picture.
Perhaps it's just because it is under construction but this future home across the canal looked huge to me, and there was evidence the building is progressing. They do like them big in the Doctor's Arm subdivision. What a funny name for a place to live. I think the chair was for trashing, not to enable the owner to lounge by his trash can, but who can tell?

Earlier I said that Doctor's Arm (there's that name again) is on the backside of Big Pine Key, when really I should have said it's a prestigious (real estate) neighborhood on the north shore of Bi Pine.Here below is the bridge to No Name Key:The main drag through Doctor's Arm is actually called Matthews Road and it boasts two lanes divided by a massive median:Most of the streets have canals dug out of the rock to allow people to keep boats behind their homes. This home and boat seem long since abandoned:And the canals, though picturesque, always struck me as being a long way from open water and as prestigious as Realtors may want to make this place sound, it isn't on the Atlantic side of the island which is the preferred side for people who like to fish. The Atlantic side of the Keys is the side with the reef and the deep open waters of the Straits of Florida where the big game fish reside.The planners also chose exotic sounding names for the streets,many of Italian or Spanish extraction, Ortega, Malaga,Minorca or San Remo and San Marco:And its a network of dead straight side streets leading off toward the waters of Big Spanish Channel:I read about motorcyclists worried about hitting deer in the wooded hilly country Up North. Well, we have the same though smaller sized issue here.Key Deer are a source of irritation as they are protected but they do like to eat gardens, and their detractors sneer at them describing them as :just small white tailed deer" which is probably how they started out before they evolved into little deer able to survive on little patches of land, a lot of it occupied by disorganized human beings.And so we come to the final frame, the dead of this essay. Doctor's Arm is a name shrouded in mystery and in my opinion a lot of bullshit. However the generally accepted story is that a pirate was hanging out in Big Spanish Channel, the large body of relatively deep water north of Bahia Honda. Or possibly they were on the other side in the waters if Big Pine Channel. In any event they captured some people including a man whose name may have been Doctor Armandi. The pirates had an injured crew member but the legend goes that the good doctor refused to treat the scoundrel so they marooned him in the mangroves of the place that later became known as Doctor Armandi's (or Armondi's) island. Which they gradually abbreviated to Doctor's Arm. And there you have it. If you believe a story with so many holes in it. And that is the very dead end of this shaggy dog story.