Indian Rocks Beach

You might suppose a town with the word "beach" in it's title might be validated by the presence of some waterfront and that is indeed the case. However this town also has a stoutly proclaimed policy of No Dogs On The Beach which meant I was not going where Rusty could not follow. The water I saw in Indian Rocks beach was the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway.

You can't blame municipalities for banning dogs on beaches, Key West does the same, owing to the lack of discipline of people who leave dog eggs in the sand for the unsuspecting to squish between their toes, and as much as I love dogs walking in their shit has never appealed to me. So I was limited to a glimpse to stay in solidarity with my dog. Gulf coast beaches are really quite splendid even without your dog.

We had time on our hands before our appointment in Tampa and I suggested we make a detour to the gulf and check out the beach scene. In January one can hardly expect it to be anything less than  a zoo on the beach in Florida but 2021 is shaping up to enjoy its own peculiarities and one of them is far fewer people. As  a result we found parking absurdly easily and of traffic jams we saw none at all. Weird.

International travel is pretty much banned at the moment and  of Canadian vehicles in Florida this year I have spotted but one Quebecois tag on a vehicle all winter long. The virus has done a great job of wrecking the winter economy.  

Indian Rocks Beach is a tiny town wedged in the huge urban agglomeration that is the triangle comprising St Petersburg, Tampa and Clearwater and there are many small communities here to choose among. In some ways they remind me of what Key West was or what a mainlander's idea might be of the Key West style so sought after in Florida. 

I find it rather ironic that he pursuit of the laid back in Key West has led so many people there and thus raised prices beyond any notion of laid back, so now we seek the laid back in these backwaters. I quite liked  Indian Rocks Beach based on a  walk, a roadside lunch and a rather pleasant sunny winter day. 

There was lots of boat traffic and avian traffic as well, birds and boats coming and going. 

Rusty was not allowed on the beach and on the waterway he had no desire to visit the floating docks which were bouncing a  bit in the wakes of various boats going up down the waterway.

Some people found their own piece of heaven on the water...

The architecture of the place was quite mixed with apartment complexes and high rises and funky little homes all mixed together. I could see spending a  retirement winter here, parking the van and living large for a while in a 600 square foot mansion...

I don't suppose one should judge the crowds based on this year's attendance but the museums restaurants and theaters of downtown St Petersburg are a short van ride away when the virus is finally vanquished. 

I'm not sure I'm ready to curl up in the sun and wait for the Grim Reaper but when that time comes I could do worse than follow the pelicans' example.

Indian Rocks Beach has a ritzy fire department showing off some public art. I thought it might have been parts of the Twin Towers or something but there was nothing to indicate that. Key West Fire has a piece of Twin Towers metal planted in front of the firehouse as part of the national memorial so I was looking for the same here.

The other side of the architecture on display, the small cottage with a large lush yard; very attractive.

I found an empty street  with empty parking spaces right alongside the waterway. I was surprised and took one. I guess I set a bad example because other cars soon joined in and parked in the warming winter sunshine.

Front seats swiveled we set our lunch on our front tables and with the side door open Rusty...

...took his ease. 

Not exactly on the cutting edge but a pleasant stop and a place worth returning to for more exploration, especially when masks and distancing are no longer required.

A Cold And Not Quite Frosty Morn

Were you to suppose that sleeping in a van is almost like sleeping in a house you would be quite wrong, but after none months ownership I have decided finally what it is like. It is exactly like finding your lost youth and sleeping in a  van is a private and personal sleepover with your pre-pubescent self. This moment of self awareness came to me last Saturday morning at about 5:45 when I opened the back doors of the van and stepped onto the cold wet grass in bare feet wearing only a pair of shorts. It was 45 degrees, and not precisely balmy. I took this photograph about an hour later when there was some light.

The day promised at least a little sunshine as I watched a few cars passing on Highway 76 from Stuart. We were about 25 miles south of the town of Okeechobee on the shores of the lake. I am required by marital law to sleep in the bed on the side closest the rear doors and furthest from the body of the van wherein is located the toilet compartment. This meant that on waking up unreasonably early the only way I could reach my clothes, including shoes and socks was to slip out of the back and walk outside round to the front. That or wake up the sleeping wife. The choice was obvious even through chattering teeth.

With camera in hand and eager dog wide awake we set off to explore the mowed grasslands around Port Mayaca lock. The night had passed in the sort of deep empty silence you find in wildernesses and yet here we were at a modest roadside rest area. I felt restored by sleep but filled with the anticipation of another day of not having a  clue what comes next. it's the sort of feeling you have to bury under a ton of routine and social obligations and endless parades of paperwork when you are trying to be a responsible adult. Out here all I had to do was stop Rusty getting squashed by hurtling sugar cane trucks and look for photographs. My wet feet were no longer frozen blocks of ice even though my socks, doubling as towels, were a little damp. I was not a creaky 63 year old behaving irresponsibly, I was Lewis and Clark all rolled into one exploring limitless frontiers. A van can do crazy things to you.

There must be a very hard worked employee of the Corps of Engineers or Martin County with a ride on mower who takes really good care of the grassy edges of life around here. The whole place is mowed smooth and with trash cans and impromptu parking areas must make a great fishing hole for those so inclined. 

