Motorcycle Backpacks

In Miami recently we were driving SW 40th Street in the three lines of traffic trying not to get impatient. A motorcycle! Lucky bastard. Then I saw they were two up and saddlebag-free. Bummer.


Nice backpack dude! What the hell is that thing? A star wars trooper? With legs and a gun? Weird.


Now we are on Stock Island, I was still in the car, and still lasses by a motorcycle, dammit!


Also with a backpack. I hate riding with a backpack and try never to have to do it.


These youngsters are nothing if not adaptable. Good lads. For me, luggage attached to the bike is indispensable for a daily rider. It may make my Bonneville look dowdy But it makes commuting and touring a lot easier.



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Bahama Village Amble

There is a certain pleasure in randomness around Key West, taking a walk, an activity I enjoy a great deal, and taking pictures of anything and everything that appeals to the eye.


I see a lot of pretty homes which are also pretty typical for the older area of my home town.


Fences and pointy roofs all over the place.


Old Conch cottages sit side by side with...


...other old homes fitted with those magnificent old tin shutters that I love so much.


There are magnificently refurbished homes...


...and other sturdy houses that are doing fine without the bourgeois touch.


And in their midst this bizarre restaurant, Better Than Sex which is heavy on the teenage innuendo if you go online and look at their menu. ”You'll be sure to get some nookie when you scoop up this sweetie," ugh, or "smooth slippery love custard joins in a poke party with sugar pieces and dribbles of warm soft caramel." That sort of soft porn stuff makes me want to go sit on a broomstick to harden the fuck up.


And you can get a Money Shot, not described on the menu, which I am told is the porn industry's description of a man having an orgasm on film. Just what I want in a glass for the low low price of five dollars, US.


Or you can walk half a bloc and get your shoe repaired by the last living cobbler in Key West


The paper did an article on him a while back.


This would be the sensible end of this block of Petronia. Money shot indeed!

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Not For The Squeamish

A friend sent me this picture taken on Flagler Avenue with an iPhone. What you cannot see is that this man in a fishnet dress is also prancing along the sidewalk in high heels.


This person has been seen here more than once which is odd not just because there is a church here but because there is also a school getting out.


I don't suppose there is anything illegal here, but really,what is the story I ask myself and why the display which might not raise too many eyebrows on Duvall but seems decidedly outré out here in New Town.
And what the hell is the point s/he's making?

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Writing On The Wall

Whitehead Street is full of historic spots where one can point the camera and record snippets of the past. The lighthouse keeper's home could be a case in point:


Strolling north toward the Hemingway home I noticed an immensely long had written novel affixed to a light pole. All this 19th century penmanship in an effort to find a cheap place to live. Give him a call I guess, if you can help a computer-illiterate writer and don't mind taking a chance on a stranger's character:


Driving has been going through an epidemic of seriously incompetent chauffeurs. I saw one car stop on Flagler Avenue and block the fast lane while the driver struggled trying to figure how to use the median's turn lane. Instead of shooting him (this is Florida) the other drivers sat patiently in line behind him as he puzzled it out. Similarly this car parked in the street while the occupants studied a map.


Yes, that is the travel lane but apparently it's okay to stop in the roadway wherever they are from. It must be, because these are the bad habits they bring to Key West city streets.



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Hemingway And The Dog

There was some slight tension on the leash as Cheyenne stopped to retrieve somebody's lost edible near the Hemingway House:


I needn't have worried because this couple took their time getting the shot just right while Cheyenne and I stood cheerfully and watched. The light was failing already and as a result my picture, taken with an impatient animal tugging, came out fuzzy...


And once again we have the mystery of the abandoned footwear:


And in case you are lost you can rely on a signpost to get you where you need to go. What else do you need in the Southernmost City?


Turning off Whitehead we passed this wreck,


...carefully labeled:


It is pretty amazing that in a town where dirt is anything but cheap that this sort of wasted space continues to be allowed to moulder away. Probably angry heirs or some such thing preventing development.


This place further up Catherine was finally open, even though there was a "closed" as well as open" sign outside. The Tomasitas were there and that is the first time i've been by and seen them out there actually selling fish. I was too shy to take their picture.


