Drought has Florida in it's grip. The wildlife pond at Higgs Beach is as dry as a bone as a result, and i decided to take advantage to walk across the floor of the pond.
Cheyenne was off enjoying the shade and she indicated the smells outside the dried up pond were much more interesting.
I've always enjoyed the sculpture on the post in the middle of the pond but yesterday I got a chance to see it up close and keep my feet dry at the same time. 
Higgs beach is well known as hang out for all sports including the residentially challenged especially in winter.
The floor of the normally wet pond had a healthy cover of greenery for Cheyenne and I to cross. 
I used to enjoy prolonged droughts in California because the rain came in the cold season and added to the misery of winter. Rain in Florida usually comes in summer but winter rains, as modest as they are, help to keep the state green. Not this year. 
Higgs Beach runs alongside the southern end of White Street, a main road for cyclists heading to and from the beach and the White Street Pier. It's also the place where funky campers tend to congregate. 
Cheyenne was having fun poking around and sniffing this and that. 
Not everyone stays in hotels for Spring Break. This Florida tagged car had bedrolls on the hood. 
There are two schools of thought in Key west about birds on the streets. Some like the chickens and roosters despite their noise and aggressive scraping in the dirt. The argument goes they kill noxious insects. I prefer the local birds, the natives, like the ibis that also kill noxious insects but do it with a quiet dignity the invasive chickens completely lack. 
I am quite fond of the spacious dog park built (with money collected from the public) on the corner of Higgs. Cheyenne is not as keen, preferring to wander on her own in the rest of the park. Suits me.
We sat in the shade while I pondered the meaning of "Blue Dog Park." 
From Higgs we took the car and headed to the other beach at Smathers. Key West has enjoyed a busy winter tourist trade. I'm told the only Florida hotels that have had a smash hit winter are those in the Keys. Which is good of course but explains the crowding and the slow waddling traffic on the Overseas Highway. And now Spring Break has started, with the city filling up with rowdy youngsters. 
Cheyenne was off enjoying the shade and she indicated the smells outside the dried up pond were much more interesting.
I've always enjoyed the sculpture on the post in the middle of the pond but yesterday I got a chance to see it up close and keep my feet dry at the same time. 
Higgs beach is well known as hang out for all sports including the residentially challenged especially in winter.The floor of the normally wet pond had a healthy cover of greenery for Cheyenne and I to cross. 
I used to enjoy prolonged droughts in California because the rain came in the cold season and added to the misery of winter. Rain in Florida usually comes in summer but winter rains, as modest as they are, help to keep the state green. Not this year. 
Higgs Beach runs alongside the southern end of White Street, a main road for cyclists heading to and from the beach and the White Street Pier. It's also the place where funky campers tend to congregate. Cheyenne was having fun poking around and sniffing this and that. 
Not everyone stays in hotels for Spring Break. This Florida tagged car had bedrolls on the hood. 
There are two schools of thought in Key west about birds on the streets. Some like the chickens and roosters despite their noise and aggressive scraping in the dirt. The argument goes they kill noxious insects. I prefer the local birds, the natives, like the ibis that also kill noxious insects but do it with a quiet dignity the invasive chickens completely lack. 
I am quite fond of the spacious dog park built (with money collected from the public) on the corner of Higgs. Cheyenne is not as keen, preferring to wander on her own in the rest of the park. Suits me.We sat in the shade while I pondered the meaning of "Blue Dog Park." 
From Higgs we took the car and headed to the other beach at Smathers. Key West has enjoyed a busy winter tourist trade. I'm told the only Florida hotels that have had a smash hit winter are those in the Keys. Which is good of course but explains the crowding and the slow waddling traffic on the Overseas Highway. And now Spring Break has started, with the city filling up with rowdy youngsters. 
Spring Break is turning into the kind of orgy we used to have every Spring. The past few years things have been much quieter but this year the Police Communications center has been insanely busy every night. I am coming home exhausted in the morning sleeping like a dead man as soon as my head hits the pillow. Here's a taste of what will be in town for the next several weeks.
I will be obliged to bring you more pictures like this or face the wrath and dripping sarcasm of the Scribe of Amish Country and his sodding BMW. I am a slave to Jack riepe's taste buds in photography- Twisted Roads for Twisted Minds.
This is not a good time to be speeding in Key West. It is a good time to take it easy and watch the scenery shimmer by.
I am in love with my own blonde bimbo. 
Cheyenne is all a man needs when he's out looking for a young bit of fluff.
I will be obliged to bring you more pictures like this or face the wrath and dripping sarcasm of the Scribe of Amish Country and his sodding BMW. I am a slave to Jack riepe's taste buds in photography- Twisted Roads for Twisted Minds.
This is not a good time to be speeding in Key West. It is a good time to take it easy and watch the scenery shimmer by.
I am in love with my own blonde bimbo. 
