Apalachicola, Florida

To end summer together my wife and I took off on a trip with Cheyenne and our Ford Fusion sedan. Its not a ride on the Bonneville, that comes later but this week off work was taking us to New Orleans. Via heavy traffic on I-75.

Apalachicola was our first planned stop, twelve hours and 600 miles from Key West. The city is located on Florida's "Big Bend" south of the state capital of Tallahassee and as isolated as an island. To get to Apalachicola forget interstates and plan to drive backroad Florida:

Federal Highway 98 connects the coastal communities around the Big Bend and there are lots of swamps, bays and bridges.



The views are reminiscent of home, if you happen to live in the Keys.



Highway 98 is a two lane road that winds right along the water. There are no pull outs, overlooks or parking areas. Weird.



There are homes between the road and the bay and lots of pine trees effectively blocking lots of views.



The barrier islands are inhabited and are also home to state parks so the re causeways joining them to the mainland.

The bridges are longer than most in the Keys, except perhaps the longest one of all...we had to get to Louisiana to find bridges longer than seven miles.

Apalchicola is an old town, once the biggest cotton exporting port in Dixie, until the Union blockade changed all tha during the Civil War.

It's a quiet place now, lacking the draw of Duval Street, serving a more genteel tourist trade.

With the state capital about 50 miles away i'm guessing there are quite a few commuters here supporting business spouses with steady pay and health insurance.

We took a modest motel room with a chain pharmacy and chain supermarket right next door, as it happens!

Brick buildings are Apalchicola which sits on the edge of the eponymous river, the source of it's 19th century wealth. In those days peninsula Florida was uninhabitable thanks to heat humidity and runaway slaves and rebellious Seminole Indians so northern Florida and Key West were the white people's lands.

Often people wonder why Florida has such a bizarre shape, apparently stealing coastline from Alabama and Georgia but Florida got it's shape from it's history.

Spain used to rule Florida from St Augustine, so when the US took over the shape of the future state was set by the colonial boundaries. That they make no geographic sense today makes no difference.

Spanish moss and classic graves at sunset gave the old cemetery the feel you would expect from this mold town.

Conch shells on a grave seemed an odd touch.



I love back alleys like this:

Especially when they are made from crushed shells. Apalchicola is the land of oysters nowadays, when cotton is no longer king.

Dinner time saw us heading easton a local's suggestion. I love being a tourist and not knowing anything for a change. When I walk around here with a camera I really am a visitor. What shit heads in Key West call "tourons" though I find locals in other cities to be perfectly agreeable to visitors.

We crossed the causeway back to Eastpoint four miles across the water. "You'll like the hut," our guide told us in a thick southern accent which gave the word 'hut' two syllables.

We have to try oysters my wife insisted and when our young server told us she doesn't like seafood (!) we went with the baked shellfish, which swam in butter and was covered in cheese so it went down just fine. Oysters really don't do it for me, especially when I realized that off the shell they are alive...and thanks, but their aphrodisiac qualities are not necessary for me. You have to give oysters some out-of-this-world powers because on taste alone who wants to eat a gob of salty fishy snot? Really.

Then we had fried mullet which was delicious, especially as we had no idea what we were getting. I could have used a craft beer, but this was a no alcohol joint which was a shame.

The next day we decided to see what all the fuss is about when it comes to Famous Florida Beaches so we took the dogbto see Saint George's Island.

The local had two dogs off leash so I released the lumbering tank and she made a beeline for a piece of dead something. Yum!

It was a nice beach, lined with dead seaweed, less pungent than keys seaweed but dead nonetheless.

If you come to Key West for this kind of beach prepare to be disappointed:

I'm not that into beaches and pretty soon I was bored. Cheyenne finished her dead thing and we took off due west through stilt homes and vacationing Texans.



