Bridge To Nowhere

The bridge is clearly marked on Google maps, in the middle of Niles Road on the northern edge of Summerland Key, but riding up the road past the few houses hidden in the mangroves, shows no sign of a bridge, and the road dead ends after a few sinuous curves perhaps a mile from the hustle and bustle of Summerland Key's businesses lining Highway One. Niles road is smooth and empty:At the turn out there is a barrier with a trail leading off into the bushes:And the pathway itself is pretty much standard issue among these islands in the Lower Keys, a meandering track: The odd thing was that behind the barrier, which is padlocked I found this:Just sitting in the grass, presumably no longer of use so they put the old trailer out to pasture. Neither reused nor recycled; just dumped.

This is not really the ideal time to go for walks in the Keys' back country, partly because it is really hot and sticky with daily afternoon temperatures hovering around or above 95 degrees (35c). Partly also the mosquitoes are out, though I did remember to apply repellent and sunscreen on this occasion. The other thing, which helps bring out mosquitoes, is the rain and it doesn't take a lot to make the trails impassable:Geologically the Keys are more like the Bahamas than the rest of Florida, but the limestone rock is frequently covered in a thin layer of marl, the clay dries to a rock-like gray consistency, which can produce surprises:In other words if you walk as I do, little-Johnny-head-in-air looking around at clouds and sky and in the branches of the mangroves you stand an excellent chance of taking a header. However the moisture has brought the bushes to life with a lot of sudden scuttling as I was walking along, probably a mixture of crabs, geckos and bogey men, but I could see nothing. Bleached bones perhaps? Not a bit of it, there aren't any cows down here:A common landscape feature that doesn't exist in the Keys, aside from hills, is a river. Yet I could distinctly hear a little brook a-gurgling, and not very far away either. The mystery was soon resolved as this trail is rather short. I rounded the last corner and came upon the object of my search:

And the gurgling noise was the tide running very fast through the shallows and hitting the sturdy timbers that still support the old plank bridge:

The bridge was built to take traffic, presumably cars and it was constructed with care and designed to last:And the road leading up to it was built up as well judging by the timbers outlining a plank road, and the whole thing looked like it should have been left for curious people like myself to stroll along for the experience and the pleasure:Instead, in order to keep us safe from ourselves they have disassembled the access end. Grrr. I should like to come back at a suitable tide and take a hike to the other end. The desire to peek beyond the horizon is still with me after all these years... However I am older and more prudent and it was clear the cooling north wind was bringing weather with it:I had plenty of time to slip slide my way back to the Bonneville and get all fired up:Some people think these islands all look the same, but call me perverse if you will, somehow I still manage to put on, if not the mantle, then at least the neckerchief of an explorer in these small pieces of more-or-less dry land. And if it wasn't for the camera I'm sure I might not even have bothered. And if it weren't for the Web you'd never have known I was out exploring Summerland Key's north shore. From wooden bridges to electrons, that's the modern digital world for you.

A Bonneville On CR905

CR 905 has, as far as I can determine, three main stretches: Matecumbe Key, Windley Key and Plantation Key, this last piece in the grandiosely titled "village of islands" the incorporated city of Islamorada. It varies between a strictly utilitarian look...... and occasional flashes of scenic beauty.

Of course scenery and scenic vistas are all in the eye of the beholder, because County Road 905, the "Old Highway" of pre-1982 years, is at sea level and not always within sight of the sea:I am not a great fan of the Upper Keys, not as a place to live. they suffer from the same affliction of all the keys except Key West; there is, as Gertrude Stein famously noted of Oakland, no there, there. The Keys are, more or less one long strip mall, interspersed by houses and around here many of the homes are magnificent. It is said that the further one travels from Key West, up the Keys (up in this context means north), the less liberal the people are and the more monied. I think proximity to Miami is one reason, there are a great many people within an easy drive of Islamorada with more money than God and a desire for an exclusive seaside home. So they come here.

