South of the Frost Line

I spent most of yesterday on a train.  Not a classic steam train or even a commuter train but the Conch  Train. We followed US Highway 1 to it's demise into the southern seas to the island within ninety miles of Havanna, Cuba. The  southern most city in the U. S. of A, Key West, Florida.  After taking the bridge from the mainland which for over one hundred and thirty miles touches down on about  dozen islands US-1 becomes Roosevelt Boulevard in Key West. Fortunately, we found a parking space two blocks off Duval Street.  Duval has been called one of the longest streets in the world because it reaches from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico. My travel companion had a craving for one of the most famous meals in the world as recorded in song by Jimmy Buffett,  "A Cheeseburger in Paradise". Key West has the pay-to-park system now.  Simply insert your credit card or non-plastic currency into a vending machine that spits out a ticket which you place on the dash of your car indicating how much parking time you have purchased. As we walked toward the Margaritaville Cafe,  the Conch Train goes by loaded with aging American tourists and younger Asians.  We wave as the "engineer" expertly guides the train down the narrow streets. Key West  has an ambiance all it's own, more like the islands of the Caribbean than the mainland. We window shop the dozens of shops selling all things tourist  on the way to the restaurant. Our server wears a t-shirt with printed graphic and  white short shorts. Blonde curls tumble over her shoulders and she has the friendly smile of and island girl. We order two of the famous cheeseburgers and a couple of Landshark lagers. (Gotta help boost the size of the Buffett empire!)
Although the song says the the cheeseburger is served with "a cold draft beer" , Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville Cafe does not sell draft beer.  We enjoyed our burgers which filled a need and finished our meal off with a slice of Key lime pie.  I maintain that you can't get decent Key lime pie north of Marathon Key. Back on the street we walked toward Truman Street and the Conch Train station. The store buildings are old along Duval as indeed they are in all of Key West's "old town" and sidewalks are rough.  As we crossed a street we were almost hit by a bicycle built for two. They were natives, I think.  He appeared somewhat aged, shirtless, thin, and wearing flip-flops. His grayshoulder length hair and chest length beard flowed in the sea breeze.  She on the other hand was prim and proper perched on the seat.  She was dressed in a pale print sundress, with wide brim hat, large sunglasses and her light brown hair was in a bun. She had a trim youthful figure and long tapered legs with sandal clad feet that barely reached the bicycle pedals. Her attitude was nonchalant as she touched up her bright red lipstick. We were  on the artsy end of Duval Street known for it's many  galleries. It seems that this part of the street was once populated with bars and various and sundry businesses catering to sailors.  But when he U.S. Navy left Key West in the eighties all those businesses went belly up.   The city in an effort to revitalize sold the buildings for one dollar each to anyone who would restore them.  Many artists bought buildings and created their own galleries.

At the corner of Truman and Duval is one of the four Conch Train stations.  We bought our tickets and were soon aboard.  Since there were passengers already aboard we got very poor seats. We had the last seat in a car.  The absolute worse seat on the train.  They should discount this ticket.  Not only does it face the rear, it is designed for pygmies from equatorial Africa. The train driver/tour guide was a woman with the voice of a sideshow barker. Her feeble attempts humor were disastrous.
At the next station near the sea we got off and went into the Overseas Railroad Museum. It had a lot of information and memorabilia of what was known as "Flagler's Folly". But it was a folly no more when Henry Flagler finished the rail road in 1912.  The 128 mile railroad connected mainland Florida to Key West. In about twenty minutes another Conch Train arrived. This was not our first ride on this kind of train. They are fairly common in tourist areas.  We have ridden them in St.

Augustine  and Carcassonne, France. This driver/tour guide is great, a constant flow of good information from his mouth.  Our train weaves through the narrow as he extolls the virtues of this island at the bottom of thee country. We pass Truman's "Little White House", Ernest Hemingway's house, the southern most house in the U.S.A. and dozens more famous landmarks. One intriguing landmark is the southern most point marker. There must a hundred people there waiting in line to have their picture taken with this cylindrical chunk of concrete. We did not.  There is a Cuban part of the city. Many Cuban immigrated to Key West to work in the cigar industry and their influence is still there. Probably the biggest mark they left are the chickens. Like the Hawaiian Islands, there a free range chickens all over Key West.  It seems that when the Cubans came to the city they brought with  them the sport of cockfighting.  They brought their fighting chickens with them.  When they found that cockfighting was illegal the released all their chickens.  Therefore, they are now are free range chickens.  But these are not ordinary free range chickens they are chickens protected by law. In Florida all wild birds are protected by law.  Since the chickens are no longer considered domesticated they are therefore wild and protected. We passed Mel Fisher's Museum and the Wreckers Museum and other tourist attractions which I found mildly interesting.  And then we were in new town, the part of the city reclaimed from the sea, as the Train traveled on along bougainvillea shrouded lanes.  We passed the old high school building with it's Tiger mascot out front.  The tiger is over twelve feet long and built by the students in the metal shop from an old automobile. If you look closely you'll see that the tail is an exhaust pipe and the white fangs in his mouth are  spark plugs.  The new high school has the conch as it's mascot. I think it would be quite a contest for the "Fighting Conchs" to play the "Fighting Rainbows" in football. (There's a Hawaiian high school with the Rainbow as it's mascot.) Throughout the Florida Keys the conch shell is prominently displayed and locals refer to themselves as conchs. There was once even a Conch Republic.  It seems that in 1982 the U.S. Border Patrol set up a check station controlling all traffic to and from the Florida Keys. The residents of the Keys responded saying that if they were going to be treated like a foreign country they would oblige by succeeding from the union.  The Conch Republic surrendered after a few minutes of independence and then asked for foreign aid.

