There are many things I like about France... or more specifically, things I like about living in France. More about the distinction some other time.
But there are a few things I absolutely detest, and would change in a minute if I could... and at the top of that list is motor scooters without mufflers.
You must be eighteen to get a driver's license in France. You can, however, drive a scooter from age 14, provided the scooter's engine is less than 80cc. (I'm not a gear-head, but my sense is that in the US, such motors are reserved for the pre-school moto-cross set.) So French teenagers do whatever they can to soup up their tiny, tinny little bikes -- and the first step is ripping off the muffler.
As a result, I sit here in my room, with the window slightly ajar, and hear a local Peter-Fonda-wannabe from 3/4-miles away. At that distance, the bike sounds like a leaf-blower. As it gets closer, the sound becomes that of a chain-saw. And when the Monsieur Speed Racer careens down my street, it sounds like someone cutting up a steel drum on a band-saw. The pitch and timbre seek out key spots in my neck and back, and my shoulders hunch up my ears. Que Quasi Modo: "The bells! The bells!"
The weather has taken a turn towards spring lately. I welcomed this at first -- but on the first sunny day, I realized that I'd just as soon keep the rain, if it would keep the teen-chapter of Heck's Angels at bay. Alas, the sunshine continues, unabated. And given the way the same kids pass round and round the town on their scooters, popping wheelies, and accelerating / braking suddenly to induce skids or slides, I can only conclude that the nightlife here is as boring for them as it is for me.
But tough crap for them, damnit. I'm sick of the noise. Someone's got to put an end to this!
There's a music shop in town... I wonder if I can buy a length of piano wire?
But there are a few things I absolutely detest, and would change in a minute if I could... and at the top of that list is motor scooters without mufflers.
You must be eighteen to get a driver's license in France. You can, however, drive a scooter from age 14, provided the scooter's engine is less than 80cc. (I'm not a gear-head, but my sense is that in the US, such motors are reserved for the pre-school moto-cross set.) So French teenagers do whatever they can to soup up their tiny, tinny little bikes -- and the first step is ripping off the muffler.
As a result, I sit here in my room, with the window slightly ajar, and hear a local Peter-Fonda-wannabe from 3/4-miles away. At that distance, the bike sounds like a leaf-blower. As it gets closer, the sound becomes that of a chain-saw. And when the Monsieur Speed Racer careens down my street, it sounds like someone cutting up a steel drum on a band-saw. The pitch and timbre seek out key spots in my neck and back, and my shoulders hunch up my ears. Que Quasi Modo: "The bells! The bells!"
The weather has taken a turn towards spring lately. I welcomed this at first -- but on the first sunny day, I realized that I'd just as soon keep the rain, if it would keep the teen-chapter of Heck's Angels at bay. Alas, the sunshine continues, unabated. And given the way the same kids pass round and round the town on their scooters, popping wheelies, and accelerating / braking suddenly to induce skids or slides, I can only conclude that the nightlife here is as boring for them as it is for me.
But tough crap for them, damnit. I'm sick of the noise. Someone's got to put an end to this!
There's a music shop in town... I wonder if I can buy a length of piano wire?
1 comment:
Hi Andy, nice blog about your adventures in Europe, not only France. Nothing about you last evening in France, by Nelly & Pierre
and the us: Chris & ellie.
Cheers
Chris
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