Friday In Key West

Some people live over Duval Street. I cannot fathom wanting to live here, on a street where noise never ends. Bars play loud music, crowds gather, and in the early morning clean up crews run generators, sprayers and dump trucks and when you sleep or have quiet time on Duval I just don't know.

But there again you can walk to all the bars you need or want. I have been watching this much neglected mural next to the San Carlos Theater. I was standing under the portico avoiding one more shower and I saw the boat apparently sailing into a black void. Perhaps it was my black brought about by the endless rain, or the stop-and-go-endless traffic on US One but the ship looked like a metaphor for Key West sailing into the bleak dark future of endless upscale tourism swamping the Lower Keys' charms.

There has been a lot of talk lately about reining in the Chamber of Commerce and the Tourist Development Council because there is too much tourism in town. Of course the alternative, in the past, has led Key West to bankruptcy so it is a bit of a delicate balance.   

I feel bad for people who have planned vacations in Key West the  past couple of weeks as the weather has been nasty. But you have to give the determined vacationers credit, as I mostly hear people say 68 degrees in the rain is much better than what they have been living through at home.

I noticed the little alley on the 600 block of Duval has been named. Actually it has two names to commemorate local figures. The sign post marks more changes downtown. 

And then I cam across a sight that cheered me up, a glimmer of Key West as I remember it more fondly. A boat bilge pump in the basket of a scooter. No big deal of course but to me it's a small reminder that boats can be a part of daily life in this harbor town turned resort.

The orange handles looked like the kind of grips you use to clamp onto the hull of a boat when you are cleaning it, but I wasn't sure as I sued clamps of a different type on mine. A harbor rat's scooter it looked like. 

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KiKi's Sandbar

I noticed the Can Am Trike, a machine that purports to appeal to people who ride motorcycles, and it was parked in the handicap spot in front of Kiki's Sandbar on Little Torch Key. It could just as easily have parked in the motorcycle parking space even closer to the restaurant. Thus as far as I'm concerned this photo is the definitive proof that Can Ams are not motorcycles, at least not in the eyes of this owner.

That aside Kiki's has remained pretty much the same and I am glad of that. The views over Niles Channel haven't changed since this place was Parrotdise:

 

They have a bunch of window seats perfect for out of town guests. Or locals...Maybe when it's warmer we will try the outdoor seating downstairs where they now have an outdoor bar, very Keys style. But frankly I prefer the upstairs view across the channel while chowing down on some first rate seafood and very decent beer. 

We tried the conch fritters mostly out of curiosity as we had recently been asked about where to get decent ones. Mostly conch fritters are corn balls that taste more like hush puppies than anything remotely seafood-related. These came with a spicy mango habanero sauce and there was a good bit of crunchy  conch meat in them too. We rated them pretty darn good. And yes, we were a bit surprised.

 Kiki's has kept the same format as Parrotdise, bright cheerful decor, lots of servers, a decent wine and beer list and a solid menu. It's not fine dining nor does it pretend to be but I thought it was pretty good value for money. The fritters, the calamari and the fish tacos all got the thumbs up. I really like the blackened mahi tacos, three to an order for $13 were a good meal. 

The smoked fish dip is always good here and if you like fried oysters these got general approval. I have to say the appeal of oysters eludes me. People tell me I haven't had a "good oyster" if I don't like them as a species. But even wrapped in breadcrumbs and fried they still have the texture and taste of -forgive me- snot. People love them. Weird.

If you don't know what beer to order and you don't like battery acid special IPA beer then go for the Funky Buddha Floridian on draft. I mean to say you can have a very pleasant afternoon at Kiki's and they have TV if you need that, but it doesn't intrude beyond the bar into the restaurant. They also sell caps and t-shirts and other dust catchers. Oh and they are also advertising Brunch everyday at eight o'clock with some interesting look food. Might have to check that out. 

A Squirrel On Wheels

Traffic has been pretty bad on the highway, an endless flow of vehicles stumping along at speeds that infuriate locals, barely the speed limit mostly and substantially less on the scenic bits. The news paper is full of vituperative comments about crowding in the Keys.To me the Keys are always crowded in winter, I'd just like to see more younger dynamic visitors. ON the subject check out this youth on a motorcycle. We were in the car on Cudjoe Key when I got passed by a motorcycle on a double yellow line. He then proceeded to tailgate the car in front, his shirt tails flapping and his plumber's crack there for all to see. I should have been gobsmacked, if you believe Sandi (in her recent comment) but I took it in stride. Motorcyclists of an older more sober stripe call these bright sparks squids, or squirrely kid a surfing terms they say...

I like to make progress as the British say but I reserve my passing to US rules of engagement, on dotted yellow, with turn signals and spending as little time as possible in the opposite lane. That makes me an old fart and far from squirrely... I pass for fun usually not to save time. The best way to arrive early is the ride a steady speed on a completely empty highway, not particularly fast but steady. That happens in summer, not in January. And then there are accidents. Two people have died so far this year on the Overseas Highway which seems quite a low number considering how distractedly I see people drive. Last week a major wreck on Rockland Key backed up traffic for ten miles, so I stretched out in the grass for a few minutes and read my Kindle on my phone on Sugarload Key. When traffic started to move steadily I put my gear on and rolled into the traffic flow easily as cars fail to pay attention when they are in line and huge, unconscionable gaps appear in the stream of vehicles.