After the train ride ended we had great barbecue at Daddy Bones  across the street from our hotel. The place has that smokey odor that is only found in barbecue joints. The decor is bight and colorful  with a sofa made of the tail fins of a a 1959 Cadillac. Our food was great and served by a cute tattooed girl with an obvious surgically enhanced bosom.

Thursday morning after a breakfast by the pool at our hotel we met a friend of Claudette's for coffee at Starbucks on Duval Street. The place was packed. No seats could be found.  We walked back up the street and found a bench at St. Paul's Episcopal Church. While the two old friends reminisced and caught up on what was current in their lives I checked out the church which in 1831 was the first non-Catholic church on the island.  The impressive concrete building has beautiful stained glass windows.  What I found most interesting was that many of the windows pivoted open for ventilation.  Although this architectural detail caught my attention it paled in comparison to the beautiful music emanating from the sanctuary.  I followed my ears to find two people on the bench in front of the keyboard of a grand piano.  Four hands were tickling those ivories. I chatted briefly with the man and woman responsible for the beautiful music. They said that concerts were regularly scheduled at the church during the noon hour.  Some classical music and a few pops with a few bits on the pipe organ too. But, alas, I would not be around to hear their performances. Highway US-1 would take us north and by noon we would be sitting by the Gulf of Mexico eating conch fritters with rice and black beans at Porky's Barbecue on Marathon Key. The fritters weren't anything to write home about but the beans, rice and plantains were tops. The only city in the continental United State that is frost free was far behind now.

By late afternoon we were in the Art Deco area of Miami and eating Cuban food and reminiscing about our time south of the frost line.

Wings and Legs

All of us who take those silver wings to those far off lands we dream of share one thing in common. That is being in a small confined space in what seems like forever. With airplanes there is airspeed and ground speed.  I believe that according to my experiences there is air time and ground time.  And since speed is a function of time there should be some relationship between the two.  I am positive that air time travels much slower.

Most of us don't suffer much discomfort on short flights of four hours or less.  But when you're in that metallic object hurtling across the sky for an extended period of time, fatigue tends to increase at a compound rate.  And if the fatigue is to  well-seasoned body, so much the worse.  However, there are some things a savvy well seasoned traveler should consider.  Sleep tends to make the time pass faster.  Getting ready to sleep while flying can be quite a ritual in its self. Once on a trip from Atlanta to Tokyo  I witnessed such a ritual of the Japanese lady across the aisle from me.   The steps in preparation were as follows:

1. Select the proper music through the headphones.
2. Replace shoes with comfortable soft slippers.
3. Request and receive pillow and blanket from the attendant.
4. Strategically place pillow for maximum comfort.
5. Put on inflated collar pillow.
6. Recline seat to the maximum.
7. Put on sleeping mask and adjust without damage to coiffure.
8. Cover with blanket.
9. Fall asleep.

By the time this ritual is completed the aircraft has reached cruising altitude.  I don't follow this ritual. There's something about the little pink slippers I don't like. I actually start my preparation before I buy my ticket.  One thing for sure is that the airlines pack as many paying passengers aboard a plane as they can. Comfort while traveling is important to me but not enough to pay for first class seating.  Yes, it's tourist or economy class for me. The manufacturer of the  aircraft and model has a lot to do with seating comfort. The airline determines the seating arrangements when buying the planes so they affect seating comfort as well.  In my experience I seem to find the Airbus planes more comfortable than Boeings.

In seating it is surprising how much difference  a fraction of an inch in seat width can make in passenger comfort.  For example the seats on an Airbus economy class are one inch wider  than an economy class seat on a  comprable Boeing plane on the same airline. But seat size isn't the only variation, the location of the seat on the airplane determines legroom. The first row of seats after the partition between first class ant economy has more legroom and is not encumbered by reclining seats in front. There is no seat to stow your personal carry-on bag but that's a small price to pay for more legroom.  The seats just aft of the side emergency exits have more legroom. But the seats behind these have less than standard legroom.  Unfortunately for the smart traveler  many of the airlines have realized the benefits of these seats and now charge a premium for them. Be aware that some of the most comfortable seats are sometimes on the regional and budget airlines.

