The Nefud In The Keys

Human experience is a very personal thing, we all see life through our own set of eyes and when I say that this summer has been extraordinary that may only be owing to my experience of it. Yet, I talk to friends here in the Keys and they tell me the same thing. So perhaps it really has been an unusual summer.

It has been hot as blazes. Scientists tell us this year has been the hottest on record and July was far warmer than any previous July recorded. I am not one to complain of the heat but this year the heat has been stifling, high humidity has clamped down in ways not previously experienced. South Pacific island nations are sinking but here in the Keys we are burning up. Climate change? You decide; as far as I'm concerned it's obvious but these days science gives way to what we prefer to believe.

Rusty and I took a walk on Boca Chica Beach because I had a couple of hours to burn in the afternoon and burn we did. Even Rusty who is resilient to heat like no other dog breed took a seat in the shade in some wet seaweed and stretched out panting. 

The sun was tempered by a nice breeze  blowing across the water but it wasn't enough. The funny thing is that summer is usually a time of mellow fruitlessness in the Keys when tourism dries up, roads empty, things get more laid back. But another of those personal feelings surfaces this year when we talk about traffic. It has been heavy and unrelenting like winter with people driving in long lines and very slowly across the Overseas Highway. And I know I'm not alone in getting frustrated because I have seen some high speed locals zipping along when eventually the lollygagging tourists in their convertibles and their jeeps and their rental sedans eventually pull over or leave a  wide gap and we can get back up to the speed limit. 

So this year tourism has been relentless, heat has been relentless, and I spent far too much of my summer vacation in hospitals with my wife's gall bladder. But take a look at this. For all that I boiled my brains and I had to be at work in three hours this was our walk. Not too shabby.

 the walk back to the car took twenty minutes with no shade. I felt like T E Lawrence crossing the Nefud desert to attack Aquaba. I love that movie.

We were rather less heroic Rusty and I.  But just as hot.

And please when you come to visit drive the speed limit plus five. Put the phone down, watch the road and drive like you mean it. If you want to meander and not pay attention, pull over and let us by. We have places to go people to see dogs to walk and things to do. Like keep your hotels running smoothly and washing dishes for your restaurants and answering your 911  calls when you get drunk and confused.

It took a while for Rusty to get over the heat in the air conditioning on the tile floor.

Mallory Sunset

By day Mallory Square is just another tourist attraction, a brick paved area inhabited by residentially challenged, passed through by visitors afoot or on bicycles. It's named, oddly enough, for the man who made his name in history  as the Confederate Secretary of the Navy Stephen Mallory. In the photo below that I took a couple of years ago you can see the monument to the USS Maine, the white plinths, which ship sank in Havana Harbor in 1898 precipitating the war with Cuba. 

Nearby there are more reasons to visit the square as, for instance you might want to stop by the aquarium:

And then the sun starts to set and crowds start to shuffle this way as do the vendors and their carts:

And the ocean looks especially lovely:

Rusty was on a test run to see how he copes with crowds:

He did great:

Attracting babes as always.

The spectacle that evening was on the water as far as I was concerned:

But on the brick pavers the crowds were checking the acts and each other.

And the knick knacks and art work.

And the music.

It was all very exciting for one small brown dog of my acquaintance.

Rusty didn't even eat his dinner, he just passed out.

Reflections on The Poker Run

Peterson's Harley of Miami got the 44th annual Poker Run in the bag last week and I watched the motorcycles leave town on Sunday morning. Like every other event or happening in Key West, the motorcycle ride is a way to raise money for charity. Oddly enough these wild hogs paired up with the Rotary Club. This is how you raise money for diabetes research:

Once upon a time city leaders helped dream up summer events to fill the void of low income season. These days low season seems to last two months and even then the run up to Fantasy Fest gets loud motorcycles while youngsters spent last week hunting for the traditional middle and school coffin, an event that marks the burial of youth and the emergence to manhood. That it involves roaming gangs tossing eggs is not supposed to be a measure of maturity.

I like to ride my motorcycle, or my scooter and I have done for almost half a century, but I'm not fond of Poker Run. Partly my disdain is owed to my iconoclastic nature, but partly too the riders themselves are hardly here to make friends. They are loud, they are happy and their joy comes from playing scary revel for a weekend before they go back to being accountants and tradesmen and air conditioning techs. Useful skills all but this weekend their greatest skill is pissing off bystanders. And it's a shame.

It's a shame because I don't like being lumped in with them. I'm not a "biker." I ride a motorcycle but that doesn't define me. I have come to realize that decades of riding have defined how I like to travel. When I travel I am a motorcyclist whatever the means of transport. To me riding a motorcycle isn't like driving a two wheeled SUV. Part of my joy riding is making progress as I see fit. My goal is to not get in anyone's way, which seems simple enough.

I don't wear high visibility clothing, I don't expect others to look out for me. I have no expectations when I'm on the road. I assume texting is more important than driving so I ride with that expectation in mind. The idea that people texting will notice a yellow vest seems unrealistic to me. It seems apparent that at least, is one belief shared by the poker riders and myself!

