Gimleteye Muses on Cuba

From my favorite South Florida political blog this consideration of Miami  and its relationship to Cuba now that the failed embargo is likely to be swept  away soon. I particularly enjoy the perspective of this blog on the politics of Miami and how they relate to Cuba. "On this blog, over many years now, we expressed this point less tactfully but more truthfully: how hatred of Castro in Miami moves elections through an orthodoxy as rigid as that in Havana." The Diaz Balarts have been in a family struggle with the Castros since before the Revolution and when the Bearded One won the war the Diaz Balarts gave up and fled to Miami to bitch at their brother-in-law across the Straits of Florida. Their behavior in Miami as Eye On Miami suggests would have been no better than that of the Castro brothers in their island fortress had the US allowed the exiles to be as undemocratic as they would have liked. Its only because the Republican Cubans hold the balance of power in Florida's electoral college votes that the undemocratic embargo has lasted as long as it has. People still make the case that the US needs to be the world's policeman. We need to get a lot better educated and a lot less blinkered if we want to do it well, in my view. As it is the US seems to get abused by everyone everywhere and like any abuse victim we give it back the way we received it. Hummus up the ass? No problem; we have learned torture from our tormentors. Time to let everyone else embargo each other and for us to manufacture and trade and make money once again. Let these feuds play out without our support, we simply corrupt ourselves. Check out the real story of Miami and the Cuban Exiles:

Musing on Cuba and the U.S. … by gimleteye

In Miami New Times, Chuck Strouse writes, "Obama's words were beautiful, but he's wrong about Miami".

"This is where President Obama failed to understand the city," Strouse writes. "It is not just "a demonstration of what the Cuban people can achieve." These days, Venezuelans fleeing a failed economy play a role almost as large as the Cubans. Brazilians, whose economy is also flagging, have bought up huge blocks of downtown condos. Colombians, Nicaraguans, Argentines, Haitians and others all have their piece of the city, too."

Fair enough. The expanding influence of other Hispanics in South Florida has been well noted throughout our economic and political life. Strouse continues,

"… I wish, as the president said, that Miami were "a place that reminds us that ideals matter more than the color of our skin, or the circumstances of our birth." It is not. It is one of the nation's most segregated cities and one of the most extreme when it comes to rich and poor. Blacks have complained for decades of their inability to get good jobs here and many of the best African American minds have departed."

Strouse is right on point, of course, but I have a different interpretation. By singling out South Florida Cuban Americans, President Obama's speech acknowledged the outsized influence on Florida and national politics. (The New York Times ran an analysis along this line, yesterday.)

On this blog, over many years now, we expressed this point less tactfully but more truthfully: how hatred of Castro in Miami moves elections through an orthodoxy as rigid as that in Havana.

The purpose of this orthodoxy -- that manifests in political campaigns and regular broadsides (Spanish language AM radio in particular) -- is economic. By fixing the pecking order in city and county government, Cuban American elites in Miami achieved spectacular results. Not so good if you care about the quality of life.

But times change. Baselines shift. The Cuban American orthodoxies that Bill Clinton responded to in 1992 and Bob Graham even earlier have faded. Antagonists grow old. They disappear.

Every morning at Miami International Airport, in queues to ticket counters of outbound flights to Havana, the failure of the embargo is on full and visible display.

One reaches a simple conclusion ignored by the GOP: the Kabuki theater of US-Cuba relations outlasted audience preferences.

In yesterday's blog post, I called out Republicans for opposing Obama's historic initiative as "fighting yesterday's war". Along this line, angry Senator Marco Rubio, who repudiates reconciliation and science (global warming), ought to have a prayer session with the Pope.

In the meantime, the economic elite in Miami's Cuban American community -- mostly Republican -- if they haven't already visited Havana, will be buying their tickets now.

Fidel Castro's passing will feed a Miami audience hungry for any kind of catharsis, but change in Cuba -- when it comes -- whether slowly or quickly, will not be "democratic" for a long time. In the meantime, our Republican Congress would do well to get our own house in order; never mind Havana. Let's start with campaign finance reform. Imagine the celebrations in the United States, if we had fair elections and fair districts.

Vespa Sunset, Torch Keys

Cheyenne was snoring on her bed, I was tired of reading and as I was working a late overtime shift I had an hour to myself before my wife came home from her late shift at work. Better keep putting miles on the Vespa I told myself.

I have just passed the official break-in period of 600 miles (1000 kilometers) and with a gearbox oil change under my belt I have been seeking the elusive top speed in short bursts. So far it's about 60 mph (95km/h), though with a headwind a modest 53 seems the top. The engine feels strong all the way and vibrations present below 35 fade away around 45mph so 50mph (80km/) is a comfortable cruising speed.

I think that over the next few thousand miles the engine will loosen up but if next year 55mph (90km/h) as a steady cruising speed seems busy I may consider a more liberal exhaust to increase upper range torque. I am told a SIP Road 2 is a direct replacement which leaves room for the spare wheel in its side carrier. I am bearing it in mind. My goal is to travel easily with traffic on the highway in a 55mph zone, where speeds up to 60 or more are commonplace. The P200 will get there over time.

