Wandering Old Town
One thing I try to do with my blog is record the passing of time, or the way things look and what we take to be "normal" today that may be odd tomorrow. I also try to use my camera to take a look at things that otherwise I might not notice. Public phone use, there's something not easily grasped if you were teleported from life 20 years ago.
So what's more stimulating, the Cypress House repository of lived-in history right at his back or some 139 character message from someone else wearing their headgear sideways? Had he looked up he'd have seen a sight not often noticed on Key West streets, a cyclist with intent. She rode a ten speed and pedaled easily and swiftly like someone with a destination in mind.
A beach cruiser she was not. He was:
The open space where Jabours Trailer Park was; and it remains open and unused though not protected by silly signs. Schooner Wharf bar in the background. Under the development plans that came to naught, some feared noise (aka music) from the bar would annoy the new upscale neighbors and lead to it's closing. Not so far!
A Yamaha XS100, the super bike of my youth seen here in ghastly cruiser garb. I saw lots more older bikes around Key West this past winter. I hope rising gas prices bring more old machines onto the streets. See Chuck on Fleming if you have a free wreck ready for restoration.
It must get annoying living on a street where visitors feel compelled to steal the street sign. Here Cheyenne stands next to a home made sign that reads "Donkey Milk Lane" according to The Streets of Key West this was a place where the owner of a donkey sold milk supposedly.
Tourists feel compelled to steal the sign to take back home to their blandly named streets Up North. Sucks to be you I guess if you have to steal interesting street names to spiff up your life.
I thought I did an essay on Donkey Milk but I can't find one searching my blog so I guess one will appear soon enough. Doing laundry seems tough enough at a public laundry but to have a busy child in tow makes it much worse. She did not seem the least bit phased.
It just goes to show how narrow minded anyone can be but I had never previously considered putting a scooter top box on a bicycle. Yet here one is:
Millions and millions for the wreckage you see before you. Who's going to loan you the money? A bank too big to fail? I think not.
I am predicting prices even here will have to fall a good bit further to find bottom. Realtors disagree. Some people make do with no home at all and take up temporary residence in a church flower bed.
Nice checkered underwear too. One gets the feeling sometimes that Prohibition was not a completely bad idea. In this next picture what you have is a pedestrian caught in the act of crossing Eaton Street against the light and getting caught by a car that had to slam it's brakes on. Do you see the resentment in his eyes? Better perhaps he should have got knocked over to learn the lesson.
Just another reason I try to avoid downtown during busy winters. This next one is a man in a million who stops to answer his phone even if he did leave the engine running while he chatted.
Who is Louise Bourgeois et pourquoi nous l'aimons?
I have no idea but perhaps the message is simply that the owner of the scooter takes exotic vacations.
Summer is coming and with it much needed rain. 85 degree days and 75 by night with still a light cooling breeze. This is the best time of year in the Keys.
Fausto's claims to be a social gathering spot as well as a grocery store. This is the Fleming Street store just off Duval. And they will tow if you dump your car in their small lot.
I like being up in the dark and the view, usually filled with tourists is empty instead. The sky is that ricj velvety black and lights are islands in a sea of darkness.
These are places filled with Cheyenne memories for me.
Butterflies were out there was no one around and Rusty and I had the morning to ourselves.
Rusty went exploring, popping in and out of the bushes at random and having a grand old time.
Carolina Dog at play...
And some seriously large spiders. I recommend walking with a stick held out in front of your face to catch the webs if you don't see them in time to avoid them.
Darren's own GS on the bench.
Rusty's reward was a serene mangrove walk until he was exhausted.
Home sweet home.