There are a number of websites that show the seating arrangements of various airplanes and some indicate the best seats. There are traveler reviews on some of the sites to help you decide what is best for you.

• SeatGuru
• SeatExpert
• American Airlines
• Delta Airlines
• SkyTrax

There are a number of other things that can make your flight more enjoyable as well. When flying be aware that if the plane is not fully loaded you may find an empty seat that is better than your assigned seat. Ask the attendant if it's okay to move. It is amazing how much more comfortable it is flying next to an empty seat.  Elbow room is a precious commodity. Avoid those seats near the galley.  It's unbelievable how noisy attendants can be in flight. One thing that seems to help me battle fatigue when traveling is to leave my seat and walk the length of the cabin about every two hours. Airlines vary a lot in the services as well.  Most domestic flights have only bare bones  amenities while foreign carriers offer more. For example, Air France meals come with wine and SwissAire provides chocolates.

To be the most comfortable on long flights you must pick the right airline. And selecting the right seat can make all the difference.

Land of Blackjack and Pancho

The desert air was cool on that morning of March 9, 1916. It was well before dawn in the sleepy border town of Columbus, New Mexico.  But not for long as the thundering hooves of horses were heard down the main street. Amidst gunshots riders were yelling "Viva Villa!"," Viva Mexico!" The residents were awakened along with the soldiers in the garrison there. The 13th Calvary of the U.S. Army had three hundred soldiers there.  The soldiers with their machine guns and rifles, along with armed citizens, repelled the Villistas.     Major Frank Tompkins led the Americans as they pursued the Mexicans back across the border.    The Villistas lost about eighty of their five hundred man force, the Americans eighteen.  While on their raid the troops of Pancho Villa looted and burned quite a few buildings in Columbus.

I had always found this battle, or raid, fascinating. It occurred over one hundred years after the last invasion of the United States of America, the previous being by the British in 1812.  I was able to learn a great bit about the battle by visiting the Museum at the Pancho Villa State Park. We enjoyed the park.  Like many parks in the southwest it had a shelter with metal roof. Desert plants were in bloom when we were there. I think the main attraction of the park is the museum. The building is  a pale yellow with a tile roof.  I could tell it was something special  by the artillery pieces outside.  To me, the early 1900's are a fascinating time in history, especially technologically. The armored car out front was a great example. It was slab-sided with a gun turret on top and was mounted on hard rubber tires. I suppose locomotion was provided by an early gasoline or diesel engine. If you ever saw the old John Wayne western, "The War Wagon", you would have a good idea what this armored vehicle looked like, sans horses of course. The armies of the world were transitioning from horse oriented armies to those of machines.  Although the Americans had chased General Francisco "Pancho" Villa back across the border, president Woodrow Wilson wasn't satisfied.  He sent his best general, John "Blackjack" Pershing to invade Mexico and apprehend Villa. There were many technological advances in warfare used in that Pancho Villa Expedition.

As I entered the Museum, the building dates from 1916, I immediately was taken aback by the Jenny biplane hanging from the ceiling. This was the first armed conflict in which aircraft were used. I should clarify that by saying airplanes, because observation balloons were used in the American Civil War. A Dodge touring car is on prominent display with bullet holes courtesy of Pancho's raiders.  There were other relics and artifacts as well.  I was quite interested in the  French Chauchat  machine gun.  It was a light weight  gun  capable of about 240 rounds per minute.  I'm not sure how successful Pershing's troops were using it, but I know that in WWI most doughboys preferred to use it as a club! It jammed frequently and would not fire.  Colt's 1911 model .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol was on display, a well designed  gun that is still manufactured today. There was  an army truck as well, a four-wheel drive model.  It should be noted that many of these innovations were less than perfect. The airplanes had difficulty flying over the mountains. The trucks would mire down and get stuck in the desert sand. The firearms would jam and refuse to fire. But, it was a great opportunity to test new technology under battle conditions. The Expeditionary Force did not capture Villa.  One grizzled veteran of that expedition told a friend of mine, "Don't know what Blackjack was lookin' for, but me and the boys was lookin' for them hot Mexican women!"

We had a good visit at the Pancho Villa State Park. It wasn't quiet at night though; the road to Palomas, Mexico, was busy all night.  (We could see the lights of the city from our campsite.)
They advertise  360 days of sunshine in this part of New Mexico.  It rained while we were there.  And, Claudette got stung by an ant. I think it was a Mexican ant that had sneaked across the border, maybe Pancho's revenge!