I kept up with traffic on the highway the six miles from my house to the turn off north on a Middle Torch Key. I rode the winding north go the causeway between Middle and Big Torch where I stopped on Dorn Road. The sun was setting - fast!

I hardly had time to ride down 50 yards of gravel before the orange orb was almost buried in the mangroves and salt water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Riding back I tried to catch a reflection in the mirror but with the engine running the picture became a testament to the vibrations of the small two stroke single.

Never mind the Vespa; the views were tremendous.

Dorn Road, like all side trips in these islands is a dead end. However this road unlike most is quite long, eight miles from the Overseas Highway to the turn around.

And of course by the time I got back it was dark and a small yellow Labrador had woken up and was very ready.

Back out again, this time with the car for a walk at the Ramrod Pool. So then we were both happy.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Antique Vespa Maintenance

Anthony Bourdain gets the value of a Vespa, even though I like mine outside the city. 

Aside from its value as an urban assault vehicle a scooter of any make or model can also be a form of relaxation, an easy way to get around that anyone can enjoy. I on the other hand am always pushing to get more and one reason I wanted a properly restored Vespa was because they require almost no maintenance and are easy to use. Mine even carries a spare wheel like a car so a flat tire needn't stop me. The sum total of regular maintenance is here, the tools require to change the gear oil every two thousand miles or so:

Because my 1979 P200E is a two stroke it burns oil with gasoline for lubrication for the piston and related parts. The 8 ounces of oil in the gearbox is simply there to keep the gears turning smoothly. Because the gearbox drives the rear wheel directly there is no chain to maintain. There are no filters for the oil or air. All you do is use an 11mm wrench and remove the drain plug:

It is so obvious you can't miss it. You are supposed to change the washer but I have found that part is kind of optional...

I cast around for a container small enough to catch the oil and a yogurt tub will almost do it so I salvaged two from the recycling. The oil in the gearbox is supposed to be cheap 30 weight non detergent ( so it doesn't foam when crushed by the gears and the clutch) found anywhere from hardware stores to auto parts stores. Cheap is fine. 

On Vespa forums some youngsters recommend going all fancy with the oil but my mechanic said stick to the manual which requires this cheap 30W oil. Good enough for me!

I stashed the oil in a larger container but I have had a brainwave. I am going to use the oil to lubricate the chain drive on my Bonneville, which has a Loobman automatic chain oiler. Excellent re-use I think.

Frequently people think that color indicates the worn state of oil but I was taught years ago to check it by rubbing it between my fingers. If it feels thin its worn out. This lot felt properly viscous but with 500 miles so far I was close to the 600 mile first oil change mark. I decided to do it a little early and its an easy enough operation.

I unscrewed the top screw and let the last of the oil drain out before squeezing in some fresh oil through the hole in the top.

That's it. You put in enough oil to make the hole overflow, wipe up the excess and put the screw back in. Couldn't be simpler. All done, with an 11mm wrench, a flat blade screw driver and 8.5 ounces of oil. 

Other than that there is nothing else to be done when the scooter is set up properly.  I loaded up a fuel jug and rode it over to Cudjoe Marina to get ethanol-free gas. They have a reputation for cleaner gas than that sold, ethanol free, at a nearby gas station. I supposed to use ethanol free for the running in period as the oil blends more easily with this gas. Keeping full jugs at home, ready mixed makes refueling the 1.5 gallon (6 liter) main tank easy. The half gallon (2 liter) reserve tank is good for perhaps thirty miles so running out is easy to do. I also carry a bottle of oil in case I need to get gas on the road.

And how easy it is to carry stuff on the little, old scooter!

Great fun, the Vespa, and easy to live with so far!

Mainland Colors

I found myself on the mainland one cold morning recently and walked my dog as usual, though temperatures were unusually cold for me, below 50 degrees.

Conventional Christmas decorations seemed to fascinate Cheyenne but I think it was the pole itself she liked. She was intent as I stood there trying to  rub circulation into my frigid hands.

 The sun was coming up even as the moon was supposed to be setting.

I was struck by the colors. Little wonder photographers prefer the early morning or late evening light.

Notice too how clean the walls are, nicely painted and free of grime or chips or graffiti. Can't be Key West!

Need further proof? Check out the cheap rates for parking. Lost ticket?  No problem.

Ft Myers calls itself the City of Palms. With good reason. When I lived here briefly a good many years ago downtown was not quite so nicely done up but the palms were everywhere.

 A clean trash can and a bench you could actually lay out on. How civilized!

 I have no idea what the story might be at this rather worn down window.

 Hot chocolate would have been nice, and it was a pity they weren't open.

 The rising sun made everything look good.

 Even the bizarre Lee County building.

 The City of Palms indeed.

Posted with Blogsy

Cuba Closer

At last things are changing between the US and Cuba. The death grip of the Miami Cubans on the ridiculously outdated embargo seems, after 55 long pointless years, to be superseded by a new outlook from the younger generation. The announcement today that the two countries will be exchanging Ambassadors looks as though it may well lead to an end to all the restrictions which never did overthrow the Cuban government and brought hardship to many, all to pacify the egos of Cubans in Miami unable to bring themselves to get up and go fight for their country from the comfort of the good lives they made in this great nation. Give Fidel Castro credit: he did just that.