So what's more stimulating, the Cypress House repository of lived-in history right at his back or some 139 character message from someone else wearing their headgear sideways? Had he looked up he'd have seen a sight not often noticed on Key West streets, a cyclist with intent. She rode a ten speed and pedaled easily and swiftly like someone with a destination in mind.A beach cruiser she was not. He was:The open space where Jabours Trailer Park was; and it remains open and unused though not protected by silly signs. Schooner Wharf bar in the background. Under the development plans that came to naught, some feared noise (aka music) from the bar would annoy the new upscale neighbors and lead to it's closing. Not so far!A Yamaha XS100, the super bike of my youth seen here in ghastly cruiser garb. I saw lots more older bikes around Key West this past winter. I hope rising gas prices bring more old machines onto the streets. See Chuck on Fleming if you have a free wreck ready for restoration.It must get annoying living on a street where visitors feel compelled to steal the street sign. Here Cheyenne stands next to a home made sign that reads "Donkey Milk Lane" according to The Streets of Key West this was a place where the owner of a donkey sold milk supposedly.Tourists feel compelled to steal the sign to take back home to their blandly named streets Up North. Sucks to be you I guess if you have to steal interesting street names to spiff up your life.I thought I did an essay on Donkey Milk but I can't find one searching my blog so I guess one will appear soon enough. Doing laundry seems tough enough at a public laundry but to have a busy child in tow makes it much worse. She did not seem the least bit phased.
It just goes to show how narrow minded anyone can be but I had never previously considered putting a scooter top box on a bicycle. Yet here one is:
Millions and millions for the wreckage you see before you. Who's going to loan you the money? A bank too big to fail? I think not.
I am predicting prices even here will have to fall a good bit further to find bottom. Realtors disagree. Some people make do with no home at all and take up temporary residence in a church flower bed.Nice checkered underwear too. One gets the feeling sometimes that Prohibition was not a completely bad idea. In this next picture what you have is a pedestrian caught in the act of crossing Eaton Street against the light and getting caught by a car that had to slam it's brakes on. Do you see the resentment in his eyes? Better perhaps he should have got knocked over to learn the lesson.
Just another reason I try to avoid downtown during busy winters. This next one is a man in a million who stops to answer his phone even if he did leave the engine running while he chatted.
Who is Louise Bourgeois et pourquoi nous l'aimons?
I have no idea but perhaps the message is simply that the owner of the scooter takes exotic vacations.
Summer is coming and with it much needed rain. 85 degree days and 75 by night with still a light cooling breeze. This is the best time of year in the Keys.
Fausto's claims to be a social gathering spot as well as a grocery store. This is the Fleming Street store just off Duval. And they will tow if you dump your car in their small lot.
There were a lot of cyclists out with myself and Cheyenne.
Key West: small town America the way it was meant to be.
Key West: small town America the way it was meant to be.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Rusty On Truman Waterfront
When my Trainer asked me to come in at 6am Saturday I said yes and I was eager to do it. I was off Friday night and I set the alarm for 4:30. Getting up before dawn is no great pain for me when the temperatures are mild and the night air doesn't freeze the water in your pipes or the breath in your lungs. Young Rusty was a bit bemused when I rousted him from his fetal position on the couch, his preferred bed, but he was ready for a walk in darkness.
Rusty is a nervous city walker, as there are too many noises and people and dogs for comfort, so I have to steel myself to get him to walk where he isn't quite as happy...but this morning my plan was to get another glimpse of my favorite urban space, still untouched by planned crazy developments. We got there shortly after five and he was delighted by the open spaces. As was I.
I have to confess I was nervous about the edge, a sudden precipice leading to heaving black saltwater and no easy way back up. I imagine myself stripping and jumping in and swimming him to the ramp half a lifetime away...but he was ahead of me determined to live and enjoy another walk another day. I chose to stay well away from the edge as will be reflected in the pictures.
Back at the parking area I found this pretzled bike rack which forced me to ponder what the driver did upon hearing the first sounds of crunching: "Oh well, it's probably nothing, I'll just try again." And so they kept on pushing until this was the result. Good work chaps.
Then I met Sean who put me to work while Rusty kept watch on an almost empty Duval Street:
And then there's me grunting away while Sean watched the clock for me to measure my torture and Rusty kept guard. Good dog. Happy Saturday morning.
Monday, March 21, 2016
Mangroves And Dogs
The appearance of Rusty in my life has restored to me the desire to take long walks in the woods.
