I left home early, before five o'clock intending to spend a little time in Key West taking some pictures of I knew-not-what. It was to be photography on a whim. Instead I stopped on the bridge between Cudjoe Key and Sugarloaf and pulled the camera out of my pocket. Looking towards Mangrove Mama's restaurant at the end of the bridge, Mile Marker 20.
Looking north I saw clouds piled up on a hot humid evening, hovering over glassy flat water, looking like summer time. Summer is the season of rain, thunderstorms and windless days when the water and the sky meet at an undefinable horizon. About like this, perhaps more so:
The ability to go out on the water in perfect safety in a small boat is just another reason to enjoy the Keys. Surfing is not the sport where reefs keep waves flat:
Swimming in December is best done with some kind of suit or skin. The water is under 80 degrees and even though visitors find it warm, locals don't necessarily.
More clouds piling up:
When the water is just a few feet deep, maybe ten (3 meters) if its quite deep, maybe three feet (1 meter) if it's shallow, means you can toss out an anchor anywhere. And if it really were summer you could jump in as you felt like, to cool off.
The temperature gauge on the Bonneville betrays me. It doesn't feel like 85 degrees, though it is quite warm.
The road ahead started to look quite threatening with stormy clouds crossing the horizon. I think storms are bets enjoyed from my home, looking out at the palm trees waving in the sudden wind, the downpour splashing off the leaves surrounding my tree house.
All the drama of potential rain faded away as I pressed on towards work, but the low lying clouds looked good:
Another boat ploughing a wet furrow across smooth waters...
...he curved across the channel and disappeared in the distance, never for a minute minding the traffic rumbling by on the Overseas Highway.
And there was lots of traffic, a long line of cars interminably leaving Key West, with my side of the road packed with another line of cars, and the odd motorcycle streaming into the city. 
Perhaps they were down to enjoy the weather, such summery weather with Christmas snow and ice closing in Up North.
Looking north I saw clouds piled up on a hot humid evening, hovering over glassy flat water, looking like summer time. Summer is the season of rain, thunderstorms and windless days when the water and the sky meet at an undefinable horizon. About like this, perhaps more so:The ability to go out on the water in perfect safety in a small boat is just another reason to enjoy the Keys. Surfing is not the sport where reefs keep waves flat:Swimming in December is best done with some kind of suit or skin. The water is under 80 degrees and even though visitors find it warm, locals don't necessarily.More clouds piling up:When the water is just a few feet deep, maybe ten (3 meters) if its quite deep, maybe three feet (1 meter) if it's shallow, means you can toss out an anchor anywhere. And if it really were summer you could jump in as you felt like, to cool off. The temperature gauge on the Bonneville betrays me. It doesn't feel like 85 degrees, though it is quite warm.The road ahead started to look quite threatening with stormy clouds crossing the horizon. I think storms are bets enjoyed from my home, looking out at the palm trees waving in the sudden wind, the downpour splashing off the leaves surrounding my tree house.All the drama of potential rain faded away as I pressed on towards work, but the low lying clouds looked good:Another boat ploughing a wet furrow across smooth waters......he curved across the channel and disappeared in the distance, never for a minute minding the traffic rumbling by on the Overseas Highway.And there was lots of traffic, a long line of cars interminably leaving Key West, with my side of the road packed with another line of cars, and the odd motorcycle streaming into the city. 
Perhaps they were down to enjoy the weather, such summery weather with Christmas snow and ice closing in Up North. 
There was a Harley Davidson with a couple of hubcaps on the passenger seat. It turned out, on closer inspection to be a highly prized Harley accessory, a bag with silver end caps designed for some obscure reason to look like hubcaps.
This man was standing in the street brazenly wiping his sun glasses on the hem of his wife's blouse. She had to be his wife I should have thought as she stood patiently like no paramour would have done.
A sunset performer I'm guessing. There could be no other reason to hazard oneself in traffic with such ungainly equipment. Note the woman in black:
I hate island time. Visitors bitch and moan about poor service in restaurants, people bitch and moan if they have to wait 15 minutes for a police officer and yet they love to promote the concept of island time as though promptness and efficiency are antithetical to Key West. I hate standing in line at the grocery store while the customer in front and the clerk catch up on the gossip (my wife the teacher does this a lot as she frequently meets her kids parents in line at the grocery store). This next picture could be titled, were I Rockwell, "Hey M'Bubba!" Instead I'll make no further comment:
The term m'bubba in Key West is a supposedly a derivative of the words "my brother" and you will sometimes hear people addressed as "brother." A pejorative term for people who grew up in Key West is the word "Bubba!" spat out with contempt. A well known corruption investigation of a few years ago is referred to as the "Bubba Bust." When you lose a bid in a competitive bid process to a person who grew up in Key West you can console yourself as you sip a contemplative draught Smithwicks, that the "Bubba fix" was in, not that you were less worthy to win the bid. 
