Key West Landmarks

It begins and ends at Mile Marker Zero. They make a great deal of the U.S. Highway One marker in front of the Monroe County courthouse at Fleming and Whitehead Streets. So here I was the other morning.

After I got off work I figured I had better take a little ride around town, enjoy the night air, chill out physically and mentally as it is cool these days before dawn, and at six o'clock thanks to summertime it's dark and the streets are empty. I figured I could park illegally and capture my sweet running ( for now) 1979 Vespa 200 in a few hot spots.

Everyone knows about the Mile Zero thing. The Angelina guesthouse is perhaps less well known. It is one of a cluster of the less expensive guest houses I recommend when people ask. I got that question the other day at work. It goes like this. A dude calls Key West PD and says he needs to speak to the Lieutenant. Well, my job is to be the gatekeeper and as I told my trainee dispatcher, police officers hate to be ambushed. So I have to find out who he is and what he wants so I can pass a coherent message to the night shift Lieutenant, who does not want to be disturbed by bullshit but expects me to differentiate BS from urgent stuff she needs to know. The dude goes on he is a retired Los Angeles police officer with a bunch of retired buddies looking for recommendations on places to stay when they vacation in Key West next month. Yes, this sort of thing happens in every trade and profession in the Keys as any resident will tell you. No doubt in every resort everywhere. Me? I rely on my wife For teavel advice and she is smart enough to research Trip Advisor, Yelp, Urban Spoon etc... But among the electronically inept, word of mouth from a total stranger works better. I can just imagine the Lieutenant's response had I passed this premium service caller to her cell phone... Luckily the 911 phone was quiet and the trainee had some abbreviations to memorize so I made the department look good and completed the courtesy call. Talk to the Lieutenant indeed!

Everyone has their favorite bar in Key West and I don't. With the passing of a well known Irish place I have promised to stop whining about, I have no idea where to stop off. Some say Shanna Key on Flagler though I have some inbuilt internal resistance as I liked the quiet darkness and serene calm of the place that cannot be forgotten. The Green Partot sells the usual mediocre beer and has interesting music and is properly tropically open air but it's too well known and crowded and claustrophobic sometimes. I like to sit across the street on the deli bench that I have friended on facebook not to support clever advertising but because it is a good spot for sit-down Cuban coffee and people watching.

If you come to Key West you will stop off at the Hemingway House, the best known and best marketed privately owned attraction in the Keys. I have no idea what it is about the man or the myth that makes him so incredibly popular in a nation that prides itself on anti-intellectual illiteracy, but perhaps I have answered my own question. Perhaps he is the right kind of stuff, not for his clipped tedious writing style but because he drank, chased women, killed animals and write about bar brawls while making and enjoying an immodest fortune. And then to prove he didn't have it all he blew his own brains out as an antidote to aging. So people trek to his former home in droves. 6:10am was the perfect time for some private unobserved illegal parking photography.

Ah yes, the Fausto's landmark, not just a grocery store but a social gathering place is how Fausto's styles itself. . The mustachio'ed city commissioner who married into this family has the formula down just right. He sets prices high enough to stay in business, he caters to the high end, gay and harried guest house families with beach food, seaweed treats (erk!) and old fashioned cuts of meat. But it's also a real grocery store, steady and ready to serve people unwilling to drive two miles to Publix in the outer darkness of New Town. Visit Key West and shop Fausto's here and in the less picturesque store on White Street a mile away, to serve those unwilling to travel 12 blocks for groceries...and pretend you are a local with all the glamor (!) and none of the hassles...

To express correct ennui with the whole unseemly tourist thing tell people you are over Duval Street and you never visit, except perhaps to have a beer on the beach at Southernmost, or at best to wander the boutiques in the unhurried Upper Duval area, which is paradoxically at the Southern end of the main drag. Seen here across the handlebars waiting for a green light at Truman Avenue, looking south.

You won't find four speed steel bodied scooters with "antique" tags for rent at Andy's Scooter shop. You don't see me here much during the day, though if you need your scooter repaired and don't want to see Jiri on distant Stock Island, this is where you'll come. If you rent a scooter, the best way to get around town, remember this isn't Disneyworld and bad things happen to people who ride badly. A helicopter flight to Miami to repair your broken head will cost you $30,000 and I'm sure your insurance company will try to reject the charge as they usually do.

Speaking of which buying booze to go will do you no good either but here at Don's Place, on the Thousand block of Truman you have the chance to pick up plenty of second hand smoke when the doors open set seven in the morning, or to buy booze to go at the only drive through window in Key West since The Tunnel closed.