And even if the home is modest, a giant waterfront lot looking out over the Atlantic down here is worth millions, even nowadays. Of course there isn't much money around for loans, but there are many homes for sale around here and I suspect people who don't need loans will be moving in en masse in the future, raising the bar for the rest of us.

In some ways I see the Upper keys foreshadowing what I suspect will be the future for the Lower Keys as well, those islands out of immediate reach of Miami day trippers. After the current housing crisis eases up, in a decade perhaps if the Japanese example of deflation holds true for us too, I think the Keys will resume their inexorable glide into the economic stratosphere. There will be less room to rent a room (with a/c, no less!) here:And this house available for rent by an apparently hopeless seller who is asking $362,000 will seem like a bargain to the next generation: The housing boom of the last decade brought plenty of gentrification to the Keys and what the "greatest generation" thought of as a nice fish camp in the Keys......has been transformed into this by their offspring:And so it goes. I saw lots of for sale signs so I guess a lot of optimistic beach goers stretched themselves a bit to get their dream homes in the Keys. Miami real estate has tanked in spectacular fashion, so it would be unreasonable to assume we get off scott free.

CR905 closely parallels Highway One; it has to, these islands are generally much less than a mile wide and it is frequently possible to spy the water through the yards and gardens of houses alongside the road, like this marina at Pelican Cove Resort: CR 905 offers a rarity in the Keys, a true alternative to the main Highway. Of course at every bridge the county road runs out and one is forced to rejoin the main flow of traffic but for a dozen miles across three islands one can ride parallel to the main stream, if not very far from it, physically. The bushy tree in this picture on Matecumbe (Mah-tay-coom-bay) Key separates Highway One from CR905:

Here the silver car is on Highway One and the Bonneville will be forced to join the Highway at that point before the next bridge:And seen from the opposite direction (now looking south) the entrance to the county road is behind the yellow car, almost invisible unless you knew it was there:

The cyclist in this picture has his back to the Overseas Highway:

As does my Bonneville in this next picture, taken near the Wide World of Sports store, with a recreational vehicle lumbering by on Highway One:

And on the subject of lumbering RVs CR905, should not of course be viewed as a speed track to get ahead of gormless cages, after all it has it's own speed limit: However I will say this, if you are coming south off the Tea Table Keys (a name to conjure with, I'm sure) bored out of your skull by dawdlers, and you see the Siesta Resort sign pictured above, and its a quiet time of the year it is possible to get on CR905 and pop out in front of the "island time" buggers before the next bridge. However if you are not totally determined, and if you are not held up by a law abiding citizen or a bicycle on this road......then I say it is possible, just, to get ahead of a chronic slow poke. How do I know? Well, let me just say I honed my driving skills as a callow youth in Italy.

Far better to take the time to enjoy the greenery, the exotic homes and the sights, like the recently refurbished monument to the 400 dead in the great storm of 1935, on Matecumbe Key:

That was the storm that essentially killed the Over-The-Sea Railway by tearing up the tracks on Matecumbe Key, wiping out homes, businesses and the relief train sent to rescue railroad workers. Bodies from the storm were found dangling in mangrove bushes miles away on the north shore of Florida Bay and Ernest Hemingway did his bit by sending north his eyewitness reports of the devastation. Shortly thereafter he went to Cuba, to escape not just storms but an angry wife (he had a fresh mistress on his arm at that point) and the effects of the newly constructed highway.

I like County Road 905 and I take it when I have the time, not least because it does remind me of the bad old days of slow trips up to the mainland. Not for nothing is it known as Old Highway:

And here is how you decipher addresses in the Keys: this mailbox is located on Mile Marker 87- the 445 locates the address within the "block" approximately as it happens half way. Thus Burger King on Stock island is at 5400 US1, which puts it at Mile Marker 5.4 and so on. Your useless fact of the day.

