A Mad Walk

I'm not completely sure what happened to me yesterday but when I got home after my third long night of work in a row I loaded Cheyenne into the car and drove back to Key West. I was primed not to go to sleep just yet and I wanted to stretch Cheyenne's legs as they only get exercised chasing smells in the Big City. I was quite surprised how energetic I felt. Mind you as we slowly approached the Southernmost City in the middle of a long line of crawling commuters it occurred to me it might be quite a damp walk as I saw piles of black rain clouds amassing over Key West.

I was quite proud of myself as in addition to collar and leash for Herself, plastic bags for community welfare and my camera disguised a phone I also remembered to take my New England umbrella, purchased in Portland, Maine last summer. It was a vacation impulse purchase to ward off their version of summer, which consisted of cold rain and strong biting winds. Maine is too robust for my tropical constitution, but I was pleased to note the brolly did a first rate job under the paltry warm rain falling dismally on Key West. Cheyenne was so glad to be in the city she ignored the water completely.

We strolled past the new West Marine building on Caroline Street, a vast mausoleum dedicated to the very 20th century proposition that boating requires spending money on lifestyle accessories. I saw the dude poring over his computer screen in the shipping office and I reminded myself I was never much good at retail even at West Marine where I fed my boat with parts purchased consuming my every pay check, it seemed like.

Chickens. I am not fond of Key West's free range foul. They are noisy and scratch dirt everywhere and are so used to people they are developing a bad habit of panhandling. Cheyenne frightens them a bit so they tend to stay away but she has zero hunting instincts and ignores them completely. Later in the walk one chicken was not so lucky as some bloody fool was walking his young dog not only off leash but without a collar. The chicken ducked and zigged but the dog was in hot pursuit while his spaced out owner walked off in the wrong direction. Cheyenne was blissfully unaware of the Chicken Death Drama so my attempts to rescue the wretched bird were stymied by my canine anchor, but as it was a delivery driver was moved by the squawking to rescue the bird from the playful pit bull. As it was the dog owner slapped his dog as though the animal were to blame for his insouciant stupidity and the chicken stalked off wet with dog spittle but none the worse for wear. "He's just playful" the idiot dog owner told an incredulous world. I told Cheyenne she was lucky she had me to protect her from idiocy.

I don't know why, but Cheyenne loves the Caroline Street corridor. I take her elsewhere in the city and she gets out of the car, looks around, walks a block and then goes back to the car hauling me along behind. I have learned to yield to the inevitable and we go straight to Caroline Street directly and she wears herself out happily in this place.

Luckily I keep seeing things that appeal to my eye, I ran into Doug from This Week On The Island and we exchanged notes on the progress of summer and all seems to be well with our worlds and our dogs. Doug is tired of the hotel construction underway across the street from his house and I lamented with him that parking will get really interesting with 96 rooms and 36 spaces.

Then I found what used to be Key West Trip Advisor's most popular restaurant, Garbo's Grille, a form of food truck which used to be parked on Greene Street and did a land sale business, so imagine my surprise when I found myself strolling past the familiar truck now parked on the Simonton Street side. At first I figured it was abandoned but then I looked again and it seemed to be set up for business with the flower pot decorations.

For a short while there the skies cleared as the sun came up and I hoped for another glorious sunny start to the day. I pondered the anniversary September 2nd, much celebrated of the first swim across the Straits of Florida. 64 year old Diana Nyad has been lionized for her 52 hour achievement which I do find a bit odd. I mean by that she is not the first to swim from Cuba to Florida as a 22 year old Australian woman swam across in half the time in distant 1997 but she was inside a shark cage made of wire. At the time Nyad congratulated her limiting herself to telling the press that such cages were "controversial" as she well knew having used one such in another swim in 1978, she said.

On last year's attempt, her fifth Nyad made the crossing without a cage, so not even the most malicious could say she was in any way "towed.". Which seems to have catapulted her into the limelight and the league of winners. Susie Maroney, the upstart doesn't rate. I think it enough to imagine being 64 and swimming a hundred miles in any direction and living to tell the tale. That seems like an ample record.