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Night Walker

I went to see Savages by Oliver Stone at the Tropic Cinema, always violent and bloody and filled with political statements of course, and I was uncharacteristically early so I took a stroll in the twilight and came across the statue of ...Ceres? on top of the archway over the entrance to Kino Plaza.

Dusk transforms a place, as the safety and security of daylight retreats and the shadows march forward, out of the secret corners.

I think about how much effort we put into lighting up night like day, burning endless quantities of finite fuel to maintain the illusion of day. Fly over a sleeping city and ask yourself why do they do that? Not to shut down the complex and slow reacting power generators is one answer. We are locked into a system that requires wasting energy to keep going! Your grandchildren are going to ask what were you thinking and you won't have a clue why we burned dead dinosaurs to light up an uncaring night. I have no idea why either.

I have heard from some people who ride motorcycles tell me they don't ride at night. Fear of the dark has many tentacles, but they don't know what they are missing.

I don't like the woods at night. I have anchored by myself in remote coastal coves, I have camped in strange places traveling alone, but dump me on a trail in a deciduous forest alone at night and I will tell you anything you want to know, without holding back. I dislike the rustle of leaves and the sudden silences and the sensation of someone always at my back, stalking me. Riding a motorcycle at night- no problem!

Bars at not my thing. The straight man's pit above or the gay man's pit below. I dislike noise and extra loud music and the impossibility of conversation and thick crowds make me as anxious as the non existent boogeyman in the woods. Phobias manifest themselves any way they want.

Evan and Elle, some sort of clothing chain store is saying good bye to Key West. Well grounded stores are staying afloat but expensive fashion statements are going to the wall. I expect our economy will start to look rather less robust after the prolonged Presidential election farce is over and we are allowed a look behind the Quantative Easing curtain.

Not everyone is poor in our diminishing circle of wealth, certainly not in a retirement village like Key West so spending a cool one thousand dollars on a jellyfish lava lamp contraption at Glass Reunions might seem like a mere bagatelle. I'd rather get my Bonneville thoroughly serviced by my man Jiri.

And of course a burger is a working man's treat for himself and/or his family. And the latest addition to the quick food choices in Key West is enjoying the popularity of novelty. Here on Truman at Duval and this Fall they say in New Town on the Boulevard we see Five Guys Burgers and Fries.

In the darkened streets a more typical scene for which the Conch Republic is renowned.

Why someone chooses to live with a large Teddy bear disguised as Father Christmas I couldn't say. Houses are small enough you'd think loneliness might be assuaged by something more...manageable?

The City of Key West has a budget deficit of a million bucks in a fifty million dollar budget. Happily instead of dipping into ample reserves the city sensibly is looking to increase revenues. That sort of common sense defies the mania for more cuts everywhere but happily this isn't Detroit or Stockton and I hope dinging tourists more for parking tickets will keep property owners happy and the budget balanced.

Cities across the globe are cutting budgets by not paving roads and by turning off street lights. Key West by comparison is doing quite nicely so far. Long may the riots against The impending fiscal darkness continue in Madrid, and Athens and Paris and not here. The Weimar boogeyman is almost as scary as the one I keep hearing when i'm alone in the darkened woods of my imagination.

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Not Dawn Fish Chasing

I've heard it said that anglers are supposed to be up at the crack of dawn to indulge their passion for fish killing.


Not everyone apparently feels the compulsion to arise with the sun.


But then slowly the boats start to appear.


Very slowly some of them, duffing around the launch ramp.


A camp ground packed with sleeping fish killers.


Early birds catch the worm, they say.


If they don't catch the worm they at least zoom like they are ready to make up for lost time.


You can't chase fish without last minute supplies, beer chips and ice are critical supplies.


Launching is stressful with everyone standing around ready to see the launch vehicle...launched.


And then it's off to see the fish.


Remember: one lifejacket per person.


And carry something really interesting in the bilge of the boat.


And try not to bash into other keen anglers out on the water.


Follow the yellow brick road.