Cheyenne is all a man needs when he's out looking for a young bit of fluff.
It's a typical Key West street, pretty especially in the evening sunlight.
In fact, everywhere I look there are signs of flourishing bougainvillea.
In the next picture I was looking at the varied roof lines and there in the bottom corner is a spray of red, as though mocking me.
And there was the Bonneville, about to be devoured by the bougainvillea monster.
In my case I am the old fart, while my motorcycle is a much more modern machine than the original Bonneville that might have been built around the time Chuck's 1985 Harley Davidson came off the production line. Chuck notes with pride that his machine is the last of the breed with cast iron cyclinders, a material that is old fashioned and out of date but that has properties that make it useful for internal combustion- heat dissipation and self lubrication. Nowadays we see motorcycles built of exotic unobtanium, cooled with liquids, operated by electrons and impossible to comprehend. To revel in the old is to be, by definition, an old fart.
We met at my place last Friday and cruised over to No Name Pub for food and conversation. As one does, and we weren't alone.
Chuck wanted a slice or three of No Name's famed pizza, so, being men we ordered too much and devoured hot greasy pastry and cheese and crispy slices of salted meat products. We were ashamed of our greed and revelled in it. Chuck made up for it by drinking tap water, I had a Yuengling draft to start and strong iced tea to chase the alcohol away before we ended our long leisurely meal and left behind a picked over plate.
We are coming up on Bike Week at Daytona the annual orgy of Harley Davidsons on the beach Up North so this past week saw a disproportionately high number of motorcycles rented or trailered to Florida and ridden to Key West- the ride of a lifetime on the Overseas Highway.
We had a slight problem here as we both like to ride alone and Chuck very decently agreed to take the lead to start and thus set the pace, something I hate to do. I popped my squeezbox out of my jacket pocket and started shooting off pictures as we rolled south on Wilder Road back to Highway One.
Temperatures were in the low 80's and our motorcycles, though 22 years apart in age are very similar in performance. Chuck has four speeds to my five, neither bike has a tachometer but both get around 42 miles per gallon and cruise happily between 60 and 80 miles per hour.
It was a matter of minutes to find ourselves crossing the turquoise waters on a windy afternoon in bright sunshine.
I saw these campers on the spoil island south of the Seven Mile Bridge and figured they were having quite the adventure. We were amusing ourselves quite nicely on the bridges admiring the views...
...avoiding getting blown around...
...blatting along at a steady 60 miles per hour into the headwinds. Chuck has no windshield, which is fine for him. Me? I'm a wuss and enjoy my Parabellum, the top of which can just be seen, here below:
At the start of the weekend one usually sees much heavier traffic heading south and in fact last Friday afternoon we had plenty of oncoming vehicles.
Then we arrived in Marathon, the wide spot in the Overseas Highway with a 45 mile per hour speed limit and two lanes in each direction.
That early Harley has several features I like. The riding position is what is known as standard, not cruiser style with the feet properly under the body, which gives better control over the machine. The Harley is also a very basic motorcycle, chain drive, discs fore and aft and reliable electric starting. However it all comes together nicely with no superflouous body work , no electronics no nothing that detracts or adds to the fundamental pleasure of the ride. Chuck is quick to point out this is his first ever Harley but he really likes it, and I can see why.
Clearly the bike is doing no one any good stuck in the garage but the value of this lump of forgotten metal is hundreds more to one of the men in the picture below than it is to the other. Chuck was worried about engine damage, the owner was worried about dust and rust so he polished the wreck.
As we talked across the gas station pumps the son, if that is what he was, put his helmet on and I was fascinated, like a parakeet with a mirror, by the camera bolted on his head. I am sure my eyes followed it back and forth as he talked. I could only bring myself to photograph the accessory as he rode away, thinking it rude to point and click in his face. I guess it's better than my method of holding my camera in my hand but it sure looked more unusual than a pair of pink Crocs, for example.
The road was of course lovely as we went back the way we came over the Seven Mile Bridge.
Still sunny, still windy and this time with me in the lead setting the pace. We got on the Seven Mile Bridge and I opened it up to pass a dawdling car. I startled Chuck for a minute but he was game and we passed a few more before settling into an empty stretch of road. The view as always is a mixture of little lumps of land, turquoise waters, and every now and again a familiar human made landmark. Like the old Bahia Honda Bridge.
We parted ways in Big Pine as I had a chore to do, to check on the availability of tires for my car, which was of no interest to Chuck so he went off after promising to do this again some time. While I was talking to Donnie at Monroe Tire I noticed this elderly Yamaha in the perfect position to attract Chuck... just as well he didn't follow me over there.
Of course I'd like mine not only running but restored and ready for use as a hardcore daily rider. And Chuck to keep it running for me. I ride when it's windy or rainy but I am a wuss when it comes to wrenching.