It's been a challenging winter so far, with unpredictable rain showers, some cooling just recently, but also lots of clouds and vast great swathes of traffic. All made much more fun for a squirrelly two wheeler!

One rides the same road day after day and I suppose it could get boring but then we see different weather, fresh traffic, varying shades of scenery and we make a fresh road out of the same daily ride. Slow moving cars become obstacles to be handled, weather can offer a challenge and on those days when there is nothing to be done we sit back and watch the islands and the mangroves and the waters go by. Riding like a squid - a squirrely kid- is just not smart.

We old men plod along and make progress our way.

 

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Key West. Maybe Weird

One doesn't want to be rude but what on Earth possesses people to put eyelashes on their cars? I have absolutely no idea but here we are:

And there are the drivers who take dreary K cars and paint them interesting. Or not:

Frankly in the picture above the rubble that passes for a sidewalk is more interesting than the rather understated canvas that used to be a car. Meanwhile Vote Key West which means what, precisely? Again I have no clue.

And this next one, vaguely car related, unless you do actually drive ( and park) a rhinoceros...and now don't know what to do with it at the end of a fun.

Looking at the Curry House sign I drifted by and then went back. Last year I went to the Audubon House and the Oldest House in Key West and enjoyed them both. So there I was on the sidewalk pondering what life was like back then. Probably not that different from the mainland really, in a time when people didn't travel that much and a small island was much like anywhere else.

And then, closing in on Duval Street on Southard I found a juxtaposition worthy of my iPhone camera, Key West Distillery next to a garden dust catcher store. Any bets who makes a greater turnover in this town? Is it fair? I leave that to you to decide.

And this, perfect, a dead Christmas Tree long past it's composting date but still bravely holding up its ornament.

Golly; Southard Street is interesting, isn't it?

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Florida Heritage Bike Path

You'd be astonished to see how many people ride this trail in the early morning darkness when I'm motorcycling home at 6 in the morning. Modern bicycle headlights on some bicycles are as bright as motorcycle headlights and as they make their way through the bushes they give the impression of a well off course motorized machine coming at you from the wrong angle.

The state is bury making a true Heritage Trail all the way down the Keys and soon I hope to post some pictures of a new bridge the state has built connecting Summerland Key to Cudjoe. I am quite surprised to see so much bicycle-related road work going on but it is welcome. Frankly I wouldn't mind a whole bunch of shade trees even ones as slender as hurricane resistant  sabal palms to make the path more bearable in summer. 

 I love seeing the winter riders out for a jaunt properly done up in safety gear and workmen's high visibility safety gear. This bright reflective stuff is everywhere part of the trend of passive "safety devices" designed to shift the responsibility for one's well being on others. When out riding I figure it's up to me to pay attention to look after myself and not to expect others to notice me, but I'm bucking all expectations there.

 The bicycle bridge is built on the foundations laid by Henry Flagler's railroad crew around 1911 which railroad was turned into a highway by the government in 1938 after Florida bought the right of way from the bankrupt railroad. And then World War Two require further upgrades as marked in the cement alongside the white water pipe on the "new" (1982)  road bridge. The first piped water from Miami was brought to Key West by the military in 1942. Prior to that residents of the Keys lived off cisterns and rain water which modern standards suggest is unhealthy. Who knew? About the only thing I miss from my house on Ramrod Key was the water cistern. I found it healthy and delicious.

A close up of some mangroves. Nature called and we live in a paranoiac society sometimes that can't tell the difference between peeing and sexual deviancy so I took a picture of some mangroves while I was otherwise engaged. Fascinating bushes are mangroves, sucking up salt water and expelling the salt to use the water. 

 It was a strangely alluring view across the waters. You can see why people would bust a gut riding a bicycle around here.

And when it all gets too exhausting they have the occasional bench facing the highway foir a better view of cars passing in your face.

I really need to stop more often to enjoy this odd little spot.

Rain In The Everglades

Imagine this, I took for a day ride in the Everglades two months before I found Cheyenne at the SPCA. Looking back I wonder how she spent that Friday with the family that was soon to dump her. I did alright and even enjoyed the rain. From September 2009:

