PR5: Roosevelt Roads..."We Supply The Fleet"

I descended the lighthouse tower, grabbed my backpack, and discreetly made my way back onto narrow winding streets of Isabel Segunda back toward the ferry terminal area.

Some of the ubiquitous street roosters crossed my path here, but they were too quick for my shutter finger.

This clock at the "town square" (actually more of a triangle) shows perfectly how easy it is to keep track of the time on Vieques:

All four of its clock faces are stopped and displaying different incorrect times, and as usual I had no cell signal so my phone was still showing Chicago time, if anything. Despite life going on as usual, it seemed as though the hurricane had stopped time here, so I often had to be creative in figuring out how to make sure I was on time when I was supposed to be somewhere.

Above is one of the many abandoned, collapsed houses that occasionally dot the otherwise beautiful and reasonably well-kept streets. This one was particularly pretty thanks to the flowering vines starting to take it over.

Hungry, I went back into the cantina that I had visited for late dinner when I first arrived on the island. Being a Sunday they were closed, but I stopped and rested on their veranda for awhile, and took a shot of the large capsized shipwreck that was prominently visible in front of one of the upscale guesthouses (or whatever those were). I had seen it on Google Earth, but couldn't quite tell what it was and never got a glimpse of it except from here:

I wondered why it had apparently been sitting here for so long, and whether it was considered quaint by the tourists. On the flip side, if some old freighter wreck had washed up in downtown Detroit it would be seen not as quaint, but as blight, another thing for outsiders to criticize and point to as another symptom of "failed Detroit."

My ferry had arrived (you can see the lighthouse on the hill behind it) so it was time to grab a sandwich from the local bakery now that the line had diminished, and go into the terminal to eat it.

I had been mulling a tentative plan to take the other ferry once I got back to Ceiba, to the neighboring island of Culebra, and spend most of the day there. I decided that it would be too much rush to get back to San Juan afterward however, so I didn't do it. But Culebra is beautiful and much like Vieques, and there is a smaller islet you can get to from there called Culebrita, which has another ruined lighthouse like the one I saw here (actually much cooler). There is also a beach with an old half-buried Sherman tank on it. Oh well.

This time my passage across the Vieques Sound was during daylight and I could stay awake to make sure we weren't wasting time going in circles or conducting illicit arms deals with mysterious pirate ships under cover of darkness during our voyage. We were also allowed this time to use the upper deck where there were windows.

Back at the ferry terminal in Ceiba, I decided that it was time to wander Roosevelt Roads Naval Station for awhile before heading back toward San Juan. Here was an example of the many power lines and phone cables that were just laying down on the side of the road everywhere:

This was in front of a power substation near the terminal, and traffic from heavy utility trucks had made ruts in the mud. More power and communications utility wreckage:

I simply began walking back down the dead-end road that I had briefly explored on my late arrival a few days ago. This time I would actually check things out more closely and confidently.

These particular buildings had a guard or somebody parked in front of them today, since I think part of them were being used for storage. If you look close, the blue sign over the door on this building carries the slogan, "WE SUPPLY THE FLEET":

Walking further down the road past where I stopped last time, I started to get into the really abandoned stuff. Vines spilled out across the breadth of the road, huge wreckage from collapsed buildings lay strewn about, and wind-whipped debris still hung from a power pole where it had been since Maria unleashed her fury on this port exactly a year ago:

This part actually reminded me strangely of walking down the road through the Packard Plant in front of Al's place.

Much of the cladding had been ripped from the frames of these warehouses, while others were untouched. Not much remained inside any of them, and I resolved to keep hiking to the end before I stepped in to check out any structures.

I came to a fork where a driveway led off to a large office(?) building, which had a work site placard out front denoting permit information, hardhat and visitor sign-in requirements—and surprisingly, a warning that all activities were being video recorded:

Hmm, I guess I will pass that one up and hope it is the only one being surveilled.

There was some sort of recreational area here at the end of the road, with some locals fishing and blasting tunes from their cars. This strange combination bandshell / changing room was very overgrown:

I walked behind it to get a better bearing on where I was in relation to the large overgrown barracks buildings I had spotted on Google Earth as being worth a look.

Over there was where I wanted to be, I just had to figure out where to plunge into the jungle to find my prey.

Bopping through a tough tangle nearby, I found someone's covert fishing spot...

Some sort of water intake or something...

I had to go back to the main road and try a certain side-street I thought looked promising earlier:

There was actually a bus stop shelter in that overgrowth on the corner, but it had been totally swallowed. A light barricade was placed across this street to keep people from driving in, I presumed. There weren't any "NO TRESPASSING" signs anywhere that I could see, so I helped myself.

This used to be a road wide enough for cars, but now the plants were brushing both of my shoulders as I pushed through. Looking into the thicket on my right I could see that this was actually not just a single street but once had been a boulevard, with the other side now almost totally eaten by the jungle.

It was fitting to explore a naval base on Veteran's Day I suppose; in fact today was the 100th anniversary of the end of WWI.

The first structure I came across (that I could see) was unimpressive at best, essentially just a temporary pod unit outfitted as office space.