Landmarks in Old Town would be incomplete without a mention of Dions at Truman and White. 24 hour gas compete ting with the Chevron across the street whose secret weapon is car repairs and coffee for those who seek out American brew. Here at Dion's there is a convenience store alongside the gas and in it's way this too is a social hub. To people watch here pull up at the Kerr near the ice machines, get a coffee or a soda, but not alcohol please as this is the real Key West and public drinking is not approved of here. For real.

If you want true local food get some fried chicken, preferably fresh fried, from the chicken counter inside. I like Dions, as do many others which is what made the family monstrous wealthy one fried chicken breast at a time from here to Homestead.

There: not Chamber of Commerce certified. Conchscooter's landmarks. And no I didn't even try to get tickets for Jimmy Buffett's concert the other night. 200 tickets offered to 69,000 people. Humph!

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Enjoying A Cold Front

The term "cold front" has different connotations depending where you live. Around here a gentle north breeze, temperatures in the mid 70s and no humidity indicate an end of winter cold front that is quite delightful.  

I had hoped it was cool enough that my dog might be energized but in  her new slower paced old age we walked half the bridge and went home to sleep. I had some homework to do so after lunch I worked and she napped because a girl can get tired after a morning spent sleeping. 

She was ready to jump up when I called her out for a walk and she trotted downstairs and stood expectantly next to the car. I found myself in the same position, expectant on the No Name Bridge which is getting some cement repairs. Of all the thousands of bridges around the country that need maintenance this bridge to almost nowhere is getting an elaborate make over for which I am grateful. I also enjoyed observing the dunderheaded behavior of one more over sized pick up driver. The sign says "keep left" which on my planet is an indication that after the light goes green you take the left lane, the one unencumbered by large obvious cones. This bright spark decided to block the oncoming lane as he waited for the light to change. Luckily no one approached and his knuckleheaded nonsense had no consequences.

Cheyenne likes this walk on No Name Key but I doubt we will be back until the rains return because she went hunting for drinking water and found none at her dried up pool and she came back through the woods muddy and disappointed.

A nice couple in a car pulled  up as I was studying my latest issue of Rider magazine and asked about the trail. I wasn't sure what to tell them as these woods hold few surprises; no hills rivers lakes or views, what you see is what you get.  They walked and I did not see them again. Maybe the ghosts of the Bay of Pigs fighters who trained here rose from the undergrowth and got them. Or maybe Cheyenne and I left before they returned.

It was a busy afternoon on No Name Key Tuesday. Cars were coming and going like they didn't get the message that winter is over and its time to go North again. Then I heard the bizarre sound of an infantry platoon marching up the road, boots crucnhing in perfect cadence. I hardly dared look up.

He strode by pounding the gravel to the inevitable dead end a hundred yards to the right. All side roads in the Keys end in water or mangroves often with red diamond shaped signs that indicate the land has run out. You can see tentative drivers driving ever more slowly as reality sinks in and they face the prospect of making a u-turn in a street far narrower than they are used to maneuvering at home. I guess this guy just had to make a smart about face.

Marching dude crunched his way back. I don't know if he was exercising or looking for a destination and got lost but he was striding along with his ear buds in place...he put me in mind of Dominique Pinon in the French thriller Diva which I note is only available on disc on Netflix. Hmm, that's one of those flicks that is long overdue for another viewing.

He disappeared, all sinews braced, and I hung out with my dozing dog long enough he had vanished by the time I drove past No Name Pub toward my date with destiny, food shopping at Winn Dixie.

Just to confirm the point that I am all wrong about it being time to leave, a boat arrived  and edged its way into the development of houses nestled behind a barricade of No Trespassing signs.

None of this excitement got a reaction out of my dog. Indeed by the time I had to leave in order to be at home cooking dinner by the time my wife got back from work, Cheyenne was still grumpy about being woken up and asked politely to get in the car. She got up as I approached her, then when I turned my back to lead her to the car she flopped down again, her way of asking for more time. Headline: wife trumps dog - Shock! Horror!

I had a late shift at work and the moon was shining bright on the world when I left home. I wanted to turn off the Vespa headlights and ride in the dark but that seemed a tad foolhardy on the Overseas Highway. Besides, the theme of the day continued and even at one in the morning there seemed to be far too much traffic on the Highway! 

I took the picture for the scooter tag game I'm playing on ADVrider. I liked how it came out.

April 1

This is the time of year I love our local paper more than usual. We are privileged to have a real daily paper in such a small town, locally owned and published daily.

 

Sure the Citizen pisses me off from time to time but mostly by sins of omission which I have come to accept as necessary considering the power structure in this small community.

But April 1 has become a day I look forward to, no longer impelled myself to figure out a joke story. I bow to the masters.

Don't you wish you had a daily like this thrown in your drive at three in the morning every day?

 

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Wal-Mart Is Announced

To accentuate the exotic nature of Life in the Keys much is made in the tourist literature that Havana, capital of the Godless Communists is closer to Key West than the nearest Wal-Mart, leading light of the slave wage mentality of God Centered Capitalism. That edge-of-the-known-world status is now slipping away into the realm of The Good Old Days.