I saw a big fat trawler anchored on the St Lucie Canal, a  Krogen 42, very sturdy and capable of crossing oceans though rarely employed in such arduous duties when owners are more at home deep inland. I have come to enjoy the ability to explore that the van offers me quite aside from the pleasure I get from being reduced to teenage appreciation of the world around me. It was gone an hour later when we drove off and in the time it would take the $400,000 trawler to reach Stuart my $90,000 van could be close to the Georgia stateline and in Atlanta for dinner, had I wanted. I have no regrets about choosing a land bound retirement plan.

Rusty had a grand time as wandered a massive park-like  open space, a cool morning breeze in the air and no one anywhere in sight. Roadside stops like this one have become abandoned relics when every road become a superhighway and the parking lot still visible gets gradually overgrown. I should note that traveling with a  dog on a boat is hellishly complicated and I really do appreciate the ease of sliding open the side door and simply letting him out. At stops he sits outside and watches the world go by. Easy peasy.

Our explorations complete we returned to the van where hot tea (for Rusty) and a delicious chicken strip (for Me) awaited us along with plans to seek out Layne's favorite sandwich shop in Orlando (Seven Bites) for lunch. Curbside pick up with pre-payment makes for one easy way to explore at least something in the time of pandemic when you are unwilling to sit down in a restaurant. It was a good start to the day that walk with Rusty with the promise of more to come.

The thing about traveling in a van is that unlike a boat you can get right to the heart of places and I like that ease of exploration. Paradoxically what I liked most about traveling by boat was the innate separation of being at anchor away from the land. I like having my own island, a place of quiet, the pleasure of being surrounded by your own stuff, the feeling that all you need is in your home. The van does some of that but it is more practical in terms of running chores and  so forth. We did a great deal of walking when boating which was no bad thing I suppose. 

Either way you get to break out of the routine, to see new things, to live on the edge of other people's cultures and I like it very much. Not everyone does it voluntarily and later in the trip we parked next to a woman and her twelve year old son living in their SUV at  a freeway rest stop. She insisted she was fine and moving into housing in a  couple of weeks but Layne emptied the larder for them and even offered a blanket which they said they didn't need. They tried to refuse some cash we included but my wife hid it among the food packages. Those are the people who suffer through the "van life" conundrum, the involuntary dwellers of vehicles, unplanned, no money, on the forgotten margins. I expect we will see more of them as we go. I particularly dread crossing paths with stray dogs because I have this weird sensitivity to dogs and I dislike their helplessness in a human world.

I listen to the fears of road travelers always worrying about safety as though it were some quality purchased outside their daily lives.  Security has become a commodity you buy on your way to the grocery store, because listening to your inner voice is a skill lost in the fog of civilization. Years ago on our travels my wife and I awarded each other a veto. Anytime one of us gets a bad feeling, a sense of awkwardness about a plan or a place all that has to be said is "veto" and we move on. We neither felt any compunction about stopping at the rest area and our intuition was rewarded with a good night's sleep. Fear is pervasive and I wish  curiosity and joy could take it's place to improve  lives.. 

One aspect of roadside travel that is wearying me is the constant tide of trash everywhere. It may be that I am paying more attention to it but it seems to me it's getting worse. We both talked about what we had seen this trip and the plan now is to carry gloves and pick up tools and strong garbage bags to try to clean these roadside stops.  A duck swam up to me as I stood on a seawall and looked up making me feel guilty I had nothing to offer. How do wild ducks become beggars in this messed up world? On the one hand the anglers dump their bait boxes and toilet paper around the parking lot and on the other they feed the wildlife?

Back in the van, back on the road. Rusty has learned to travel in the big booming box and no longer fears road noises as we roll. He won't sleep in the bed in the back by himself underway but sits up front with my wife and looks out of the side window. At each stop he is always impatient to get out and see the new place where we have arrived. He seems to have the enthusiasm and curiosity required of any member of a well organized voyage of exploration.  

Back up over the bridge, one more useful stopping place logged. More unknowns ahead.

Lake Okeechobee Sunset

My wife had an appointment with her arthritis doctor in Miami on Friday and I was off the weekend following so instead of going home we went vanning. As with anything you have to cut your clothes according to your cloth and because we live in southernmost Florida our road trips inevitably start out by pointing north. In my role as driver/navigator I decided to head up the east shore of Lake Okeechobee. The plan was vague to start with except that I didn't want too tick to the coasts where winter crowds gather  and I wanted to avoid the coastal Freeways, I-95 and I-75 or the Turnpike up the middle. Highway 27 was the choice then. 

To drive enough to see a sunset over the lake you have to drone through Everglades marshlands, sugar cane flatlands, the stark poverty of the south shore of the lake and back into agricultural fields that butt up the levee that keeps the lake surrounded. By the time we had passed through Pahokee an African American town of low net worth, in Palm Beach county as far from Royal Palm Beach as you can imagine, I was forming a definite plan.

