There is a street on No Name Key called Paradise Road, but its not for everybody: those white signs advise strangers not to trespass, and as you value your life on this remote Key you will be smart and choose not to do just that. If instead you are like me, nosey, you'll park your Bonneville across the road and take a walk in the opposite direction, up an unnamed road winding through the scrub, as far as the eye can see, and even further.
My wife and I frequently bring guests to this area to check out the Key deer which lurk around here in relatively large numbers. They like to cross the main road, weirdly enough, at the "Deer Crossing" sign on the street. When we brought Bruce and Celia to this area the deer stayed away so we took a walk instead down this path I had never previously visited. 
It was most pleasant strolling in the sun, mosquito-free and ambling while talking and peering into the undergrowth checking desultorily for elusive deer. After a while my wife cried uncle, her arm in its brace was giving her fits and that left Bruce and I to trudge on like the intrepid explorers we would like to be. As it was Bruce yielded next, anxious to return to the women resting in the car, so we turned back before the trail was done.That left me to return alone after Bruce and Celia departed, shoeless, for Santa Fe.
I returned on a blusterous cold morning, strong wind gusts out of the north whipping icy draughts of air across the bridge connecting No Name to Big Pine Key. The bridge anglers looked like Popsicles in the sunshine and I for one couldn't imagine handling cold wet lures in these conditions. I probably looked barking mad enjoying an icy ride in the brilliant sun but there was a destination for me and it was across from Paradise Road.
It was not, I admit it, as much fun striding through the undergrowth alone as it had been listening to my wife and Celia nattering on, or sharing a thought myself with Bruce as I walked, but it was splendid to be out in the sun, shaded from the wind which rattled the trees and bushes alongside the trail. Some of the rattling was a bit creepy as the thatch palms sounded like they were being stomped on by a large sasquatch rather than just the wind, but I got to see a bunch of yellow butterflies and they weren't spooked by the forest noises and made me feel ashamed. I've always been a little creeped out by the woods, its a manifestation of my sensitive nature. Or something.
There were signs of life- human life at least, as marked in the mud. When the four of us were walking we saw some tread marks in the muddy spots, which appeared to be bicycle treads but I was pretty sure there some fresh marks and they looked like those left by an all terrain vehicle, and they hadn't been there when we had walked en masse.
I might have expected to hear the sound of a motor, or voices or smelled exhaust but the day was unsullied and untrammeled by human intervention- except mine! I walked and I walked, turning corners and forgetting to check how long I'd been gone, but I guesstimated a mile and half walk to the end which came upon me suddenly in the form of a wide open space bathed in sunlight:
There was remarkably little trash along the trail anywhere, which one would like to think indicated a high level of consciousness among hikers on No Name Key, but rather I think, speaks to the low volume of traffic around here.
There were signs of life- human life at least, as marked in the mud. When the four of us were walking we saw some tread marks in the muddy spots, which appeared to be bicycle treads but I was pretty sure there some fresh marks and they looked like those left by an all terrain vehicle, and they hadn't been there when we had walked en masse.I might have expected to hear the sound of a motor, or voices or smelled exhaust but the day was unsullied and untrammeled by human intervention- except mine! I walked and I walked, turning corners and forgetting to check how long I'd been gone, but I guesstimated a mile and half walk to the end which came upon me suddenly in the form of a wide open space bathed in sunlight:There was remarkably little trash along the trail anywhere, which one would like to think indicated a high level of consciousness among hikers on No Name Key, but rather I think, speaks to the low volume of traffic around here.I pressed on across the open space, feeling rather like John Burke and William Willis attempting to reach Australia's northern coast in 1860. I knew it was there and found myself floundering in marshy nastiness as I forced myself into a position to spot Big Spanish Channel. Burke and Willis had a dreadful time on their expedition, finally finding tidal salt water in a most unsatisfactory manner and returned to the interior to their deaths. My discovery was rather more cheerful, perching myself on a discarded refrigerator to take this picture of open water:
On my way out of this entanglement of mud, dead twigs and copious cobwebs I found the elusive Key deer. Actually she found me, and started back into the bushes with a most un-deer like thundering crack of breaking tree limbs. Then she paused to take in some refreshment and I nailed her:
Returning to the theme of human intervention this area was where Alpha 66 trained for the Bay of Pigs and I wondered if they might have been doing their military shenanigans right here. It had always struck me as preposterous to think that the counter revolutionaries could train in these flat lands for an invasion of a mountainous island like Cuba, but funnily enough I was reminded of a spot on the north coast of that island where my wife and I were blown in my sailboat by a storm on a trip from Mexico to Key West. The dogs didn't much enjoy it but I took them for "walks" through the mangroves in areas that looked just like this:
Those prickly nematodes sticking up out of the mud were just like those of the black mangroves in the offshore islands of Cuba. Well, its a tenuous connection but it seemed significant while I was there, in the middle of nowhere in No Name Key.