This huge project is grounded in irony, not least the fact that Wal-Mart representatives have chosen to present themselves for questioning to members of the Key West Business Guild, known in local shorthand as the "Gay Chamber Of Commerce." Yes, Toto we are decidedly not in Indiana here and now! And no, this is not an April Fool's story if the newspaper is to be believed. Malls across America are dying but the Keys always ready to march to the beat of a different drummer are ready to expand the ugly shopping center concept.

Wal-Mart has been rumored to be in the works for a long time, I wrote about it years ago to much vituperation. But here we are, late but on track. The former porn shop off the Overseas Highway will now be part of the new mall which will, we are told, require a traffic light and extra lanes etc...to improve the quality of life in the Lower Keys.

There is plenty of debate about the future of the Keys, and now that this is out in the open it will get louder for a while I'm sure. Wal-Mart combined with online ordering won't help small town retailing, and my wife who hates Wal-Mart's wage policies happily depends on Amazon who are if anything worse In the happy realm of unpaid overtime and worker abuse. Shopping locally requires dealing with local workers who are also paid poorly in an economy geared always more strictly to serve the wealthy. Resentment is expressed through indifferent service. Community leaders follow instead of leading so the spiral tightens.

It is at this point one is supposed to offer a solution, a magical machine from the wings bearing a god ready to alter the plot and restore balance. But the deus ex macchina in this situation doesn't exist. Last Stand, Reef Relief and Glee are all Eco- organizations who depend on local wealth for their place in the sun. Don't expect resistance from the lap dogs of the elite. None of us who work to keep a fingernail hold on these rocks resist. You just ride the wave of money drenching the Keys and hope it's not your day to be washed off and stranded by the tide of poverty in the cold suburbia Up North. Let those with clout debate the merit of limitless development, let the historians note the failure of unbridled growth to create general prosperity...For those of us living on the margins it's enough not to be washed away today. Tomorrow? Who knows...

 

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Celebrating Cheyenne

I suddenly realized I have a whole bunch of pictures of Cheyenne and I wanted to do something with them. So here they are.

When  we got her new bed we put it down in the living room she looked at it. Then  when nobody was looking at her she stepped onto it and passed out.

Cheyenne has lived with me for  six year now and is approaching 14 years of age. She travels well enough especially now we have installed a fan on the back seat to keep her cool. She has single handedly raised the stock of La Quinta the best dog friendly chain of hotels we have found.   

 And though she is visibly slowing down the smell of dinner to go still gets her up and moving. She will follow food smells to the end of the earth or across the hotel parking lot.

 And when there she puts  her piteous face on and waits for good things to happen.

Cheyenne is a stubborn dog, she walks in the direction she chooses, she prefers rainwater to filtered tap water, she likes walking urban environments to  seek out discarded food and wrappers. I never knew a dog who knows her own mind as clearly as Cheyenne.  

I had anticipated another busy winter for the two of us when temperatures dropped into the cool range. In the past she would walk for hours wearing me out as  she stumped along tirelessly. This winter to my surprise a half hour at the most and she is done. 

 Her interest in life remains as active as ever, but she prefers sitting down or laying down and observing to walking in midstream.

I suppose it's fair enough. She has more than made up for the lack of stimulation and inactivity that attended the first half of her life before they dumped her at the pound.

5:30 on a cold foggy Sunday morning in Ft Myers and Cheyenne was done after her now usual thirty minutes. I don't know if she is bored or just ready to slow down, the dog equivalent of turning the old age corner. I am not ready to accept that her decline has started but there it is, summer is coming and air conditioning will do more for her than being out in the heat.

 She sleeps a lot. I bug her from time to time and she looks away when I ruffle her fur or scratch her forehead so I know to leave her alone.

 Sometimes she flops on her back which is a sign she is ready for attention and I scratch her tummy wishing I could turn the clock back.

We have made the most of our years together and I have no regrets, well hardly any, as I have yelled at her once or twice in exasperation which I wish I could take back. She seems to have forgiven me.

She sleeps a lot and I am glad I got her the bed. She still jumps up in anticipation some days when she feels like going out and I tempt her with what I hope are interesting walks but they are never as long as they were.

She has grown a bunch of warts, the vet says they are normal and best left alone though one on her ear keeps breaking and bleeding. We apply  aloe vera and hope it will heal soon though she keeps scratching it with her huge clawed feet or knocking it against things.

That's my Labrador's exciting life. I have no desire to do without her.