The endless dreary debate over where people should expose themselves to the sun continues. It's all about money of course because you can expose your white little bod to the sun all over the place in Key West if you have the slightest bit of imagination (rent a boat ferchrissakes! Find a clothing optional Inn!) but there is the hope that creating a public space dedicated to nude sun worship will bring in tons of MONEY. I'd be more convinced if Mercedes Benz's and Lexus's were driving around with "Naturist Beaches- Yes!" bumper stickers. I am not sure in any event that we will be needing more than one such beach. Perhaps the sign is a philosphical appeal to our better natures that we should support the creation of nude beaches in general. Perhaps they need one in Kansas.
This fish, wild predators, have figured out that dead fish parts fall from the sky in the Key West Bight and they hang around gathering tourist acolytes like the Pope in St Peter's, so I dutifully hung over the railing and snapped a picture. I should note that a friend of mine who has traveled to Australia told me they EAT manatees down there. I was, I have to say, rather horrified. A brutal people he said, they killed a dugong by accident, cut it up and ate it. It was quite good he said, gagging on the memory of what he had done. Eating a manatee rates with grilling up steaks cut from your pet Labrador in my book, and that story counts as one more strike against our Antipodean cousins. I may never get to visit Australia now.
"Bird on post, Lights on masts." You may reproduce this artistic masterpiece completely free of charge unless you live in Australia in which case I will exchange it for a dugong steak. I am curious to know what marine cannibalism tastes like. I repulse myself.
I am not fond of dealing with the public (that's YOU!) which is why I try to hog the main police channel at work, at least then I'm communicating with sober professionals. Taking phone calls from people who are drunk gets to be tedious sometimes, and then I got to observe this scene and my respect for salesmen grew exponentially. How people manage to earn a living sharing jokes with people they are trying to sell tickets to, I have no idea. This guy sounded very convincing, like he thought the visitor was the smartest, funniest man he'd met. I hope he sold him a ticket.
This last picture I took at the College on distant Stock Island (15 minutes by Vespa from the last picture I took and that was riding through crowded winter traffic. Distances are relative). There were two divers bobbing in the water chatting but I couldn't get a decent picture of them in the shadows so I contented myself with this shot of the Sunset Condos in the distance with the sun starting it's descent to the horizon.
By the time we came out of the movie theater (another 15 minute ride all the way downtown) it was dark and home beckoned. A night off! Oh joy! Far from the madding crowds, as the poet has it. Someone else got to talk to drunk, aggravated people all night.
There is a helpful sign with myriad instructions for use of the refuge:
Basically you can't camp, light fires, shoot things or walk your dog off a leash once you get past the barrier. There was a movement a while back to tear up the remainder of Crane Boulevard but a whole bunch of people got their knickers in a twist and protested and the asphalt remains available to walkers and cyclists.
Crane Boulevard stretches a couple of miles into the wilderness, dead ending in the middle of nowhere. The last time i came, last winter that was, I rode my bicycle out here because that is the sensible thing to do on a long straight stretch of road. This time I wanted to walk and take pictures, so I did:
Nature abhors a vacuum, we a re told, and this empty roadway must be starting to look like a vacuum because plants are growing in from the edges:
Of course humans abhor a pristine wilderness so when I strode off down a short path I immediately came across this piece of mechanical civilization discarded in the bushes:
There were some pine trees further up, rather spindly of course, as befits an island with very little actual dirt.
And I found some mysterious fence posts lining just one side of the road. Without any actual fencing.
And then I spotted this long faded sign on a long dead pine tree. I started to feel like an archaeologist trying to interpret signs from a long dormant past.
And there they were coming back around the corner, pedaling firmly along:
Clouds were building over the wilderness and an east wind sprang up suddenly. Perhaps I was disturbing sleeping spirits or more likely the weather pattern was changing. I turned back.
I doubt I got more than halfway down the two-mile length of the pedestrian portion of Crane Boulevard.
It was a good way to get out of the house, a pleasant walk, and a fine ride home.
We got a call from a friend, her husband was playing at the Green Parrot Bar on the corner of Southard and Whitehead Streets. It makes all sorts of claims, the oldest bar in Florida, the first and last bar because of it's proximity to the Mile Marker Zero sign, and so forth. It boasts no air conditioning and lots of musical acts. A combination that makes it fortuitous I don't live nearby.
Lots of people everywhere. 
The reason we were here was to see a woman sing. She was celebrating her 90th birthday, feat enough for most of us but the remarkable Norma Miller celebrated her birthday with some jokes, some singing and astonished the audience with her vivacity and sheer physical strength. She cussed and joked ("I put my teeth on the night stand, I put my wig on the night stand, I put my titties on the night stand- he don't know whether to jump on the night stand or jump into bed!" gave me a rather startling appreciation for the vicissitudes of old age). My only photograph of this remarkable woman left a lot to be desired and my best efforts to brighten it up barely do her justice. She was, in my defense, the center of a very large crowd of attentive fans:
Space opened up, a little, with Miller's disappearance...
Bar people enjoying The Life in Key West Florida.
I had a ways to go...
...but the women were still nattering, until finally we discovered it was time to go.
I was surprised by the demographics of the people I saw in the bar, mostly older perhaps a function of the music or the time. Apparently the music is brought forward to an earlier time to accommodate the sleep patterns of the older generation. It worked for me, I was home and supping soup before 7:30. With a glass of mineral water as I had had my quota of alcohol for the day, old man that I am. I make an appalling barfly. 