On my way out of this entanglement of mud, dead twigs and copious cobwebs I found the elusive Key deer. Actually she found me, and started back into the bushes with a most un-deer like thundering crack of breaking tree limbs. Then she paused to take in some refreshment and I nailed her:Returning to the theme of human intervention this area was where Alpha 66 trained for the Bay of Pigs and I wondered if they might have been doing their military shenanigans right here. It had always struck me as preposterous to think that the counter revolutionaries could train in these flat lands for an invasion of a mountainous island like Cuba, but funnily enough I was reminded of a spot on the north coast of that island where my wife and I were blown in my sailboat by a storm on a trip from Mexico to Key West. The dogs didn't much enjoy it but I took them for "walks" through the mangroves in areas that looked just like this:Those prickly nematodes sticking up out of the mud were just like those of the black mangroves in the offshore islands of Cuba. Well, its a tenuous connection but it seemed significant while I was there, in the middle of nowhere in No Name Key. There wasn't much left to do but walk out the way I had come in as there appeared to be no north-bound trails heading back to the main road. Once again I plunged into the shade of the overhead branches and as I walked a strong scent of honeysuckle drifted across the trail. I found clumps of yellow flowers on the trees and as I am not a botanist I have no idea what they might be, but they smelled excellent: 
I found this overhanging branch up a side trail that curved around some trees and pretty much dead ended into a large pool of very stagnant water. I, being neither Burke nor Willis, and not therefore desperate, chose not to attempt to ford it and retreated with my footwear in good order. The walk back to the Bonneville seemed much shorter, but it always does when you are returning on a hitherto unknown path.
It was time for a sit down and a large cup of tea with my novel. Days off are just great.
When Bruce and Celia came back to the Keys for a weekend visit they were most keen to sink their fangs into a cheese toast once again at the Five Brothers Deli on Ramrod Key. I was attempting to record the immortal moment on my Nikon and got a pretty poor shot of Celia. Bruce started laughing, pointing out how she looked like someone caught on a security camera; with that thought in mind I present the image here, as unflattering as it may be hoping earnestly Bruce gets into trouble:
Bruce and Celia are easy guests and fell comfortably under the spell my wife's latest incarnation, that of tour guide. So off we went at breakneck speed revisiting Bruce and Celia's old haunts from when they lived on their sailboat in Key West. First the Arts and Crafts Fair on Whitehead Street:
Which was where my wife snagged a couple of earrings and a picture frame and Celia bartered her life for a watch band. As Celia wandered from booth to booth it was Bruce's turn to look gormless.
We tromped across town and tried the new Indian place on Duval, lacking in ambiance perhaps but the food met our standards. We skipped across the street from India Cafe and laid into the almost thirty flavors offered by Flamingo Crossing. Celia looks a good deal less gormless when she's lapping up a chocolate laden cone, than she does when impersonating someone caught on a security camera.
