Wasted
Away in Key West
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RIDE REPORT
Sunday April 29, 2001
Today I finally get a really good breakfast. Key West local and fellow biker Mark drags me to breakfast at Blue Heaven. This restaurant appears in "Eat Your Way Across the USA". The guide recommends breakfast over lunch or dinner. This place has been the home to a boxing ring, frequented by Ernest Hemingway, a bordello, and a bookmaker's parlor and cockfighting pit. Today it is an al fresco dining experience. The first thing I notice is that the floor is dirt and the canopy of trees and some canvas sails forms the roof. You share this space with chickens that wander between the diner's feet looking for grub and handouts. From time to time a rooster adds his call to the background.
My breakfast is excellent. I enjoy a white cheese and shrimp omelet with homemade whole grain toast. Everything is just fantastic. It was so good that I decided this breakfast needed a dessert. I know it is shameless and my server initially thought it a jest. I finish breakfast with a most delicious slice of key lime pie that I have ever eaten. The crust was delicious, the filling lemony and deep topped by wonderful meringue.
Since the restaurant is on the far side of Duval Street, the walk allowed more time to explore the back streets of Key West. Mark fills me in on a lot of the unseen Key West: the various factions and battles. On every block we are stopped by his friends and acquaintances to catch up on the comings and goings of other Conchers and to exchange gossip.
By now the weather is very threatening. I had hoped to get some time by the pool to 'even out' my trucker tan. I have small bands of tan where my shirt pulls away from my short gloves. My new gloves have half moon openings on the back of my hands that are now darkened by sun. The back of my neck is tanned. The rest of me is a lovely creamy white -- well maybe not that lovely.
I am not surprised when a torrential downpour comes out of the blue (or gray) sky. I decide to catch up on my writing so that my dear readers can enjoy a fresh posting or three. I find a little landing with a table and chair high up on the second floor. From here I can see across the backyards of our neighborhood. There is a riot of color from the bougainvillea plants. The sweet perfume of the flowers waft up on each breeze. The rain drums on every surface. Harder then softer, harder then softer. It is a glorious afternoon to be in Key West even though I don't get to do any sightseeing. I decide that I have enough time to spend a third night here and make the necessary arrangements.
I've been working for about four hours and it is nearly Happy Hour. Time for drinks!
Happy Hour turns out to be very interesting. The rain has most of the other guests trapped in the house. We swill down the white and rose wine. We fortify the weak punch and drain the bowl. Others work on the bottled beer. The common room is filled with thirteen of us, six couples and me. Two men from Milan, Italy don't have much to say due to the language barrier. A couple from Germany has excellent English skills and participates fully in the conversation. A couple from Maine(!) seem to have hit it off with the boys from Germany. Another couple are from New Jersey. Two men from Kentucky are just establishing their relationship on their first trip together. A couple from England join come downstairs a bit ater.
As we near the bottom of the bottles, the rain is continuing unabated and New Jersey decides that a group meal is in order. Nine of us head off to a Key West legend called Sloppy Joe's.
Sloppy Joe's is a great barn of a bar / restaurant. The ceiling holds a wide variety of flags. All sorts of paraphernalia cover the walls: pictures of Hemingway, stuffed fish, nautical hoo-yaw and assorted junk. The room is stuffed full of people seeking refuge from the rain, enjoying drinks and watching the two man band on stage. There isn't a table to be seen. When the band takes a break, a table becomes available and five of us jump for it.
Now the table has a downside. We five are front and center to the stage. We order food and some drinks. The band retakes the stage. These guys mostly do novelty songs. Since everyone in the room is visiting, your state of origin is of interest to the band for incorporation into their shtick. Our table is labeled as the guys from New Jersey. Apparently my size leads to the logical conclusion that I'm a gangster and therefore a threat to their health and safety. A guitar pick is offered to guarantee their safety. We get drunk on the cheap drink (cheap liquor, not inexpensive). The audience sings along to "Goodnight Irene" and pretty much anything else that we are told to sing. Every question from the band brings a chorus of "We're On Vacation." I have a great time -- I've let my hair down and sing along harder than anyone.