Mountain Life

Ask me why I live in the expensive, out of the way, flat, humid, hot Florida Keys. Ask my dog and she'll tell you I'm nuts. I should live here:

I'm a fair weather kind of woodsman. Bring me back in summer when the grass is long and thick, when the trees are full of green leaves, when sunshine dapples the forest floor. When it's warm enough you barely need a sweater after the sun goes down, then maybe I can live in the mountain valleys. Frost is outside my comfort zone.

I like the scenery of the mountains, the vigor of the wind pushing the massive clouds rolling over the peaks, the sudden rush of noise as the wind ruffles the branches. I like the winding rolling countryside.

The roads: give me a break. Who couldn't love a road like this? The speed limits around here are so high I can't drive them half the time. I'm not one to drive the limit because it seems to me speed limits are decided with liability in mind, zombie drivers texting etc... Around here 55mph on a state highway like this is not that easy to exceed. Locals manage nicely and I spend a lot of time pulling over to let them by. Florida drivers! Locals despise us.

I vacation for variety, so helping my brother-in-law garden is something I do here that I wouldn't do at home. Cheyenne is just fine watching me taking orders.

Bob likes the idea of self sufficiency which essentially requires constant physical labor, so I suppose it's a nice change for the former university professor. Heating his home is an act of joyous liberation for him.

For me it's hard labor wheeling logs through the woods.

Lots more trees where these logs come from.

Ely likes the mountains. She used to live in Taos where she raised her kids. That was after she met my wife in college where they became friends and still hang out together. Now Ely lives near Asheville and hangs out with my wife's sister, monitoring her grown sons from her North Carolina hideout.

Ely is a sweet woman who grew up in a privileged world devoid of work or deadlines, but her self awareness makes her a wry companion with an eye for the absurd and no doubt about her place in the world. Ely's vagueness and lack of worldly wisdom is the source of endless amusement among those who care for her. Once asked what the time was, Ely looked up bright eyed and asked with perfect seriousness: "You mean right now?"

But Ely has managed her inheritance with shrewdness and wisdom, her kids love her and she has a circle of friends anyone would envy. Sometimes she drives me crazy but she never takes offense, nor gives it. I hope that if there is life after death she will be in my circle of hell and we can giggle eternity away together.

Nancy has lived in Asheville raising her son, an avid motorcyclist (good lad), and she isn't really as severe as my portrait would suggest. She is a potter by trade, an artist circling in and out of my wife's family for four decades. Nancy doesn't live in the Keys, land of heat and mosquitoes and flat views.

My nephew Jacob was born on a kitchen table in a country home in the hills outside Asheville, and has wanted nothing more than to live and work in this community. He's married, has two kids, manages a bicycle parts manufacturing factory and races mountain bikes in pursuit of the sport of his youth. Soon to be 40 his life is exactly where he wanted it to be, in a carbon-neutral dollar home he designed and had built mortgage-free in extra hip West Asheville.

These are some seriously together people. They are my family, oddly enough. I have lived on the periphery of other people's lives, and now I live on the periphery of the continent. Connor thought my trick of tying the ends if his sleeves in knots was brilliant. It kept his hands off my beer and his father Jacob looked at his wrists in puzzlement..."What have you done this time..?"

His older brother Aidan got deeply annoyed with me as I kept distracting him and stealing his fries. "You are a thief!" He said it like I should be ashamed of my low moral character. Mmh I said, taking another one. Are you done with that grilled cheese? My dog would like it. No, he howled, thief! I mollified him by returning the stolen fries when my order arrived. Kids are like cats, they are attracted to people who are allergic to them.

Even the kids are nice in Asheville though it took all my self control not to ask about the high visibility tooth straighteners. Everything is high viz suddenly, and in hip Asheville people walk in high viz, drink beer in high viz and for all I know cook dinner and wash the dishes in high visibility colored clothing.

Asheville is a terminally fashionable youth oriented town. Young men don't wear tutus here, they sport spade shaped beards, plaid shirts and horrid tattoos with pierced flesh reminiscent of medieval torture but actually symbols of Modern Fashion. Asheville breeds bookstores and poets in defiance of pixels, young women look like distressed fashion models, torn clothes on spindly frames, bicycles combat the incredibly steep hills between consignment shops, everyone drives a Subaru.

There's so much to like about Asheville. Bevin, Jacob's wife has a good job as a code nurse in the hospital, and she's a woman whose company I enjoy. She has a brilliant laugh and a wry sense of the absurd of the family she has married into. We are outsiders together and we see the good and the funny about our marriages. I could hang out with Bevin in her kitchen on a rainy afternoon - even if her kids were there. They are her offspring and enjoy many of her adult qualities. Jacob's family is actually good company.

Then I come home to this, open water views, my skin stops itching from contact with the dry mountain air, my boat tugs at its mooring lines, my motorcycle is ready to ride year round. Millions come here, sighing, on vacation.

Funny isn't it, where you choose to live and why.

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