A South Florida Saturday morning – I’m up early, had to run some errands.
So around 8am, I’m in-line, waiting to go into a “gated community.” The entrance represents the Florida real estate go-go days of a year ago – huge fountain, plants everywhere, big guard gate, where the guards carry guns and require photo IDs to enter (why? I have no idea. It is easier to get past airport security than to get into some of these places).
I’m in a line of seven cars or so waiting to get it, so I can see the cars leaving the community coming out the other side. Lexus, Audi, Lexus, Lexus, Porsche, Maserati? vintage Ford Mustang! nice!
Baaaallllllooooooooooommmmmmm! A huge rumble to my left. I look up just in time to see five guys leaving on terrific looking, awesome bikes. Leathers, dirt, patches – these guys look great. Tough. Probably a little mean. The lure of the road. Calling them.
From their gated community.
For nothing screams bad-ass like a bunch of guys roaring out from behind the guarded gates that surround their multi-million dollar golf course homes.
Florida! The New California*
(*stolen from the NYT)
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