Unbeknownst to us, we were in Key West the same week Spring Break had begun, as well as the last few days of Daytona Bike Week’s 75th anniversary. So instead of retirees and families of four on vacation, we got leather-clad Harley riders and 20-somethings looking to get smashed on mixed drinks at any and all of the bars down Duval. Unfortunate, yes, but when life gives you lemons, er, drunk idiots, you just need to be willing to walk. And walk we did. From one end of the island to the other. We found a quiet little café called The Café that served mostly vegetarian meals and damn fine draught beers, among other things. Inside was a 75-year-old man, tanned and wearing a bright blue Reyn Spooner shirt, who explained how he’d ended up living in Key West for nearly 19 years; a place that was supposed to be nothing more than a short stop on his sailing adventure around the world. We then ate soft-serve with sprinkles, as we do, and walked the rest of the way across the island to Fort Zachary Taylor where we traded khakis for aquatic breeches and went for a swim in the sea. Afterward, we stopped at the Southernmost Point, snapped a photo and moved on. The next day we explored the island further afoot and eventually found ourselves inside a small establishment frequented and full of locals whose happy hour consisted of a cocktail menu and a pair of dice. You roll a one and your drink is a dollar, a two and your drink is two-dollars, a three and its half-off. Anything higher and you pay full price. Hot damn it was fun, and after three cocktails each we were feeling feisty and only 20 dollars deep (Kyra is clearly a lucky lady). The night ended, like all good nights, with a late meal and dessert.