I retire to the guesthouse for a soak in the Jacuzzi.
Monday April 30, 2001
The weather goddess tricks me into thinking that I will have a nice day. After breakfast, housemates gather poolside in expectation of a day of sunbathing. I decide to take the time to attend to my laundry.
A Laundromat is two doors down from the guesthouse. I collect my dirty clothes and quarters and cruise down to the Laundromat. There are two other people doing laundry. The old woman hangs out while her laundry washes and dries. A man starts his clothes and then leaves on his bike -- standard issue transport for Conchs. He comes back on the bike when its time to shift them from the washer to the dryer. Somewhere between wash and rinse the sky opens up and pours. It only lasts for half an hour. When I get back to the house, the pool area is empty.
The two guys from Kentucky ask me to join them for lunch, so we go to the corner deli. The food is excellent. Key West has an interesting mealtime phenomenon. Meals are delivered all over town by mopeds and bicycles. The deli needs to make a delivery but the shop's moped is very hard to start the first time of the day. The cook and the delivery person mess around with it but give up. Finally the owner arrives in his Ford Explorer to start the beast.
The rain decides to abate for a couple hours and I decide this is a good time to visit the 'gay' end of Duval Street. Apparently Duval Street used to be mostly gay. The changing face of Key West has caused the gay activity to retreat away from the wharf.
When the rain starts again, I stay dry by visiting The 801 for a planter's punch. Well actually two but only because it kept raining. I ask Billy Buckets, the bartender, if there is a barbershop nearby and he directs me to Moe's and to tells me to ask for Lisa.
Lisa is a self-admitted fag-hag. I learn this without any probing. We have a great time. This is the first time that I have ever sent out for a cocktail while having my hair cut. Cheryl, my barber in Ramona had cut my hair extra short at the start of my trip and it has grown in a bit. The air flowing through my helmet twists two furrows in my hair. No matter how much I wet my hair or wash it, the furrows remain. Lisa agrees it is not a good look and suggests a fresh cut or some red dye to accentuate the Mohawk aspect of the haircut. In the end, the planter's punch decides that I need to see what I look like with a shaved head.
If I decided that Norm and Della were right and I should be carrying a gun on this trip, I could have done that during my haircut at Moe's as well. Interesting business: combination Barber Shop and Gun Shop.
Billy had asked me to show him Lisa's handiwork so it is time for the day's third planter's punch. I end up sitting on the 'local' side of the bar. I'm greeted by the off duty drag queens that work upstairs. Another local stops in for his last drink before leaving the island &endash; his departure being a condition of his recent release from the county house of detention. Over the course of the next two days, I will meet or be told about six other people in jail or with a history of being in jail. This never happens at home. I'm amazed at how happy all of these people are that I meet. It is a real education about the possibility of redemption.
Feeling slick, I head back to the guesthouse for a nap. I grab a cigar from a Cuban cigar shop to smoke on the walk back to the ranchette. The Cubana working the counter is friendly so we talk about US relations with Cuba. She hates Castro but agrees with that sanctions only hurt the people we claim we are trying to help.
Happy Hour at the Grove is as much fun as the night before &endash; I am having a lot of fun getting to know these guys. I take a nap while everyone goes their own way for dinner.
After the nap, I wander down to Duval Street for some drinks and fun. I stop at the local leather shop to have a look around. It is a great store with lots of fun toys but what strikes me is the degree of organization. In the chaos of laid-back Key West, I have found a really anal-retentive storeowner. Things are way too organized. I want to move things around just for the fun of it. In the bars, its a quiet night but it is great to hear the mix of old rock and roll and disco music at the various clubs.
My buddy Mark is tending bar, so I spend some time keeping him company as the night drags into morning. Paul, soon to be dubbed Pablito, visiting from London where he works for Lloyd's of London sits precariously on the stool next to mine. Apparently he has been drinking since his arrival ten days ago and shows little sign of stopping.