Which brought me to this phenomenon, quarters glued on the sidewalk. Perhaps the idea is to watch strangers bend down and try to enrich themselves twenty five cents at a time. Cheyenne and I didn't bite.


I am very fond of specialty license tags as they are much easier to read and memorize by members of the public when they call the police about, say a hit and run.


As for the palm stenciled on the trunk I'm not sure but reality is often rather better it seems to me:


Try painting an image of all that tropical lushness on the trunk of your car.




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Sugarloaf Fish Fry

It was the perfect day to go out and have lunch al fresco however when I saw the heavy traffic lining Highway One at the Sugarloaf Fire Department I had second thoughts about open air dining in a huge rugby scrum of a crowd.


We parked at Wayne and Chuck's and left Cheyenne comfortably ensconced with their dogs out of the sun in the cool of their home. We took off to find fried fish on an 85 degree, Sunday afternoon.


This annual event raises money for the volunteer fire station on Sugarloaf at Mile Marker 18 and they told us they have been there for 47 years. This year's event was heavily advertised so we expected crowds but it was quite then organized affair.


On our way across the crowded parking lot we passed early birds leaving with their loot and in fact later in the proceedings I found three novels worth scooping up at the book stand. Actual paper novels, not electronic downloads.


The firefighters displayed and demonstrated stuff.


While burly mannequins kept an eye on the proceedings including this fearsome character from the Florida Division of Forestry.


An unattended gas tank caught my eye as we got in line for food. It acted harmless, probably cowed by all the equipment surrounding us.


There were just two porta-potties which seemed inadequate for the number of people present but I never saw unruly mobs laying siege to them. "They're not selling enough beer," Wayne, ever the savvy businessman suggested.


The line seemed endless, winding it's way up the mountain side like a funeral procession in Shangri-La.


It looked even more formidable from the middle of the crocodile.
Wayne got bored and wondered about the grammar of the sign posted on the wall. It would have taken an eight foot leap to descend over the rail to the ground where the toilets were located, a fact that seemed more salient to me than the syntax of the signage.


It seemed like they were giving away fish on the scale of the miracle of the loaves and fishes...


And the crowds resembled the biblical proportions of the mob gathered to have lunch with Jesus and his Fishers of Men.


We shuffled forward and admired the recent hard work of the firefighters during the unpleasantness of Hurricane Wilma in 2005, up to their waists in water:


The fire station itself alongside the Overseas Highway took a pounding too. I did not enjoy Hurricane Wilma one bit even though I was secure in the Police Station in Key West. It was a stressful time.


Happy days are here again and we got our food in very short order. The line moved extremely efficiently and very smoothly to it's inevitable conclusion.


The fish was perfect, the batter crisp and not salty, the coleslaw had a mystery ingredient, horseradish by consensus that gave it a fresh bite and even the beans were smokey and rich. It was quite a delicious lunch for $14.


Interestingly enough the Fire Department was heavily promoting sustainability at the meal with t-shirts invoking recycling and reuse, cups were made from post consumer recycled plastic and the cutlery was effective and fascinating. It wasn't plastic at all but some form of cellulose.


This was, as Wayne insisted a slice of true Americana and he's from the mid West so he knows all about straight America's obsession with folksiness. The conversation at lunch was tedious with the questioning following the line of where are you from and whether we lived here year round, and having established that we lived in the Lower Keys our neighbor from far away Key West promptly started lecturing us about where to eat in Key West as though we lived on the far side of the moon.


That she liked all the massively expensive tourist traps suggested to me she needed to get out and explore a little but she had no curiosity about us or our lives or anything outside her own small orbit. I ate and kept my head down to avoid being rude.


We spent some time wandering the flea market where I bought my books and took a seat (for sale, 75 cents) in the sun to watch the world go by. The palms waved in the breeze as did some of the more extroverted headgear on display.


Next year come and spend some money because it's a well organized and run event for a good cause with delicious food.


It annoyed me no end but I had to admit to Wayne that he was right, it was worth it. Well worth it.

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