And homeward wends the weary angler, loaded with fish while the sleepyheads go out to pick up the left overs.


Why chase fish when you could so easily be riding a motorcycle?





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Members and Numbers

Those that have been reading this blog for most of it's five years of life, and there are a surprising number, know that I am not very good at the mechanical parts of Blogger. I have no idea how to track stuff and record stuff and figure out the way the blog works. That I have figured out as many statistics as I have is a tribute to Blogger's ease of use and I dread the forthcoming changes to the format that will be forced down my unwilling throat. Apparently the engineers at Blogger are bored and want to make pages and posts harder to find for stick-in-the-mud writers like me.

I like to take pictures and I like to write about them and in doing that I find relief from the tedium of daily living. It is a form of mindfulness which is important in a world that is moving too fast for my taste and changing too rapidly. Which is to say I meant to note the passing of the 500,000th page view, a number conveniently noted for me by Blogger. I noticed the landmark come and go and I forgot to say anything. As of two days ago we were up to:

Pageviews yesterday 697

Pageviews last month 18,681

Pageviews all time history 536,024

The all time pageview count is only from May 2008, a year after I tentatively started this blog and called it Key West Vespa because I intended to write about my gloriously unreliable Vespa GTS. By the time that machine bit the dust I needed to figure out a new name for the blog and I had already decided I wanted to write about more than riding a scooter. Or a Triumph Bonneville.

I find in summer when the sun and warmth of the Keys have less impact than the cold dark gloom of winter Up North, so readership drops as people go outdoors to enjoy their own sunshine. Nevertheless it astonishes me that there are 20,000 pageviews every month here. I was asked recently if I would keep blogging if people didn't read this page. I expect so was my answer, met with some scepticism. The pleasure I derive from recording the Seinfeld moments of my life are my own response to the chaos of life around me. You the readers want Key West and among the blogs I have found about this town mine is the only one that does what I want a blog to do which is record the daily street views. My blog has never attracted any attention locally which is hardly surprising as locals know the streets better than I do and I do not put myself out in public at parties and events which is how you get noticed in a town fueled by alcohol. But despite my own social limitations I find there is one more number that astonishes me about this blog. Two days ago the number of members hit the 230 mark.

Now I confess I am not completely sure what a "member" actually is but that was a gadget I was told should be on my blog so I dutifully put it there and there it sits today and grows much to my astonishment. I have tried to "send a message" when I see new pictures

appear but my computer tells me I have failed to initiate some obscure program or other and my attempts have been foiled. Consider this a belated welcome. I am not very good at dealing with comments and I read other blogs where the authors, better trained than I in public relations know how to cope with the demands of 21st century media hornswoggling. I have a Facebook page where I publish notes about essays to come but I loathe Facebook with as much passion as I loathe Ayn Rand or corporate marketing. I believe it to be as intrusive as an iPhone and it serves no useful purpose at all. Twitter is demented and in remaining true to my simple blog page I am aware that I am slipping behind in the electronic race to replace print. In a world that does revere cheerful salesmanship Brady of Behind Bars, an excellent writer, gets my vote for the most enthusiastic recipient of comments. I think he gets a gold star and a future in media consulting and salesmanship. I get an F, which is okay because I rather prefer to write my essays than hornswoggle. Brady just happens to be brilliant at both.

In some ways my blog reminds me of my motorcycle. I read motorcycle blogs and forums where people seem to prefer to talk about riding than doing the actual business of being on a motorcycle. I must have a slightly obsessive, slightly I insist, considering I have published an essay a day for five years, often more than one a day, and therefore I suppose my daily desire to ride could also be considered obsessive. So be it. But in a world of blogging where blogs start and stop, come and go apparently at random, I have no intention of stopping. I may get stale from time to time or off track (witness my forthcoming long series of pictures from Louisiana) but sooner or later I will get back on track. Incidentally if I didn't live in Key West, New Orleans would be in the top three choices of places to live. On the plus side we have: good food and music, genuine local culture and color offset by the negatives of boring flat roads to ride outside the potholed city streets and a town rotten with violent crime laced with urban squalor and corruption...tough choice as a place to live! The blogging in the Crescent City on the other hand would be, to coin a modern over worked word, awesome!