My interest in ending the embargo is purely selfish: I think life in the Keys would be enhanced by a high speed ferry service as proposed between Stock Island and Mariel. A few years ago I crossed the Adriatic Sea from Italy to Croatia with a rental car on a ferry with room for 800 people and two hundred vehicles at a speed of 35 miles an hour.

Imagine the trade that will pick up between the US and Cuba for those interested in such things. I see room for powered two wheelers here among the trucks. My interest is in motorcycle tourism close to home. This would put Cuba closer than Daytona Beach:

Tell me this isn't enticing especially if one could take an 8 o'clock ferry and be in Havana for lunch improving the lives of working Cubans by spreading around US dollars and the message of freedom. And after years of having flat straight roads nearby the twisties would be welcome.

But before my riding fantasies can come true there's tons of propaganda everywhere to get past, on both sides of the Straits of Florida. Americans can go to Cuba even now and charter flights leave daily from Miami. Quite aside from the dubious legal grounds of these over priced monopoly flights, restricted to benefit the operators ( émigrés of course), I have no desire to visit a country that is repressed and impoverished by politics. I traveled the Soviet Union and that was enough repression for me to see up close. Oppression is everywhere but in Cuba the US role in abetting it, perhaps unwittingly if I'm to be generous, makes me queasy. I'll wait till travel is legal and open and mainstream even if that means I'll see McDonalds outside the US Navy Base.

One day I keep hoping, lunch in Havana. It doesn't seem like a lot to ask.

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Key West Decorated

Sometimes Key West surprises me and I saw these nicely painted trash cans and I thought nicely done! 

 I  was struck by the reflection of the William Street church as Cheyenne dragged me up the past.

 And again a but further up:

Cheyenne was a determined walker, the air was cool, about  65  degrees and that seemed to enliven her.

These days I look at Residential Parking spots, the forbidden land to a county resident like me. My licence plate labeled "Monroe" marked me as a county resident in the good old days but that is no longer enough. The new permit system requires actual city residence (or a motorcycle) for easier parking. Cheyenne might have to learn to ride pillion. 

Christmas is almost nigh and the absurd reminders of snow and Teutonic Yule start popping up all over town. Why would anyone  want to be reminded of snow flakes?

The sidewalk obstacle course on Eaton Street got my attention away from Christmas decorations. It was  a slalom.

 Oops! No!  There they are again, palm fronds, Christmas tree, wreath and spinning fans. All in one.

I used to work here on William Street. Cheyenne sniffed a shrub and I waxed nostalgic about this strange interim job I had in the receiving department for Fast Buck Freddie's. It was summer and we were air conditioning-free so we sat on packing crates and opened cases of weird dust catchers, unwrapped peculiar furniture and laughed at the collections of trifles people paid lots of good money for. One of my colleagues was an ex gang member from Southern California moved to Key West to be with his grandmother away from the hit squads. He was a funny kid with a huge afro that he seemed to hide behind if that were possible, until he got to know you. And the stories of gangland life came pouring out making my hair stand on end. He was half my age and seemed to have lived twice as much in a California I never saw when I lived in Santa Cruz, a middle class hippy university town far from Compton. 

My other colleague was my boss who was about my age but smoked like a chimney and was so shriveled up he  looked like he could be my father.  He had a young child as I recall and his life seemed rather more hectic than I should have liked. We were a weirdly mis-matched trio but the life was rather fun and I felt like I was re-living my early years of employment when I held odd jobs in places I never expected to end up. I was  about nineteen years old as I recall when I got a job sorting cheese supplies for a grocery chain. Later I was a truck driver's assistant delivering food to supermarkets across London before dawn. I got to see the sun come up over St Paul's Cathedral on many mornings, and drank huge mugs of tea with true Cockney stall holders. Looking back I have no idea how I ended up working for Cullen's grocery stores anymore than I do how I ended up at Fast Buck's. Strange interludes in a life that has wandered all over the map.

Cheyenne stalled on Lazy Way Lane sniffing something indelicate and fascinating and I overheard an animated conversation between two residentially challenged men.The one with the walking stick was telling the other guy about how hard it is to be homeless in Key West. He said his buddy gave up in despair and went home to Cleveland, which in December can be taken as a sign of true hopelessness.

Then, further down the man on the bicycle was telling the woman very earnestly that something in his life, possibly his rooming arrangement just had to change. Cheyenne was on her way so the true nature of the drama got away from me.

 This dog still had a mission:

She managed, did my Yellow Labrador, to put herself in stationary poses in evocative places. I trailed along.

And there was another homeless dude at the bus stop on Caroline Street across from the Bull. No comment from him and Cheyenne brushed by quite rudely.

 The evidence of the night before:

 More supplies! Bring more supplies!

Tonight will be another round of carousing on Duval Street. I'll be working, as usual.