Night Wandering

I took off one night recently with my camera to see what I could see. Quite a lot of not very much it turned out.

 A condo complex on Eisenhower Dr.

 An upstairs apartment falls prey to the telephoto.

 A cool windy night with clouds and fluttering palm fronds.

Christmas Lights

I was working when they had the ceremony to light the Christmas lights in Bayview Park and i was working during my favorite parade of the year, the holiday parade last weekend. I enjoy the Small Town America side of Key West even though I have no children and God and I haven't been on speaking terms since I was a teenager. 

I pulled up outside the police station the night they lit the city Christmas tree and a wind band was playing traditional Christmas Carols which is how I think they should be played. I am no great fan of endless Christmas music as most of it gets brutalized in bizarre and unwholesome ways for commerce. Then there are famous singers adapting what are in reality sacred songs from the German tradition and turning them into jazz or popular music standards in the name of money and reputation. But I am not a fan of Christmas  the way it is celebrated these days.

I find it even more bizarre when people throw political mud at each other over how Christmas is celebrated. But there again I don't really care if people wish each other happy holidays or Christmas or Hannukah or Kwanza. I don't belong to the school of thought that one salutation demeans another, but it turns out I live in a country where everyone bruises easily and hurts are inflicted right and left this Holiday/Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza season. I wish everyone would harden the fuck up and stop invoking the long over used political correctness insult. My religion-free holiday won't get damaged one way or the other.

Governments are a different case altogether when it comes to representing the voters and proper protocol shave to be observed just as they do in any workplace. But there to the delicate skin of modern Americans bruise easily and insults fly. Government shall not favor religion is the rule so take it home and celebrate away and wish your neighbors whatever holiday you want. If they get annoyed you are probably better off without them, frankly.

I don't understand why things got so delicate. Respect and good manners have been taught over the centuries as survival tools and later as ways to make daily life a little less rough. Now being polite has become a sign of weakness and anger boils over instantly. Laughing it off and shaking hands., admitting to a mistake and cheerfully carrying on is no longer possible.

So, in the spirit of not being afraid of the dark that is death, here are a few pictures of lights and trees that in point of fact have nothing to do with Christianity and have everything to do with the solstice and the darkness of winter and the pagan rituals of Nordic people fending off the darkness of night as representative of death. So happy solstice. And if that term offends you, you know what to do- harden the fuck up! Chopper Read 

"On the Island" - "Season" - "Back In The Day"

I read in the newspaper recently that the solar panels at city hall could provide more than enough solar power to run the building at White and United Streets. There have been negative comments about the array arguing it is ugly and not in keeping with the historic district architectural guidelines enforced on the neighbors. The publicly owned electric utility says the exact amount of surplus energy can't be calculated in advance of the building being occupied but weekends when usage is minimal they expect the city will get a tax credit for surplus energy. Especially if a third array is added which is in the plans.

I find it encouraging to see the utility publicly discussing energy buy back programs which until recently had been forbidden by state law. Furthermore the city is now leading the way in actually showing how solar works. It baffles me why there is so little solar energy production in the Keys where the sun shines all the time. One hopes the virus will spread.

There is a sense this time of year of bracing for the onslaught. There are those people who want to sound like old timers "on the island" (Key West) and they talk of "season" preposition free as though it were an old pal. I suppose in the bad old days  when tourists and money ran out in May and didn't turn the cash spigot back on until December the tourist season was specific. These days "season" is a broad church filled with adherents all year round it seems. Except perhaps in  September and October and November, between the time schools open and the first snows Up North cause people to think tropical. The other nine months are "season" on "the island." (Were I dictator I'd abolish both affectations).

I think that like solar energy we have to adapt to the new reality. We don't think twice about power poles and wires, and all the energy infrastructure we already use. In the not too distant future I expect solar panels will just be part of the landscape and already we see them in quite a lot of places on the mainland. Not as widespread as Germany perhaps but the US is working on it slowly.