I read  about people who want motorcycles to lose their manual gearboxes which I find to be an odd thing.  To me the fun of riding lies also in the skill of riding. My car is an automatic because I don't have much interest in making the thing go. My Ford Fusion is reliable, comfortable, well equipped and simply needs to be pointed in the right direction. There is no skill in changing gears on long straight highways and there isn't much cut and thrust in traffic with a four door sedan equipped with ABS, sunroof, leather and satellite radio... and two cup holders I think. I don't use them much. Yet some people look for ways to attach cup holders to motorcycles which I find very odd. And lots of people like scooters without gears. I have a Vespa with no gears and I find it okay but not involving. Like my car. I prefer my geared old Vespa when it isn't seizing. Or my indomitable  2007 Bonneville, five speed gearbox, 93,000 miles and running fine, thank you.

So I stand on the sidelines and I feel like a survivor from an era that doesn't much exist anymore, a place where riding a motorcycle wasn't thought of as a lifestyle but "fun." We got a buzz from learning to ride well, from the cut and thrust of traffic and taking corners at speed from being rebels in how we rode not how we dressed or how we staggered. I watched the Poker Run go home in sedate groups roaring along obediently between cars, about as rebellious as you would imagine weekend warriors to be. I guess I am another old fart  looking over my shoulder and glad I lived and learned to ride when I did. Damn the cupholders and automatic gearboxes! Though modern riding clothing is quite comfortable and effective, even in black.

Posted with Blogsy

Simonton Beach

I look in the archives and I've been back to Simonton Beach quite a few times and I expect I will be going there again in the future. It's not a big beach, just a block wide but it is quite pleasant. 

Rusty was happy to take a break there from our downtown walk, watching the world go by, front legs neatly crossed as always: 

Cheyenne used to enjoy a dip when we came by, and I still miss my old Labrador from time to time and she died last February 12th so it's been a while already.

I look at Simonton Beach and it occurs to me there is more parking than sand here and that includes spaces to park cars and trailers as there is technically a lunch ramp here.

 The signboard has the least number of rules of any park I've ever seen.

 It is a  small chunk of public land wedged between  tall hotel buildings but the views are quite scenic. Here Christmas Tree Island has its own private cloud:

 And the  mirror flat waters of Key West Harbor get cut up from time to time by a passing wake:

It's nice to see a family enjoying the sand. And don't ignore the bar and restaurant (and restrooms) in the background: Lagerheads. I keep forgetting to try it out when I plan lunch downtown and I'm an idiot for not getting there.

There used to be  a homeless problem at Simonton Beach as you can see from an earlier picture:

There are boats are anchored out across the harbor and some of them park their dinghies at Key West Bight while a few pull up on Simonton Beach.

It's a bit of a public spot to leave anything of value  lying around so dinghies here tend to have human power rather than outboards. This is also the spot where people launch boats but its pretty sandy so they need a bit of oomph to get anything bigger than a jet ski in and out.

Its a nicer spot than you'd expect in downtown Key West and it's as free as you like.

We all like Simonton Beach. I am very glad to have Rusty in my life but I'd give a lot to hug her one more time, my curmudgeonly Cheyenne.

On Any Sunday

For some people, dare I say most people, the weekend is always the same, a clear end to the work week, a time to rest and prepare for Monday and five more days straight. My work life is not like that, not at all. My schedule in the 911 dispatch center is so complicated even my wife gets muddled up by it from time to time.

It's actually not that complicated but it can get confusing especially with overtime. I work three twelve hour shifts each week and one four hour shift. Because the city pay period starts Monday, and because I measure my week from Saturday (to fit in with everybody else's schedule) I work one "long week" with six shifts, and one "short week" with a  twelve and a four  hour shift only. And I get a three day weekend, almost a four day weekend as Tuesday I only work four hours, every other week (and work the four days every other week!). And every shift I'm not working my counterparts on night shift are so we switch back and forth covering for each other.

So when I get a weekend off I try to spend Saturday recovering with naps and doing a few chores and dinner at home because six shifts in a row are a lot. Then Sunday I am waking on a day shift schedule like normal people and I don't go back to work till ten in the evening Tuesday. Pretty cool. The result is that Rusty gets a lot of walking every other week. I wore him out last week dragging him around Key West for two or three hours each morning. By Tuesday morning he was not up for a walk thank you very much and he lazed out on the deck in the sun. A sun day indeed!

It's been a hot sticky month has September with lots of rain and high humidity. Thoughts now turn to Fantasy Fest and the hope that by November we will have had a cold front at least and maybe two because the second cold front usually is enough to break the summer heat. Newcomers to the Keys expect October to cool off but usually it's not till mid November that air conditioning starts to feel superfluous.

Its the time of year when European visitors own Key West, and German and French are heard on Duval Street.

I wandered with Rusty around Duval Street a bit because I want to keep reinforcing his good behavior among crowds. When I got him in February the little street stray jumped out of his skin at the least noise, the sight of a dog or almost anything else. These days he is scared of tricycles, loud trucks and very big dogs, but he has learned to stick close to me so he is getting better.

And then, when it's the other Sunday I end up here:

And it's not so bad. We try to have a few laughs telling stories about our short week and looking forward to our next block of days not taking 911 calls.  Every other Sunday.