Poultry on the Prowl

During a recent trip to Hawaii I found out some interesting things about chickens. When we were on a tour of Oahu we saw many chickens that seemed to run wild. Would they be “feral” chickens?   When we reached a lookout point high in the mountains of Oahu the area seemed to be inundated with chickens.  I believe they were what are normally referred to as “game fowl”: the type most often seen competing in cockfights. We asked the guide about why there were so many wild chickens, and his response was that during a hurricane in 1992 many chicken coops had been destroyed, and the chickens had been set free. There were some very young chickens there as well.  They were between  “bitty” and “pullet” stages. I tried to get close enough to catch one but had to settle for a picture. The small ones would make a good meal for a fox or snake, but the chickens have few natural predators, perhaps, only hawks and other raptors. There are no foxes, and the mongoose, “Iole manakuke”, does not inhabit all the islands and usually eats only the eggs. There are no snakes in the Hawaiian Islands.  

Kauai probably has the greatest population of feral chickens. While there I learned something which could have helped me a lot when I was a farm boy. When Saturday came and there would be fried chicken for Sunday dinner, it was my job to catch and kill the unfortunate Rhode Island Red for said Sunday dinner.  I would chase and catch the unfortunate creature before performing the decapitation with my trusty axe. But, while on that mini-bus tour of Kauai our guide told of a different, and albeit more humane, method of execution. (I’m not sure “humane” can be used in reference to animals.) As we, the tourists, gathered around the middle-aged woman in Hawaiian dress she explained catching chickens for the pot in her youth.  She said, ” First you have to catch the chicken. Then you tuck the chicken under your arm, and you stroke the feathers on his back gently. Then you take your forefinger and tap ‘em in the forehead above the eyes.  The chicken will go limp in your hands ‘cause he’s dead.”

If I had known that as a kid there would not have been blood spurting everywhere, and I wouldn’t have had to have been so accurate with the axe. And never would I have heard the phrase, “Running around like a chicken with his head chopped off.”

Wait 'til September.

cellphone image

"I think we can," I said to my best friend, Jimbo.  We were two young boys in our twelfth year on the cusp of a great adventure.
"Aunt Helen would say that we're stealing," Jimbo said somewhat pleadingly.

"Not really.  We'd just be borrowing the boat." I countered.

We were on the edge of a farm pond in the red clay area of South Carolina.   School was out, and our shoes had come off for the summer. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining, and a gentle breeze rippled the dark green water.   We had started our big adventure the night before.  The two of us had camped out in a big gully and cooked our breakfast eggs over a campfire. If Jimbo would go along with me we could have some real fun.

" I think we can get that padlock open if we hit it with that rock,"  says I.

"I don't know about this..." Jimbo's voice trailed off.

"Just hold the lock on that big rock and I'll bust it with this rock!"

"Well...alright," my best friend said begrudgingly. He gingerly placed the rusty padlock on the large rock and held it at arm's length. The fourteen food wooden boat was chained to a large pine tree near the water.

Bam!

"See.  I told you it'd be easy"

Jimbo helped me push the boat away from the bank and we climbed in. The water was warm.  We struggled a bit as we clamored aboard.

"Tony, how we gonna paddle?"

"We'll use our hands.  I seen it once in a Davy Crockett movie!"

And there we were, two best buddies floating out in the middle of a three acre farm pond on a beautiful summer day. A largemouth arced through the air in the shallows and made a big splash.
"I wish I'd brought my fishin' pole!" we exclaimed together. Visions of that fish on the end of my pole danced in my head!

"Shhh!" I warned Jimbo.  "Somebody's comin'," I whispered.

I heard the voice calling me. "Tony...Tony-boy!"  It was my grandmother.

"What we gonna do?"  Jimbo asked frantically.

Exhibiting my cleverness, I said, "We'll slip over the side of the boat and hold on.  The boat will be between us and Grandma, so she won't see us."  We were very quick and hardly made a splash in the water. My grandmother came to the edge of the pond opposite us and called again.  We were quiet as mice. But then we heard my grandmother hurrying away and screaming, "Gladys, them boys have done fell in that pond and drownded!" She repeatedly screamed until we couldn't hear her anymore. We knew it was time to get ashore and maybe hide somewhere, but we were not fast enough.  As we were securing the boat, my mother appeared. Her face was red.  She was disheveled and breathing hard from running.  And, there was a look on  her face that was not a loving motherly look.

"Your father will deal with you when he gets home, young man. And Jimbo, I'm sure yours will deal with you too,"  Mama said. When she called me "young man" I knew I was in trouble!

It was the end of our great adventure.  When Daddy got home from work he used a system of discipline that he said always worked on dogs and boys. "A stick on the behind sends a message to the mind!"

Can't wait 'til September.  I can sit down again then!