Aside from all that Nyad's epic swim seems to have done nothing to ameliorate Cuban-American relations, which would have been a nice outcome. With all that done Nyad now is going to walk across this country, not for the sheer pleasure of the stroll but to"raise awareness" of obesity in America. Like we aren't yet sufficiently aware. I like Webb Chiles' attitude toward the business of "raising awareness" this taken from his blog of his latest and sixth round the world sail:

 

Bill in England sent me some links about two men attempting to break the record for sailing an open boat around Britain. I didn’t know there was one. 78 days seems slow to me. Baring mishap, they should do so easily.

However, I am going to criticize them. Not for making the attempt; but for claiming they are doing so to raise money for a charity. That the charity—a very worthwhile one—is so uptight it has disavowed them is irrelevant.

Sail because you want to sail. No pretense or pretext needed.

 

 

"No pretense or pretext needed" are words to live by in this age where everyone is amusing themselves under the guise of being virtuous. On the subject of virtue I saw the parking lot guy at the Pier House staffing his post at the parking lot entrance off Duval Street. His foot in a cast, no pantywaist sick leave for him. Naturally I view sick leave as humanitarian but I am in a minority among stoics.

And then the rain started, as we passed the front of the Customs House and I started steering my still eager panting Labrador back toward the car a dozen long blocks away. We took refuge under an awning so that Cheyenne could catch her breath and we could stay somewhat dry. Not that rain is terribly cold here this time of year but it isn't hot either. So we sat and watched the rain come down, Nature's attempt to clean the city.

I love the sturm und drang of summer in the Keys, wild thunderstorms making celestial light shows, illuminating thunderheads in ethereal pinks and purples, piles of clouds in the sky illuminated like flickering Chinese lanterns. Sudden gusts of wind, palm fronds swishing like surf on a pebbly beach. Sudden catastrophic floods of water from the sky. The greatest show on Earth:

And then it's all gone and summer returns, as temperatures wick back up from the mid 70s to the mid 90s. I love that it rains in the heat of summer and not on frigid, short, gloomy winter days. Rainy season in summer is glorious.

One thing I did notice on my way home...the Boulevard didn't flood! Success! I needed to get home to bed, to sleep, sweet oblivion. My dog was exhausted; mission accomplished.

Big white clouds puffing in under bright blue skies. Heat and humidity as is proper down here about now. Here comes the sun! Ah, Florida!

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Flying Eggs On Coffin Night

The last couple of nights at work have been filled with calls from incandescent citizens complaining about hordes of young people rampaging through New Town egging homes and cars and people. That's when we dispatchers put our heads in our hands and groan in unison: "Coffin Night" which can persist over several days. Two years ago police officers found the coffin early on, as we shall see below. This year, no such luck, so far, so the egging goes on. And on.

--------------------------------------------------from September 6th, 2012-----------------------------------------

The  real meaning of Coffin Night in Key West is a Conch mystery shrouded in darkness and illuminated only slightly by the knowledge that coffin night is a form of celebration of the start of Homecoming at Key West High. Coffin night is not a school activity and no adult would be caught dead supporting it. yet it is a preternaturally Key West tradition, as local as a Cuban mix sandwich or a civic leader riding a scooter around town. It is unhappily Coffin Night this week and the eggs are flying.

The senior class hides a small coffin they build for the occasion and the junior class has to run all over key West looking for it. Coffin Week involves a variety of other activities but the hunt for the coffin is the highlight. The problem is that egging is also a highlight of the hunt and young people all over Key West's New Town neighborhood can be spotted hauling quantities of eggs to throw at people and vehicles. It sounds funny but it can be overwhelming, I heard of one passerby copping more than 50 eggs in a pelting. Raw eggs do terrible things to car paint and a vehicle parked overnight without the owner spotting the offending yolk can lead to an expensive repair to restore the paint. People get annoyed by egg throwing.The background to this madness goes back to a football tradition. Apparently seniors celebrated their team's invincibility by making a coffin at the start of the season and represented that superiority by building a coffin in which to bury their opponents. Then the Juniors took it upon themselves to try to steal the coffin to annoy the seniors. In the struggle to secure the coffin eggs became the weapon of choice, and so the tradition grew and has become enshrined at Key West High School. Coffin Night is a Conch activity like no other, it is reserved to the New Town half of the island and thus is invisible to the great mass of drinkers on Duval in the hours of darkness.