Then with sunset rapidly approaching we took off for the southernmost point-the one at Fort Zachary is as good as any other point:
Our little tour of the Fort inspired me to wander off and take a few pictures for a future diary entry.
The entourage apparently didn't miss me: 
Then we dragged B and C to Seven Fish which dinner went across a treat and from there to the Waterfront Playhouse for a drop of play acting by pros of a Saturday night. Tuesdays with Morrie was the offering and I found myself a tad disturbed to realise I had most of Morrie's life lesson already worked out on my own. It was an affecting performance.
Then we repaired to Stock Island for lunch at Hog fish where we took a drive and admired the state of deshabille of this island nearest Key West. Bruce depressed me as he checked out the impending development: he decided immediately the City of Key West will be annexing Stock Island and I suppose he's right, only I fear annexation as it would make my job harder. It's all about me, face it.
From there we lined up in a howling north wind to partake of a fundraiser for the Monroe Association of Retarded Citizens, known as the Marc House. The event was held at the Pier House in lovely waterfront sunshine chilled by the blisteringly cold wind:
A dozen chefs cooked like crazy for us and we ate and voted and ate some more. Robert, occasionally mentioned in this blog was among those standing around in the cold. "Oh Robert," Celia said as I introduced him. "You really do exist!" And so, here he is stuffing his face on a chocolate burrito from Finnegan's Wake:
I quizzed our guests and we got enough votes to bring the tour to a close with an unplanned trip to the Tropic Cinema:
Where we were met by a warming cup of Zabar's coffee in the lobby (Bruce is the one with the hat, shading him from...the indoor sun?) followed by a showing of Atonement, a film Celia fondly expected to be a nice heart warming chick flick.
Not exactly; this was a British take on love and misery and death, a suitable follow up to the saccharine story of Tuesdays with Morrie. From there home to bed, cowering under the blankets as the persistent north wind howled and temperatures plunged to around 64 degrees.
Its weird to me, to want to retire to a place that freezes regularly, that is colder than hell and that exists around 7,000 feet above sea level. "Its dry" Bruce says mouthing off all the time about how humidity is bad for him. It must be true even if he is full of crap, they seem to be thriving on a diet of New Mexico. Which is all very well, but it's Key West that has chickens in the streets, not snow: 
and Celia is so sweet and innocent she actually clucks at the chickens and finds them charming. She should have taken a couple home with her, they'd probably be smarter company than Bruce who forgot his shoes on my porch.
How do you take off for a day of travel across country without your shoes? Only God and Bruce know the answer to that. I'm sure he'll make up some totally unbelievable crap about why they got left behind probably because its not cold enough in Santa Fe to require footwear. He really does believe his own crap where I refuse to no matter how funny it may be.
I took a ride downtown during my lunch break with a detour by the beach. The conditions were very weird for someone who, like me, spent years in the West. The weather reminded me of nothing quite so much as the sort of marine inversion type of low cloud "fog" that builds up along that coast in the warm months. In California the low lying clouds are formed every summer day by hot desert air meeting cold ocean air, unlike here in Key West where a lump of cold air from Up North had temporarily mixed with the warm air of the Gulf of Mexico and the Gulf Stream to the south. The air was still and the sailboat races that were called off on Monday due to hairy conditions were becalmed on the horizon south of Key West yesterday by the sudden absence of breezes: 
I don't miss the cold and damp of coastal California and today was an unexpected reminder of what I lived through for 20 otherwise happy summers. I've always told my California friends a nice winter day in Key West is like a perfect summer day in Santa Cruz. Yesterday it was mimicking California a little too perfectly for my taste.