In the same way I am trying to adjust my expectations in reference to winter lines, traffic congestion and entitled attitudes from part time residents who claim kinship with an island city that is tenuous and therefore claimed all the more bitterly. There is no modesty in people who buy residence and let the world know how much it cost. The other side of the vcoin is that certain aspects of travel will be with us year round as more and more workers find themselves commuting. Highway is now filled to capacity year round as people who live and work here seek affordable living closer to the Seven Mile Bridge. The secret of my pleasure living in the suburbs is out and everyone wants to do it. Actually more and more of us have to do it even if not everyone enjoys riding a motorcycle on US One as much as I do.

I take lessons from my dog who suffered terribly on the streets of Homestead and who lives a rehabilitated life with hardly a look back. Rusty has grown into a perfectly content dog more self confident than I could have predicted and who makes the greatest companion.

He has boundless curiosity but limited taste for street food. Cheyenne my old Labrador loved finding food. Rusty had two goes at a forgotten slice of pizaa but ended up ignoring it both times. I guess he appreciates my cooking.

When people express fear that adopting a dog means adopting problems I find myself scoffing. Dogs are tremendously adaptable and they love to please (unlike humans) and with love and training they will become what you want them to become. And long walks are key. People often wonder why my dogs are so relaxed and the answer is exercise. I walk Rusty every day without fail so he not only is relaxed and mentally stimulated he is also quite aware that tomorrow he will get another walk in a different location to avoid boredom and repetition. People are surprised I drive Rusty to different walks each morning after work. It makes for a much better companion.

When he arrived from thisisthedog.com he was unable to sleep at night except with one eye open, alert to all sounds. That has changed somewhat.

As though on cue I stumbled past "the island's newest micro market."  Three fine cooks to-geaux.

Freshly prepared food for your intimate gathering. I was glad to see they too fail when it comes to using apostrophe's for the plural form's of noun's on their website. Taco's. Dinner's. Hmm when did apostrophe s become the plural version of word's? 

Hoipolloi can shop down the street where prices are also eye watering. The joy of downtown living, and the price you pay for life "on the island." Of course being able to do away with a car cuts down the cost of living as used to be the compromise in the old day's. "Back in the day" another of my least favorite phrase's.

Rusty is oblivious to it all. His bowl floweth over, even as I wonder where it will end, a ghost town of wealthy absentee residents. 

And then I saw a trio of Hondas parked at random Key West's plebian transport. Balance in all things, especially riding two wheels.

Orange scented salmon. I wonder what that tastes like? I doubt they deliver to the suburbs but still one can dream of to go...

Death Valley In Double Time

You might think I envied the people on two wheels but I didn't as I had already ridden the desert quite enough for one vacation. It wasn't hot or windy or unpleasant under hazy skies but I had yet to discover the cheap rental car didn't have cruise control so I thought I was better off in the gutless Nissan Versa.

It's a two hour trip from Las Vegas to Death Valley via Pahrump ("pa-RUMP") small desert outpost not far from the California state line. Here there is gambling prostitution and legal weed and over there they only have legal weed and state income taxes. You decide.

There's small sign on the road heading west and it reads simply "Inyo County" as the quality of the pavement deteriorates. Welcome to the Golden State where my wife grew up. The roads continue long and straight and it occurred to me that Las vegas would be a rotten place to live and ride a motorcycle. Besides I like trees and I don't like dry desert air as it makes my delicate skin itch.

But it sure was fun to immerse oneself in an alien world for a few days and this is about as far from the green wet Florida Keys as you can get. It's been years since either of us was in Death Valley and this short quick trip was a reminder why certain places are set aside for the public pleasure. It is a different world within these preserved lands, stark beauty worth preserving. And paying for, twenty five bucks for a week's worth of re-entries:

This wasn't going to be a leisurely visit but we like our road trips and we decided that even if we couldn't make Dante's Overlook and Badwater (the lowest point) we would see what we could.

 Zabriskie Point was on my list of places to see and we actually made it here the day before Thanksgiving.

 Amazingly enough they encourage walking out on the trails through the badlands and there is even a five mile loop down the hillside which I dearly would like to walk. Except pets aren't allowed so scrap that. Walking without Rusty seems stupid to me. 