And in case you were wondering this year a responsible adult found the coffin in the early hours of Tuesday morning, not soon enough to end the madness which got wild enough that the traditional homecoming bonfire has reportedly been cancelled. That would be the bonfire designed to ceremonially burn the symbolic coffin.

That should have stopped the egging but I guess the kids had stashed a large quantity of eggs and I further suppose they can't actually eat all their ammunition. And so it goes.

Why I Ride A Motorcycle

The  need to ride a motorcycle is almost impossible to explain to a non rider. In a world where comfort and convenience and separation from the natural world are all exemplified by the automobile, a thinking human that chooses to sit out in the weather unprotected on an inherently unstable machine equipped with power to spare but no rider protection is a choice impossible to explain rationally. So when I came across this superb essay by another member of the Iron Butt Association, one who rides further faster more efficiently and more often than I do, I wanted to share his words from his website because he expresses what I usually feel on two wheels more eloquently than I have ever managed.

Samuel Liles is well known apparently in the world of the Iron Butt Rally, a ride that I suspect is beyond my abilities or my desire to ride, and he combines intellect, emotion and riding ability and puts it all on the page like this. For those who think motorcycles are dangerous...stupid...pointless...this essay is for you. If you read this and understand because you sail...fly....rock climb...bicycle...dive...spelunk...collect stamps...whatever excites you, then you understand. If not, don't worry, motorcycles will never take over the world, happily for all of us.

Production notes: I have added the photos from my albums because readers expect pictures on my blog. Liles provides few in his essays and in this case he offers none. I did as required on his site, and raised my fist and shouted (to the astonishment of my colleagues) "Hack The Planet" and I have linked his copyrighted work. If you have never heard of the Iron Butt Association consider reading about them. I have done their two shorter rides and found them entirely manageable. I like slow touring and exploring as well if not more, but riding to a time and distance requirement has its excitements and thus is worth doing from time to time I think. Enough of me, read the essay and marvel:

Why I ride

by Samuel Liles • July 19, 2014 • 0 Comments

I ride motorcycles to live. I am neither afraid nor endeared to the rest of the world. I am me and when I ride my motorcycle I get to be a little bit more me. Sometimes I am rude and crude and I get smacked around for it. Sometimes I am elegant and gentlemanly and I am rewarded for it. In the end when I am riding the motorcycle I am me. I don’t ask permission from anybody else to do this. I don’t ask forgiveness for turning a precious resource like dinosaurs into my form of fun. This is an activity about me. It is selfish, it is personal, and when I do it I know that I am better before, during and after the ride.

Riding a motorcycle and why I do it is personal. It is a part of who I am and who I have been for nearly 40 years of my life. I feel closer to that thing that connects me to reality and in some ways I feel removed from the place other people think is reality. I travel short distances, long distances, and intermediate distances. The noise of the road is drowned out by the screaming banshee of the worlds evil being torn from my skin in a blistering heat of righteousness. I listen to music with a new sense of wonder, I connect to the moment of a narrative I have created, and I see a future clearer for having given up the confines of a dead vehicle.

As the world rushes toward self driving cars I feel the physical sense of locomotion through my feet, hands and posterior. I shift, move, adapt, overcome, consider, calculate, role, move, and adjust to the moment. The road unfolds with majesty and grace, the trail of dirt and hard scramble unveils the future, the terror of darkness holds my soul enthralled in cones of light reaching towards my humanity. I see the world as a thread and woven fabric of physical, social, and emotional artifices.