Well I can't point my finger at him as I'm had plenty to drink, well more than plenty to drink today. My sense of time is screwed up and it is 3:30 AM when I finally put my head down on the pillow.
Tuesday: May 1, 2001
Despite my late arrival, I'm up early at 8:30AM. My first stop is coffee and then a trip to the communal phone. I send my weekly update letter and check weather.com for the day's weather. A low-pressure system is stalled and rain will fall from Key West to Orlando. John, my trusted host, confirms that my room is available for a fourth night and I decide to stay.
A new arrival yesterday announces at breakfast that he needs a haircut. I suggest Lisa but I think he's worried that he will come back bald.
Breakfast today is lunch. Mark the biker suggests we meet at Camille's on Duval. It is a good choice as I enjoy an excellent hamburger with Brie and bacon. It is heavenly -- I will have to remember that combination at home. We wander down to the docks where the evening sunset ritual takes place. I won't be going to any of those due to the lack of sunsets during my stay.
We end up at Truman's Little White House on the old Naval Station. It has been carefully restored. There is a fair amount of history in this place although I never knew it existed. The guided tour is well presented. We get to see a real 'Dewey beats Truman' newspaper. A highlight of the downstairs is a poker table where Truman and his aides played nightly. To keep the image of the President secure, a top was constructed so that it appeared to be a round plain table. This table was used this year by the presidents of Armenia and Azerbaijan to negotiate a resolution to their ongoing territorial dispute. Apparently the intimacy of the small table helped move the discussions along. The guide indicates that both presidents hope to return to Key West because their impressions were so favorable. I have a flash of them at Sloppy Joe's singing "Good Night Irene" and standing up to shout "We're on vacation!" Well maybe not. Mark is convinced that all of the valuable antiques are just junk salvaged from local homes and the Goodwill.
Back to the guesthouse for a nap -- Monday's late night and early rising today is hitting me. Mark snuggles up with me. I delight in the pleasure of having some intimate contact after nearly three weeks on the road. After the nap, Mark and I head out to Green Street Thai for a nice meal of shrimp curry and chicken penang. The shrimp in particular is very tasty and perfectly cooked.
A couple more drinks at the back bar of The 801 and a long stroll up and down Duval and my visit to Key West is coming to an end. No matter what the weather is like tomorrow, I need to get moving. It is not just that I need to meet Ron in Washington in less than two weeks but I have been really affected by Key West. I'm not really worried about the likelihood of rain &endash; but it is finally time to have a growth experience and learn to deal with rain on the road.
Other Thoughts about Key West.
Several times during my visit, I am told the story of Princess the Dog. From Fort Lauderdale, I retrieved the following story from the Internet. There is nothing in this story to contradict what I have been told during my stay in Key West although there were several details supplied by the Conchs that are not in this story.
Key West's favorite barfly dog is dead at 19
Thursday, June 22, 2000
Associated Press
KEY WEST &emdash; She wore pearls and drank Kahlua and
cream, slinging back with the rest of them on the nightly
Duval Street pub crawl.
But now Princess, the mutt who was the constant companion
of a local bartender for 16 years, is gone.
Steven Sabla said he was heartbroken after his ailing
19-year-old pooch was put to sleep Monday. It seemed
Princess was always at Sabla's side as he tended bar,
following him as he delivered drinks and greeted customers.
Princess even had a favorite cocktail, a "doggie
Russian," a mixture of water, cream and Kahlua served in a
bowl. Bartender Bill "Buckets" Milroy, at the 801, said the
sad-eyed dog would charm customers into giving her a bar
stool, then rest her head on the bar and wait to be served.
After one drink, she would hop from her seat and try to
order another from a different stool, he said.
"She would pretend she had not yet been there, and was a
different dog," Milroy said with a laugh.
Princess often ventured out on her own while Sabla was
sleeping. Before pets were banned from the beach, she begged
for hot dogs from the grill at Atlantic Shores.
Milroy remembered one night when Princess was out alone,
and the bar staff called a cab to take her home.
"The driver knew exactly where she lived," he said.