 My telephoto lense from a long way away:

Despite all the people these strangers were filled with silent wonder. 

The drive from there to Furnace Creek took us through the now familiar burnt plains dotted with sage bushes and not much else.

I thought it might have been nice to take a room and pause for a nap, then a short drive to the lowest point followed by dinner and some star gazing...Dream on we had places to go and things to see a hundred miles away.

My indefatigable Tripadvisor wife located Indian food which sounded just the ticket, weird fast and filling. A Tripadvisor review:
After all the disappointing meals we had in Furnace Creek, we made our way toward the Indian Taco sign. I'm glad we did. It was the most enjoyable lunch we had during our visit. Menu is limited to frybread taco, frybread without the taco, and many flavors of shaved ice. The taco was large and delicious. I regretted not getting some plain frybread to go. Highly suggest having a taco for one of your meals in Death Valley.
"They have a Key West problem" my wife reported after standing in line for a while. "Someone forgot to show up for work." Consequently the fast food wasn't quite as fast as you might think. Which wa sokay. I sat and drank a Coke we got from the Pepsi machine.

In retrospect the Frybread taco was perhaps rather more robust than one might imagine if one imagines a fusion of Indian food with Taco Bell.  I made my way through it and surprisingly suffered no ill effects if you don't count the coma I struggled to fend off as we made our way back to Las Vegas on long straight roads through the sagebrush desert.

The Nissan Versa was a base model I have not seen in years and hope never to see again. It lacked every possible amenity including horsepower for the long uphill grades through the mountains. More seriously it had wind down windows and no central door locks and no sign of cruise control either, or satellite radio. Yup we suffered but when my wife asked me to kindly turn off the preacher promising damnation through the radio I did point out that it was her rental choice. "Never again" she muttered " And this wasn't one of my famous seven dollar rentals."  I know it sounds unlikely but she has rented cars for almost nothing and this was not one of them. 

I thought a car parked at the state line was a cop so instead of blowing through at 85mph taking advantage of the downhill grade we puttered along like a couple of Florida retirees at 57 miles per hour, burning no visible gas as we went. We got back to Las Vegas with 55 miles left in the bottomless tank.

Our goal was Beatty Nevada  a small mining town that has shrunk even further after the gold mines dried up. Locals call the place "bay-dee" but I signed the guestbook anyway with my own spelling and told the nice lady at the museum that I pronounced it Bee-Tee. She mulled it over for a while.

The women at the museum were discussing plans for Thanksgiving in the town and the knotty problem of one of the city's 800 residents who lived alone and was not happy getting ham instead of turkey. My wife said it sounded like the TV show "Northern Exposure" about a small town in Alaska.

 "The Keys?" the museum woman said wistfully, "I'd like to go for a visit one day..." I sympathized with her considering the rather bleak world she lived in but I made deprecatory noises as we contemplated  the dusty landscape of this speck on US Highway 95.

We had to take a short tour of the back streets to double back to the museum which we passed accidentally in an unnatural burst of speed from the Versa. Many of Beatty's residents live lives of what looks from the outside to be hoarding squalor.  I have no idea how one makes a living out here but however it's done they don't seem to be in on the secret either. I wonder if Washington will ever see these people, no matter who is charge.

The man this town was named for the grandiloquently named Montillius Murray Beattie one of three white men in the area. He married a Paiute woman whether in deference to the melting pot theory or for lack of choice isn't clear. In the event he bought the land with the water and his buddy bought some of it and named the town for him which was created around 1905.

It was not a rich cultural landscape back then and it isn't now.  It looked cleaner back then probably because there was less junk to trash.

 The museum was a fascinating hodge podge, a diary of a town's life.

We bought a  souvenir, I signed Beattie, Key West,  and we drove off back into...the sage filled desert. Spectacular views.

Back to Las Vegas, past military installations, lonely gas stations, attaching ourselves to lines of cars rolling at 85 mph which the Nissan could hold on level ground. Racing the sunset on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, miles from festivities, alive on the road. It was great.