I have suffered for this “sport” and “lifestyle” called such by those who can see the sweet but not taste it. I have broken bones, shed layers of skin, been bruised, torn tendons and ligaments and crushed my flesh when others have reached into my reality to remind I am only mortal. If I am mortal and fear the facts of that statement I am bound to live and not die slowly on a trip not of my own choosing via a mode of transportation I do not control to a destination I can not define. What is death to living that way?

I ride to feel the world pass by and see myself rushing into it. I want to see more and like a glutton I can never get enough of the vastness of a planet I will only see a small part of. I want to experience, feel, touch, and taste the wonders of the world I was born into. There is an aliveness to the motorcyclist who holds the totality of the experience in a moment, day, or life and can know the awesomeness of that experience. In the space between heart beats the senses tense ready to spring upon the next moment. Much as the moments of the world pass by my life on a motorcycle.

It is merely a motorcycle, a conveyance between two places, a silly gimmick, a machine of no consequence, and an objectification of masculinity to many. It is the place I share some of the warmest, fondest, and most romantic moments with my wife. It is the device that brought together each of my children to see another side of the world and experience the joy of being. It gave me the skills to reach into my tepid and despicable day-to-day grind and find a little joy as I shed the excess and enjoy the rest.

It is just a vehicle. A two wheeled vehicle. It is just a motorcycle and I am a motorcyclist.

Tons of reasons to ride a motorcycle.

Foreign Vexations On Labor Day

My wife thinks I'm nuts but I am pissed off about this referendum they are holding in Scotland this month. Why do you care? she asked. So I had to explain to myself why my sister's "Yes" vote is annoying me so much. Independence for Scotland? Stupid idea. Yes, but why exactly? There's the question that I want to ruminate about today, an otherwise peaceful holiday, to try and get the vexation out of my system. The pictures are of Key West, a pre-dawn walk I took last week, because this page is supposed to be about the Keys, not Scotland.

At first I figured I was just getting worked up and annoyed because the world of my  misspent youth is possibly going to change irrevocably. I have traveled to countries that no longer exist, and a good thing too in most cases. No one really misses the German Democratic Republic and its spying apparatus. The 24 hours I spent there freaked me out far worse than my  trip to the Soviet Union did which was far less oppressive and creepy by comparison. Yet the idea that Scotland's union with England which together are the United Kingdom, should be dissolved after three centuries just seems wrong to me. It's like Maine voting for independence. It seems plain weird as none of us remember a time when Scotland was anything but glued to England.

The thing is I support most of the ideas promoted by the Scottish National Party, which describes itself as social-democratic which is to say left of center. If it does have good ideas worthy of an independent Scotland I don't see why they aren't worth promoting for the entire country. If free public health care, free education and a nuclear-free future are good for Scotland, why not fight for these causes as part of the United Kingdom? Its too easy to scoop up your marbles and go home in a huff, rather than stand and fight to convince your neighbors of the justice of your cause. Better to stay part of the United Kingdom and promote those policies for all residents of the UK, if they are worth pursuing at all. But Scottish "Yes" voters prefer to isolate themselves and ignore any larger issues.

 

The other thing that frosts me is that the nationalists want to have their cake and eat it too. They want to retain the British pound but the English government is saying no to that, though how they could prevent it I'm not sure. The Scottish nationalists also want to join the European Union, but Spain is dead set against that because Spain fears Catalonia might follow Scotland's example if they are successful and  gain independence so they have promised to prevent an independent Scotland from joining the Union.Scotland wants to fund its  expensive welfare state with North Sea Oil but  the supply is running out, and the voices for independence are simply ignoring this cold hard fact. The English government says a vote for independence is irrevocable and they will pull out English based manufacturing, military bases and support facilities further cutting Scotland's economy. The yes voters think independence by itself will solve all ills. They seem mathematically impaired.  Two generations ago large numbers of highlanders heated their homes by burning dirt. After decades of peace and prosperity its time to cut the ties that bind. I am quite surprised the English haven't decided to be the ones choosing to cast the ungrateful Scots off. Let them go back to the dark ages if that's what they want. And maybe this vote won't lead to the dark ages exactly but changes will be real and permanent with unintended consequences.