Many years ago I sailed from Fort Myers to Stuart up the Caloosahatchee River, across Lake Okeechobee and down the St Lucie canal to the east coast. When I say "sailed" I mean I motored endlessly struggling to stay awake and steer a straight course down narrow waterways. The lake was arelif allowing some actual sailing and self steering always with the ever present need to reach Port Mayaca before dark as there is nowhere to anchor on the totally exposed lake if you don't lock through onto the canal before dark.  I recalled from that trip 30 years ago a park like area overlooking the lake and if we arrived before sunset we get a view. I have driven Highway 98 several times but never paid much attention to stopping here. All that changed on this trip. 

As we drove over the St Lucie Canal on the high bridge you can see in the picture above, I looked down and saw a grassy rest area at the start of the road that leads east to Indiantown and Stuart. Aha I thought to myself, that might be where we spend the night. Meanwhile I took the Promaster on a lumpy road that deteriorated into gravel and then grass where many cars were parked their occupants mingling and sharing Covid while picnicking, playing soccer, fishing and lighting campfires. I figured we might as well socially isolate on the levee road and along it I drove right up to the gate. Turning around was tight but front wheel drive gives the 21 foot van a tight turning radius and with a little backing and forthing I managed to turn without sliding down the slopes on either side.

I wanted to have the sliding door open facing east so we could have dinner overlooking the water and my original idea was to back up the one lane road but I saw how firm the grass was supporting big trucks at the water's edge so I kew we would be fine all the way at the top of the levee. And so it was. Lyne peeled away after five minutes on the 60 degree 20 mile per hour winds but Rusty and I persisted, passing a couple of bicycles, masked and racing the setting sun back to their car. 

It was cold and windy but the sunset was lovely and as darkness fell all we could see was the lights at the lock and the dancing flames of a campfire. The van is well insulated and surprisingly warm on such a cold Florida night, down to 55 degrees and expected to drop to 41.

We had a simple dinner, a frozen lean cuisine and salad which kept the chores to a minimum and watched the sun go down. We have enough battery power we can run appliances and lights and charge electronics without counting the cost. It makes it feel like home inside the camper.

And out there in the distance the grass was getting blown and the chill was creeping up on us. Time to find  a quiet spot to sleep and I knew just where that was.

White Street

 Sometimes you see stuff as you walk and you wonder. Did an airplane lose a propeller or was it something more banal?

I saw two Vespas parked in front of the cottage  and apparently they look good. So here they are. My on remaining scooter, a 2004 Vespa is in the shop being set up for sale and then for the first time in a  long time I shall no longer have anything to ride. I am enjoying the change at the moment.

A military cemetery not made much of a fuss of in Key West:

Not sure what this is except it was a bt of color and had a sympathetic look in it's eye:

No Vacancy managed with a block of wood. I think it indicated that at that moment there was a vacancy.

The building on the corner of White and Truman has these lovely and unusual columns so before I crossed the street I took a couple of pictures:

Duval, Mariel And The Conch Republic

Duval Street well before dawm silent empty and wet with rain. St Paul's Church:

La Concha Hotel a big block of windows, despised by some as architecturally inadequate but which often gives me a perspective to play with:

Pools of light:

A model of the great Mariel boatlift from Cuba which imported tens of thousands of refugees including people freed from prison to muddle up the US authorities. It was quite a time of confusion in Key West.

Mariel is a Cuban harbor where the refugees or emigrants or whatever you want to call them were embarked on any US boats that showed up to collect them and take them away.  Cuban Americans got busy when the government in Cuba said those who wanted to leave could leave and 125,000 people suddenly popped across the water. It's a piece of immigration history worth knowing.

I remember a few years ago, probably quite a few now, some Cuban border guards patrolling Havana Harbor got the idea they could buzz across to key West as they figured they had enough fuel and a GPS, which was a bit of an oversight by their bosses. They came across and landed at a hotel dock at the north end of Duval as I recall and went for a walk. They were surprised to see so little life at four o'clock in the morning in Key West, a city they had only ever heard rumors of, but they managed to locate a Spanish speaking bum on the street who flagged down a police car and interpreted their plea for asylum. In those days any Cuban who set foot in the US got to stay, so they did. The Coastguard returned their boat to Havana as it belonged to the Cuban government.

After a Federal Court ruled that the wet foot dry foot policy of the US government did not include refugees who clung to pilings the then Secretary of the Conch Republic, the late Peter Anderson a master of publicity decided to claim bridge pilings along the Old US Highway for the Conch Republic. His reasoning was that if they weren't US territory when a Cuban refugee claimed to have set foot in the US their ownership was up for grabs and he planted the flag of the Conch Republic on the unconsidered trifles of not-properly-land. The publicity was embarrassing enough that the policy was reversed and the old pilings reverted t US sovereignty for the purposes of the wet-foot dry-foot refugee status. 

Nowadays the US government returns almost all refugees and the change in policy that had been accompanied by more open travel between the countries, has at least led to a drop in refugee landings and therefore one has to believe fewer disappearances at sea of those who fail to make the hundred mile crossing.

It's been a good time for me to walk and keep in touch with downtown Key West when most people are asleep. I get a chance to look around, Rusty gets a chance to sniff around and I get to wonder how odd and random life is much of the time.