Then there is the ride south (or west depending on your perspective) towards Key West:
With a stop at Mile Marker 25 to lament the passing of Fishcutters, my wife's favorite place to buy fish raw for the grill or in a sandwich for an easy dinner:
From there, following the rough path I commute each workday I ended up in 20 minutes or so on Stock Island, Mile Marker 5 which is also undergoing transformation from a place to house workers in trailers to a place to develop and make pretty. There's a long row to hoe on Shrimp Road judging by the trash currently in place:
I used to bring my own sailboat down here for haul outs (what landlubbers call "dry docking") and I wondered where we would do it if everything got built up. There are still a couple of places, insalubrious yet evocative for a former dock rat:
Some people mark their turf with dead cars and rusty appliances. Others make their Stock Island pieces of the American Dream beautiful with paint, plants and paraphernalia and just for contrast dangle banal, pointless No Trespassing signs that spoil the cared for, homey, effect. Anyone plan on trespassing this fence?
North Stock Island, technically incorporated into the City of Key West currently houses the delightful garbage transfer station next to Mount Trashmore, home to a stranded whale:
One day I'm going to spend some time documenting Stock island before it all disappears but yesterday I had a date with myself at the Tropic to revisit the movie Juno so I had to ride on down the road. I paused for refreshment at the Inn on North Roosevelt where Merril's Cafe offers an excellent blackened snapper sandwich for eleven bucks and lots of iced tea from wait staff with a sense of humor. I like the foliage too, and the shade and the peace and quiet of no TVs or canned music.
Enough words, time to ride down to Mile Marker 2 and Garrison Bight where I chatted briefly with a former boat captain colleague who reminisced happily about the fun we had sailing tourists around the harbor. He had to go to catch up to an angry wife, he said, shrugging at some domestic dispute. I kept taking pictures: 
Then I headed downtown with a plan to photograph at least one tourist attraction, something I don't often do, as there are lots of Internet pictures of all the attractions that draw people to Key West. This one's pretty obvious on Olivia Street, and I don't mean the Bonneville:
Then down to Fort Street for a picture of a less well known "attraction." They are actually on the Navy Base and were used to store ammunition. Some say they were missile silos, but whatever they were, nowadays they keep goats on them to crop the abundant grasses that grow all over:
Then its time to park in my favorite spot downtown, on Eaton Street just up from the Tropic Cinema:
After a good laugh at the movies I set off for the south side of the island pausing at Casa Marina to read a few chapters from my book at the new-ish pocket park on the water: 
Then to Higgs beach by the West Martello Tower, Napoleonic home to the garden club:
And finally out of town by way of South Roosevelt Boulevard where I pause east of the airport, past the relatively tight bend called Deadman's Curve for a last picture looking north towards the triangle where Key West ends and Stock Island begins:
And so home, and pretty soon to bed like Peter Rabbit, with my supper, to get properly refreshed for two consecutive days at work. 
The paper reports another no hope candidate running for Sheriff, as the incumbent is retiring after 40 years with the department. Some other wackos of a different stripe have killed and beheaded key deer, and all I can think is that I'm grateful they did the deed outside the jurisdiction of the Key West Police.
Settling back into my snug armchair with the Citizen I see Paul Krugman of the New York Times, is busy debunking the myth of Reaganomics, which is a pleasure as ever. Common sense always trumps political posturing in his columns, and he is the only economic pundit I pay attention to, not least because he is ridiculed far too often. Despite the fact that everyone knows our leaders have no idea how to lead, people who criticize them still get it in the neck from people with agendas that have no basis in reality as we live it. I heard at school yesterday stories of impending economic destruction on several and various islands as balloon payments come due and interest rates reach catastrophic heights, even as the Fed makes panic rate cuts, and evictions are on the horizon of too many peoples' marginal lives. Even though we have a fixed mortgage and "secure" government jobs I wonder where this recession will leave us. And still the state legislature yaks on about Reaganomic tax cuts as though destroying Florida's flimsy social fabric will make things better. We have to "hunker down" not just for meteorological storms around here.
In the meantime, night is retreating pretty rapidly and gray skies are yielding to blue and by golly we have the prospect of a sunny day today. I may have to force myself to go for a ride, an aimless meander made aimed by the need to take some pictures to document my pleasure and remind myself that so far, life in the Keys remains good, wars evictions and global warming aside.