The weather in Florida is beautiful this time of year. We sleep with our windows open. The road isn't close but, of course, we still hear the distant sound of fast motorcycles in motion.
First there's the angry growl as the motorcycle launches, mounting into an insistent whine as the revs soar.
We hear the rider speed-shift to second gear, and the sound becomes a distant scream as the motorcycle hurtles forward.
Then there's the shift to third. He's really going now.
I'm not disturbed.
In fact, I'm amused, because here's what happens next: ZZZZZZzzzzzz... zilch.
At that speed no motorcycle is going to hit fourth gear in Fort Lauderdale before it encounters a red light. I once counted 62 stop lights on my then 25-mile commute to work.
I used to get up early to go to work on my Royal Enfield Bullet. Of course I had changed out the quiet factory muffler for a louder silencer in the hope of find a little extra power.
Very little extra power was found, but I did like the sound. I hoped my neighbors weren't trying to sleep with their windows open.
My own "alarm clock" in those days was someone else's motorcycle. I listened for the sound of him kicking it into life. He didn't live nearby, I could tell, but he wasn't too far away either.
He believed in letting the motorcycle warm up several minutes before riding off. Its gentle thump led me to suspect that it was a Royal Enfield.
But although I was glad to wake up to the soft music of his distant motorcycle, I never got out of bed early enough to try to track him down by the sound.
The guy must have moved, because I haven't heard his motorcycle now in years. That's OK. I'm retired, and don't really need an alarm clock anymore.
I still enjoy getting up early to ride my own Royal Enfield, even though I have no where special to go.
The neighbors haven't complained. Yet.