Talking of useless I took too many pictures but I rarely publish essays about the distant Keys so here are a few random pictures to extend this already lengthy essay including a random self portrait that I included because I am actually wearing a helmet, lest the forces of ATGATT (all the gear all the time, an acronym favored by new riders who put their faith in the power of Kevlar) descend upon me. In the interest of truthful disclosure most of the pictures I actually took helmetless and sweating between frequent stops:And here we have the positively glowing apartment complex, perhaps a function of a shortage of more moderate color choices?

I found more primary colors across the street, "bright" must be the fashionable house painter's choice at the moment:

And on the subject of bright colors, not everyone develops a rich tan immediately upon arrival:

I am struck by the history of tanning that suggests a hundred years ago pale skin was a sign of wealth and leisure and pale skin conferred status, where peasants toiled in the sun burning their skin to a crisp. Then the leisured classes took to sunny winter vacations when transport became available and a glowing tan was a sign of indolence and wealth to be envied. So fickle, is it any wonder I am not fashion conscious? Motorcycle boots and an indifferent collared shirt, and arms burnt brown like a peasant's:

They are in an attitude of prayer and contemplation in an effort not to photograph myself with my arms raised over my head as I squint into the camera. On the subject of nothing in that regard, my wife likes this Japanese restaurant near the Hurricane Monument if you are driving up the highway and feel moved to refresh yourself with raw fish:

You dawdle on Highway One as all good visitors should. Me? I'm racing home on the county road as far as it will take me:

That's as twisty as it gets around here.

Mangrove Lifecycle

It's another gorgeous afternoon in the Lower Keys, God is in his Heaven and all is well with the world, when you look down and see something you have never seen before. No, not the nurse shark nosing its way past your feet in the shallows, but a little bundle of nosey energy that most closely resembles an automatic vacuum cleaner as advertised on TV. It is in fact a dinosaur closely related to the scorpion:I have seen lots of dead horseshoe crab shells but never a live one. In the spring of 1989 I was sailing single handed the coast of Mississippi and I spent a night anchored off one of the Gulf Islands, a pine tree covered sandy hump rising out of the shallow waters. I rowed ashore and walked my kingdom all by myself. I felt as though I had landed in an alien world as the shoreline was covered by these bizarre oval soup bowls. To the eyes of a Pacific Coast sailor they were other worldly. And now finally I've seen a live horseshoe crab scuttling around on its important business: Half covered in sea grass as it turned out, looking like an old loofah, and somewhat undignified. The crab was cruising the edge of what is known as a fish nursery, a place where fish can lay their eggs under cover as it were, in the red roots of mangrove bushes which sprout out of the salt water, right next to my Bonneville.Mangroves are the place where fish sometimes come to spawn which is why some people think of them as fish nurseries:

The mangrove roots provide shade and protection from predators and they harbor nutrients as well for young growing fish. The mangroves propagate by growing propagules, long green cigars, hidden among the leaves:Some people think mangroves actually drink salt water but what they do is they extract the salt from the water, send the salt to certain selected leaves that become yellow and fall off the bush, while the rest of the mangrove uses the fresh water thus obtained. This is adaptation we are told by those with a scientific bent. Some propagules have the bad luck to fall on stony soil as it were and they will burn up and go a dark brown color as their potential is burned up by the southern sun:Unless a passer by picks them up and throws them in the nearest saltwater, where when they are mature they will adopt a nose down position and start to push roots into the dirt:Eventually they sprout and grow and assuming they aren't cut down or trampled or uprooted by a storm they appear above the water, singly at first:And then they propagate and gradually fill in the area and form little islands, which become bigger islands that attract more floating propagules and off you go:Mangroves are protected ever since scientists figured they have a critical role in the fish food chain. Plus they make excellent hurricane buffers and they have their own aesthetic appeal as well. All purpose tropical plants for which we are truly grateful. Not majestic, not over powering, just there, alongside the highway doing God's work in their own modest way.