Yet the nationalists, losing in the polls by a mere 6% with double that still undecided (dear God how can anyone in Scotland still be undecided with the vote looming on the 18th?) are acting like rent-a-mobs hounding people like J K Rowling who supports union, and throwing eggs at politicians opposed to separation. Yet my sister who supports independence gets fatuous Facebook posts from her friends talking about border controls going up after the vote with the fervor of eastern Europeans throwing off the shackles of Soviet dictatorship. They sound like school children playing at setting up house, as though a vote for independence were make believe.  If they vote for independence all ties will be cut between the two countries but it will take a couple of years to sort out the mess. Not least is the name of the new rump state left behind by Scotland's proposed departure. It can't very well be a United Kingdom when the "other" kingdom departs. Some people want to call it the Former United Kingdom which leaves a rather unfortunate acronym in it's wake. I suppose it will just be Great Britain and the United Kingdom where I was born will disappear. Fantastic.

Unarguably the English have treated the Scots as badly as anyone but it was centuries ago, employing legalized theft to deprive the Scots of their lands and trying to suppress their culture by banning the kilt and so forth. But to hold a grudge would be like the US cutting off diplomatic relations with England because the British once burned down the White House. Scotland  has it's own parliament at Holyrood and has for as long as I can remember had certain of its own laws such that my father, a lawyer in London was not able to practice law in Scotland. Nowadays Holyrood levies taxes and makes laws but has no control over foreign affairs and defense. But that is not enough for modern Scotland.

The parameters for the vote are bizarre. Anyone who lives in Scotland as of September 2nd, tomorrow, the last day of registration get to vote. 16 year-olds vote. Citizens of the European Union living in Scotland get to vote. And bear this in mind you can currently drive from England to Scotland with no more formality than driving across a US state line. The possibilities for ballot stuffing seems endless. 

In the end I ask myself what does this mean for me apart from my irrational fear of losing where I was from and whence I do not intend to return? I guess I have grown into my American skin. As much as it is possible to get irritated by one's neighbors the US isn't a country that considers cutting them off just because of irritation. We don't weigh and reject, as a nation, the cost of repairing forest fires in the West, flood damage along the Mississippi or hurricane debris in the East. I suppose if you were to cherry pick certain corners of this country they could get along just fine without the rest of us but that's not part of the program and never has been since this place was founded. California would have a perfectly satisfactory economy were it to go it alone, but that possibility does not exist in our New World. That unity has always made America great; disunity will make Scotland small and mean and drag England backwards with it. 

On a practical level I don't see the value of leaving the UK and then proposing to join the EU. England is planning to re negotiate terms of membership with the Union but by seeking full independence Scotland would get to take itself out of those discussions. I don't think the Euro has been the brilliant idea I had hoped it would become, not least because of the lies propagated by the poorer European states anxious to qualify for membership in the currency.  They downplayed their debt to pass muster with regulators who seemed to pay no attention to reality. Scotland does not seem like it would be much of a boost to the European Union even if it could join as an independent country, and it will be  poor and laden with debt after  it separates from England and Wales and Northern Ireland. 

Change is good, I tell myself, but some changes are hard to swallow. Independence for Scotland rubs me the wrong way and I hope common sense and fear of the unintended consequences will prevail in two weeks and "Better Together" will win out and launch Scotland into a drive to influence, not tear away from, the other kingdom to the south.


It may be coincidence but yesterday marked the end of organized violence in Northern Ireland when most of the IRA decided to stop killing people in an effort to bring Northern Ireland under the influence of the Catholic Church in the Republic. In much the same way that I wonder if Palestine might not exist today had they adopted Gandhian non violence, I wonder if the IRA had chosen non violent civil resistance would Ireland be re-united today? Who knows, but the past is another country, they do things differently there. Wild specualtion in light of the murder and mayhem happing across the world today. Duck and cover, once more. I prefer dogs to people.