Speed has become a passion, an obsession. Religion in the world we live in. The world's
stuck and fast forward. We try to do more and more, but less in this time. We turn every
moment of every day into a race to the finish line. The finish line we never reach. But
decelerating is hard and for some of us the easiest ways to slow down is to speed up.
When wheels are spinning in pedal's turn, when a hundred revolutions occur each minute,
that's when we start to listen to our ranting or cheering or swearing. When the white noise
of the wind in our face drowns out everyday's worries. When, with every mile passing by,
those to-do lists become less urgent. Because in between all those goals, there's a thing
called life that has to be lived and enjoyed. It is time to set goals that mean nothing to
anyone else but us. So we keep on riding, to the next corner, to the hill, to the mountain pass.
We inhale the impressions, counting the median strips rushing by, spectators along the road,
views flashing and fading, the sensation of cutting through the air, a parade of sensual
impressions, a meditation on repetition and change, a sun's salutation from the south.
And in the end of the day, it is a new slow, a good slow, a fulfilled slow, and we know
with every fiber of our muscle and every cell of our body what it is that made us come here
and why we return.