Cheyenne preferred urban walks after she got older and used to being indulged in her tastes. So I haven't been out here in a while and it was good to be back.
In an ideal world one might like a small hill or two to increase the panorama but one makes do with what one has and a former road reduced to a trail does nicely.
Good dog Rusty, a worthy successor to Cheyenne.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Old Vespa. New Tricks
After a weekend spent in Miami dealing with the Great Exploding Egg Fiasco and sundry other amusements my wife went home Sunday afternoon to gird her loins for the teaching salt mines. Me being a shift worker was off till Tuesday night so I drove, as you do, to St Petersburg. Rusty came with me, it goes without saying.
I have the best dog in the world (now that Cheyenne has gone to her reward) and he rode across the Sunshine State curled up in a ball on the back seat that used to barely accommodate my Labrador. There was room for three Rustys. We crossed the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, always spectacular:
And stopped in the same place alongside the causeway where Cheyenne took a few rather splendid pictures in the past.
I was not only hauling my dog and good self to St Petersburg, I was on a mission to deliver my new/old Vespa to the shop for one more go at making a permanent fix to some running problems. I have a lot of experience with this rig and it works quite well:
The Vespa ran 5,000 rather uncertain miles with a couple of seizures. The last set me back and I couldn't figure what was wrong. I was stumped. Then I found out the former Sarasota dealer had set himself up as Vespa Servicing of Bradenton. He did a great job with my wife's modern Vespa after I lost faith in Vespa Miami and Jiri was falling out with his flakey partner on Stock Island at their former motorcycle shop. I was delighted to discover Darren could be the solution to my current Vespa problems as he loves vintage Vespas. Jiri hates two strokes and says if he worked on this scooter it would end up compromising our friendship!
Rusty had a grand time as always and he kept close enough I could let him trot around and work off some energy before we settled in for the night at yet another dog friendly La Quinta.
It was a pleasant interlude, under overcast skies and slightly muggy. Temperatures don't seem to bother Rusty at all despite his thick fur.
Next morning found us at Vespa Servicing, Darren's place a couple of miles inland from I-75 in Bradenton half an hour south from St Petersburg. Darren operates out of his home with a full workshop downstairs and a mobile van to service Vespas at people's homes. I wish I had someone who would come out to the house, change the oil and the belt and the tires and bugger off again. He says he has picked up most of his clients from his former life as a dealer, and I'm not surprised.
He gave me a coffee (it was eight o'cock in the morning) and I intended to high tail it out of there to be on Duval Street for an appointment at 4:30. Instead we got to talking and I was enjoying myself. He grew up in England like me but we talked of his dealership and how he got discouraged after the fiasco of 2008 and the difficulties of working with Piaggio who owns Vespa. Rusty was fascinated.
And a whole bunch of lost causes looking to return to the road. These old scooters need to be preserved because they aren't making these any more. Even the Indian Vespa lookalikes are now four stroke automatics even if they look very similar.
Darren's home away from home. I rather envied him his wheels and the sound of six months exploring Colorado sounded good to me. But I'm glad he's back and working on Vespas. I'm pissed I need his help, the previous epic restore was supposed to end these capers, but I am hoping he can finish in proper style that which I started elsewhere, with the renovation of my long suffering Vespa. The work has begun.
The plan is to slightly modify the existing engine for more power without sacrificing the integrity of the design. Hopefully that will help me keep up with traffic on Highway One and I trust Darren can tune it properly which is beyond me. My wife kindly agreed to let me try this last experiment and if I remembered how to genuflect I'd be praying this experiment works. The full power boost to 220cc was going to cost three grand roughly so that was deemed too much and I think Darren has found a good compromise for me. Slight power boost, better reliability at better than half the cost. Cool.
Back home we drove, arriving in 6 hours with a sleepy but perfectly composed little dog sleeping on the back seat. It was good to be back and I made my appointment with 45 minutes to spare. Keys Disease is a foreign concept for me.
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