Approaching another barely perceptible intersection, I could now see the white walls of the first large barracks or dorm building I was looking for looming ahead.

According to what I saw on aerial view, there was a row of four of these things, all of them with foliage grown right up to them. Somehow, I only found this one...perhaps I was in the wrong place, perhaps they had been torn down and the aerial images were out of date, but I saw no evidence anywhere of demolition.

I dove through the cobwebbed branches to get up close and behold this marvel of fine military architecture.

Can you sense my sarcasm?

Hey man, I'm just here for the ruin porn.

Actually, this was a little bit less than what I was expecting. Instead of a Roosevelt-era Art Deco time capsule, I was looking at a HoJo next to the Interstate in Anytown, USA.

All the doors were on the outside, so it was like exploring a motel.

I went through one of the identical rooms and snapped these two pics, and called it good.

Corner staircase:

Central administration area:

Come to think of it, I didn't even go upstairs or try to get on the roof.

Other side:

Good thing the jungle was here to make it photogenic.

I took a water break and kept it moving, toward where I knew the rest of the buildings I saw near the water would be.

Here was a row of some smaller, differenter barracks. Maybe they were for officers or NCOs?

I could see the docks coming into view.

It was a fine Caribbean day, but I kept my turban wrapped around my head.

Obligatory building shot:

Here comes something interesting...

Hey, a little cantina or pergola or something:

Looks like a bar in the center, or maybe a DJ booth:

This also reinforced my perception that this area was for officers or NCOs.

Roof was gone, and here come the vines again. Sure is a cool spot though.

Wading back through the tall grass.

Barely-visible, mostly-swallowed structures were everywhere during the tenure of my trip, but I rarely photographed them. Here is one:

Heading back toward the port area of this part of the base, I skirted around a fence by walking the waterfront.

I was now leaving the residential part of the base and entering the industrial part. Keep in mind that what you're seeing me walk through here is the merest fraction of the acreage that the Roosevelt Roads Naval Station encompasses. There is no way you could explore the whole thing on foot, or in one single day. I just picked an area with a good number of buildings that looked doable, that wasn't too far out of my way. I was only 0.7 miles from the ferry, or roughly the length of the Packard Plant.

On another peninsula miles across the bay, I could see a communication outpost of some sort:

Big docks ahead:

A cluster of buildings, some mostly destroyed:

More rows of warehouses:

Oh cool, faded military art:

These kinds of murals are usually prevalent at any military installation, depicting the logo or mascot of the particular unit that is assigned to the post. This one shows a red rat(?) riding a hammerhead shark while toting a machinegun equipped with a grenade launcher, under the slogan "DET CARIB, TIP OF THE SPEAR."

Going inside one of the warehouses.

This must be like where they store the UFOs that the military captures in the Bermuda Triangle, and where they keep the aliens and try to make them eat Count Chocula and Hot Pockets and other ridiculous Earth food to see what it does to them.

Making my way toward the big piers.

This was definitely an area where large equipment loaded bulk cargo onto waiting ships. Huge used tires lay stacked up here and there.

This was probably one of the most mundane of posts in the entire scope of naval duty, contrary to the high adventure touted on the glossy recruitment posters showing Navy SEALs jumping out of helicopters, or riding hammerhead sharks while toting machineguns.

Nope, none of that here. But if running a forklift and moving crates of macaroni and Count Chocula from dusk 'til dawn suits your fancy, then do we have a job for you, sailor!

Hmm, apparently there was a little more than just macaroni being forklifted around in this building...

Oh hey look—another Michigan connection: this crane was built in Muskegon.

This must be the room where the extra-spicy macaroni was kept:

Well, nothing much else to see in here.

I took a water break and let my sweaty back dry off in this nice cool spot for awhile before deciding I had seen enough of Roosevelt Roads. I had to somehow get a taxi back to San Juan, although I had seen none at the ferry terminal when we arrived, which was strange. Only locals with relatives picking them up in cars. So I guess I had to figure that out, because my plan for today was to get to San Juan's old quarter and do some sightseeing there for the balance of the evening, try to find a cheap place to stay, and be ready for my flight home tomorrow afternoon.

As I was walking back along that narrow overgrown driveway to the main road, my daylight at the end of the tunnel was suddenly blocked by the Sheriff car pulling to a stop across my path. Uh-oh. This wasn't a coincidence.

I just kept walking towards him, making sure my hands were visible, and pulling my turban back so he could see my face. It's not like I could have ran anywhere, and it's not like he was jumping out to aim a machinegun at my head. I started mentally rehearsing my Spanish as I walked the last 20 yards or so to his car. His dark aviator sunglasses and bronzed attack-dog face stared a hole through my chest as I came up to his passenger window, which rolled down. He simply said, "Bueno."

"Bueno, habla Inglés?"
He replied "Poco," (a little), so I went into my best charade laced with words like "mi touristica," and "photographia," while making an emphatic camera motion with my hands, and explained that I had just got off the ferry and was looking for taxi to San Juan. I can't remember what he said, if anything, but it was clear that he just wanted me to scram. So I did. How he knew where I was I don't know, but he must have been monitoring me for some time.

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