Where is he going? Every couple days or so I spot him leading the trail of cars that’s anxiously trying to get around him. Other oncoming traffic and myself keeps this from happening and deep down I’m glad. He’s confident, black, and moving at a slow pace down the 40 mile per hour stretch. I’m unable to guess his age and I worry that one of these crazy drivers will strike him; knocking off his Kangol cap and harming what I believe to be a good soul.

He looks like he could be someone’s grandpa. He’s dressed in khakis and a jacket that hangs on either side of his bicycle; a sweater or plain button-up underneath. It’s usually around 4:47pm when I spot him, just before I go through two more roundabouts and make my way onto I-465 South, a tad closer to home. I wonder where he’s going or if he’s just running an errand. Regardless of where he’s headed, I always enter that first roundabout hoping that he makes it to his destination safely.

We’re all in such a hurry at the end of the workday. Rushing home to whatever petty matter we feel is of the utmost importance. For me, that’s getting off the road and home to my yoga shorts. The man on the bike reminds me to slow down; to take my time. Slow and steady wins the race. Slow and steady keeps you safe. A piece of me smiles each time I see him, because to me, it’s him letting me know he’s safe.