Rainy Meditation

I had Friday off and I took the day to go on a long ride. I have been feeling a little trapped by the unwonted heat of this summer. My wife's shoulder injury has meant we cannot use our little skiff daily, so I pulled the boat from our dock and it has sat, disconsolate, on it's trailer for the summer. I determined I had to go for a ride, so I gave myself an unreasonable goal and decided I would ride there and back and see how I coped.The day went well on the whole, I arrived where I wanted to go and I managed to avoid all but the lightest of showers as I crossed the Everglades. In addition to a severe shortage of breezes we have enjoyed a surfeit of showers this long hot summer and I fully expected to be rained upon. As can bee seen from the photo above, I met my Waterloo on Snake Road in the Seminole Indian Reservation. It was to be the highlight of an excellent day.I pulled over to enjoy a spectacle I had not yet seen in a thundercloud. It was like a white blaze in a gray head of hair, and there were elements of a rainbow within the splash of white in the rain storm. Of course my attempts to photograph the phenomenon fell far short of what I saw with my own eyes:The temperature gauge had been hovering above 100 degrees all day (38C) and i was sweating in my helmet and my gloves and my waistband all day. The thunderhead was producing a phenomenon that Iwas used to, a down draft of cold air that rush across the fields and bent the leaves on the bushes and the scrub palmettos. When out sailing that rush of cold air was my first warning to shorten sail, especially at night when I couldn't see the black anvil in the sky that was producing it. Standing next to my motorcycle I just grinned and sniffed the cold air like a city-dwelling child first exposed to the ozone of fresh salt air. The rain was thick and blotting out landmarks across the fields:Rain spattered and I turned and fled, thinking perhaps to return to the U Save gas station in the Seminole village where I could buy a coke and sit at a table on the porch and wait for the rain to pass. As it happened I had noticed a corral as I rode and as I thought about it I figured that if i stopped there I could shelter my motorcycle and also probably not have to talk to anyone. I had a thermos of hot tea and a book I have been enjoying (Hitler's Pope, a biography of Pius XII, which is not nearly as dry as it sounds) in my saddlebag and I would take advantage of the pause to do some reading.
It is commonplace these days for riders to load up with music and GPS and blue toothed cell phones that allow one to be distracted by almost as many electrons as the average car driver. I am not one of those, I continue the practice of enjoying my thoughts while I ride. Partly I hope to ride with greater care, partly I enjoy listening to the silence and thinking thoughts as I barrel down the long straight stretches of Florida back country. To thus have to pause and refresh the memory banks with new thoughts is a chance not to be missed.
I could tell this thunder head was special. The edges were blurry, the heart was black and it spread so wide the edges produced rainbows even as it advanced on me. So thick did it look down the road, and so strong were the down drafts, I figured it was prudent to leave my waterproofs in the other saddlebag and take the opportunity to stay dry. I was at least four hours, possibly more from home and I wanted to stay dry as darkness was two hours away and my blood is so thin that riding wet, in the darkness in 80 degree (27C) ambient temperatures could set my teeth to chattering.

It's not easy to photograph rain I find but I had lots of time to try to perfect the technique. The wind howled, sending raindrops horizontally under the roof. The the thunder clapped so loud my teeth ached and I wondered if the zinc roof would act as a lightning conductor. I retreated to the interior of the corral and hid behind the slats trying to stay dry. And the rain came down.

It bent the leaves of the trees and shook the branches with it's force. The sound was the hissing of a dozen steam locomotives, the very air was damp with rain, even at the center of my shelter.There was a viciousness to the rain, it felt like it was pounding the ground into submission. The wind stopped and left the rain to do it's worst and like a guard dog released by it's master the rain hammered and worried and tore in a frenzy, trying to do as much damage as time allowed. How this neighboring roof stood up to the assault I don't know. Them Seminoles know how to build a strong roof, they do.

Well, I thought, I made the correct decision. Tea, anyone?

It was undignified I know, using the motorbike as a table, but the little folding chair thoughtfully left behind by the stock man (thank you, whoever you are) was the perfect height to allow me to read and drink tea with the minimum of effort.

And so time passed. I knew that if I had togged up and continued the ride would have been not much fun. Rain of this intensity would have penetrated my plastic clothing at strategic spots and anyone who tells you riding with a soppy crotch and a wet chest is fun are lying. It would have been a challenge, of that there is no doubt, but I met the challenge my way and it went well. Indeed I was reluctant to put the book down. I had got to the bit where the Vatican made no comment on the "Night of the Long Knives" and I was wondering what the author had found on that subject in the Vatican archives.

The rain was easing up but as long as I could see spray shooting out from under the passing vehicles I decided to stay put. Either that or put my plastic pants on to keep dry and sweaty.The cars drove by in a steady stream and I didn't envy them their mobility. They had no conscious moment of this storm, just another wet view through the window. For me it had been a calculated risk, a well thought out decision, a maneuver to keep me dry. An hour spent here was an hour that would live on in my memories for a good long while. "Remember when...?"

As we age our lives speed up because so much of our older lifetime is repetition. Routine creates fog in the memories, the same photographs taken over and over get filed in one place. New pictures merit a special look and a thought or two. That takes time, and the time taken is added to the bank of life well lived.I do like the perpetual sunshine though, and it got a particular applause from me as the cloud moved off to ravage some other place and left me to pack up and ride out in a world made fresh and clean by the rain. A Seminole police car slowed to look at me lurking in the corral as I was running my eye over the bike making sure everything was as it should be. He didn't stop to talk, perhaps he got a call of something more urgent than a motorcyclist taking refuge from the rain. I thus managed to hide out for the storm and spoke to no one about anything making the moment all mine.

Mine and the Bonneville's of course, for what would Timmy be without the dog?