In the end though this blog is the product of my inner need to do it, not in pursuit of recognition or a desire to be nominated for anything. I do thank those of you that read it and choose to be members even though I know not what members are or may be,

...and like the man said, tell a friend about this page. Though why your friends would want to share your reading habits I really couldn't say. Honestly I make a terrible salesman. I am going back to taking pictures now, and pondering hurricane season, and wondering how it is that Alexa rates this blog the 644,000th most popular web page in the US.

Statistics Summary.

Conchscooter.blogspot.com has a three-month global Alexa traffic rank of 5,073,048. The site has attained a traffic rank of 643,695 among users in the US, where almost all its audience is located.

Isn't that weird? Or at least surprisingly high.

Signs And Symbols

I like the diving mask on Simonton Street enough that I have photographed it before close up. Here it is in full.


Cup holders on powered two wheelers have always seemed like an iffy proposition to me, especially in a town where alcohol rules. I have carried coffee on a moped in just such a holder but these days I prefer to carry the cup of coffee wedged in
my luggage and I drink the drink in peace on arrival. Certain things need to be savored not slurped (horrid word!).


An abandoned paper baking in the sun. It surprises me how quickly newsprint fades to brown in the sunlight.


Mystery is always attractive in the world of bumper stickers. I don't doubt Cullens are appalling drivers as a group.


"Hullo. I am on vacation from my desk job Up North. Have you lived in Key West all your life? Do you like it? I am looking forward to retiring here..." His wife was ready to move on judging by her body language. The church sexton with the broom was pretty patient. I often have these conversations when people deduce by my dog and not by my camera that I live here. I am very polite but I don't encourage emigration as many relocate but few are chosen.


I ate at Café Marquesa once and the waiter gave such an accurate impression of a bored irritated Frenchman I never went back. In winter wealthy retirees line up out the door to be abused at vast expense. Perhaps the bored Frenchman is suave to the wealthy. Good man, he knows his place.


Here we are, slogans in crayon are much more fun. Wide ranging, global in scope, short on details and unattainable. The joyous expectations of youth. I used to think justice for all was attainable, silly me!


It needs to be said, per the bumper sticker below, that some of us don't have bank accounts in the Caymans though I did once have an account in Switzerland when the Italian Lira was so weak it could barely crawl out of my wallet on motorcycle trips away from my Italian home. I'd stop in Lugano in the Italian speaking part of the Helvetic Republic and withdraw powerful Swiss francs to fund my journeys. In a pinch French shopkeepers accepted Swiss Francs where they wrinkled their noses at Italian Lira. Nevertheless I feel no affinity for the Romney magic underwear millionaire. I prefer seeing the Republican savagery on display caused by having a black man in the white man's house. Obama isn't my idea of a progressive but he certainly brings out the bigotry in his opponents.


A government subsidy to offer health care to the mentally and residentially challenged seems like a less bad idea than the way currently their care is supported by my insured health care costs. My co-pays support indigent care which leads me to wonder what my neighbors are thinking when they oppose the modest reforms of Obamacare.


Unknown flowers drooping over the sidewalk are Nature's bumper stickers.


And fishing floats as ornaments remind us of the tough life of commercial fishermen on the high seas.


I was surprised to see these wines for sale on Eaton Street. The wine is bottled by the son of the former owner of the failed Parrotdise restaurant on Little Torch Key. I had assumed, incorrectly, that with the disappearance of the restaurant the wines were gone too. Not at all the shopkeeper assured me.


Does it make me a snob, like the Marquesa waiter, if I confess I have no desire to drink wine slyly named after my gentleman's sausage?


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