SLOW

SLOW.  I frequently see, and often ride directly over, that word, painted in large white block letters, extending across my lane of the local roads.  On a typical two-hour bicycle ride I encounter SLOW at least 10 and perhaps 20 times or more, at the entrance to and exit from each village or town and at many intersections within or between the towns.  

For an automobile driver the SLOW messages provide a warning of bumps, barriers or chicanes ahead, physical impediments designed to reduce the vehicle's speed.  On my bike I regard the SLOW messages as taunts, invariant and impassive reminders of my pitiful efforts at riding fast.  Like the colourful messages that fans chalk or spray across the road to encourage their favorite bicycle racer up a steep climb, but with a discouraging, perhaps even disparaging, intent.  SLOW as I finish my pretend sprint between towns; don't I know it.  SLOW as I pick up my cadence and raise my heart rate at the leaving edge of town; please don't remind me.  SLOW as the hilly lane I have just climbed merges with a busier road; well I can't go much faster.  SLOW as I ease back into Cambridge after a long ride; pretty much sums it up.

Occasionally I smile as I pass a speed limit sign with two simple digits: 30.  Often I rip past well in excess of 30, but of course I ride kilometres per hour while the sign refers to miles per hour.  Then the next SLOW marker passing beneath my wheels reminds me of Protoslow, a viscous solution used to slow down protozoans in a drop of pond water so one can examine them under a microscope.  I wonder who watches me through a great lens, gradually adding cycloslow to determine at what concentration I lose enough momentum to fall over.  Funny what a long ride can do to an old mind.

Imagine my surprise, then, when not once but twice in the past several days I had to touch brakes as I approached a SLOW mark, a mark I have crossed 30 times already this year.  On the Black Sheep of course, and perhaps with a slight tail wind, but not on a descent, not at an intersection, and not because the traffic ahead slowed.  No, I actually carried enough speed into this particular broad and gradual junction that I had to slow down, just as the message implied.  Getting faster after two months of reasonable mileage and training?  Feeling stronger as the weather improves?  Gradually losing my bicycle handling skills?  Small victory, I don't care the reason.   Ahead, six more SLOW reminders before I finish at Eden St.