Nineteen year-old Princess, a fixture at several
downtown Key West bars for years, is shown in an undated
handout photo. She wore pearls and drank Kahlua and cream,
slinging back with the rest of them on the nightly Duval
Street pub crawl. AP photo courtesy Key West
Citizen
To me this little story displays the wackiness of Key West. This would not happen at home. But in Key West it is normal.
Key West is a place that keeps changing. It has been Spanish, British and American. Her original wealth came from shipwrecks. Later there was an influx of people to fight World War II. Then there were sponges and later shrimp. Often a haven for artists and writers: Hemingway is nearly the patron saint of the town. In the 60s and 70s other refugees from mainstream America including gay men and women came to Key West. Today, Key West is becoming more corporate. Familiar fights over Walmarts and Starbucks resonate in the local issues affecting the Keys. The current battle is over chickens.
The
chickens are everywhere. The main complaint seems to come from
high-end guests that don't like the crowing. Fast Buck Freddie's, a
major store on Duval Street has decorated its windows with images
from the Chicken Wars. Several restaurants near Bahama Village offer
a reward for the person shooting the chickens with darts. Mark, my
local guide and shaman, has imported bantam rooster chicks from Iowa
to assure that the population is not depleted.
Here are some samples from Fast Buck Freedies.
Mike's Car
This
is another example of local lore and fable. The story is about
Michael who died and left this car to a friend. The contents of
Michael's house: the junk drawers, the Christmas decorations, the odd
collections now adorn the car as a rolling tribute to its former
owner. It is an amazing piece of Americana. A book could be written
analyzing the many items glued to the fenders, roofs, bumpers, grill,
windows -- pretty much any spot that is free.
Key West
When I first thought of this trip, I had two destinations in mind: Key West and Halifax Nova Scotia. During my stay I became aware of an increasing sense of satisfaction. I know that one aspect is that I have reached an important goal: I can go no further south. This is the ultimate destination from my earliest plans. But I think the satisfaction is far more significant. I am gaining a real sense of accomplishment from this trip. My sense of purpose in life is more focused. My sense of self is stronger than it has ever been.
I clearly link one of the fundamentals of riding a motorcycle to how I should view aspects of my personality that I don't like. When you learn to ride, the instructors urge you to look where you want to go, not at what you want to avoid running into. If you stare at the curb, you will hit the curb. But it is counterintuitive and hard to master at first. How can you miss something if you don't look at it? In the end you have to trust yourself to steer to your destination while not focusing on the pitfalls that may be directly in front of you.
If I use my being over-weight as an example. For decades, I have focused on the thing I wanted to not be. I obsessed about it. It alters my behavior and erodes my self-confidence and self-image. This behavior is not working -- it is time to look at what I want to be and focus on that.
This is much bigger than accentuating the positive. It is focusing your efforts on the things you value. Its so simple but it feels like a revelation to me. If I've not explained this very well, I'm suspect that I will return to this theme again.
Wrapping Up, some pictures.
This jeep is parked a block from the Coconut Grove. In
addition holding all sorts of plants it is covered with
stickers. My favorite: The only Urine Sample I'm Giving is
for a Taste Test.
These two fine homes were built for twin sons. They were
never occupied. Now restored they are two of my favorite
homes.
Another home that I really liked.
This beautiful home is rumored to have been owned by
Calvin Klein. Most homes have not been restored. Bicycle
carpenters are responsible for decades of additions to the
homes. The odd angles are easier to see on a run-down
building. Some buildings seem to defy gravity.
St. Pauls Church. It is a glorious concrete structure.
The entrance to Bahama Village off Duval.
Mopeds are a major form of traffic for locals and
visitors alike. I parked my motorcycle on the street across
from Coconut Grove. Every morning it was hemmed in by mopeds
that collect over night.
I can't believe you're still reading. Tomorrow I'm finally beginning my long journey north with a drive to Fort Lauderdale.
(c) 2001 Thomas N. Engler Revision Date: 05/04/2001 (FINALLY!)
revised 10/28/01
