Roadies in Kentucky

On my way to church this morning (I was a few minutes late), I was driving a little faster than normal to make up my deficit. Most of the roads I drive en route are single-lane (with no shoulders in case another car is coming from the opposite direction; all this just to make the adrenaline flow a little faster) or are double-laned, but narrow. There's no room for a Hummer on one side and a small scooter on the other. I think Kentucky drivers, who live in the "country", must pray a lot that they won't be creamed or run off the road into a ditch. I know I do.

Back to the story--I'm driving along and I see something on the road ahead of me shaped like half a football with four legs, a tail and a long neck with a small head. I stop (there isn't much traffic early on a Sunday morning) and wait for Mr. Turtle to slowly work his way across the road to get to the other side (and I wonder, as I watch, if turtles know the answer to the chicken question about why they cross the road). I realize that the words "scoot", "hurry", "speed-up", or "move it" are not in the turtle's lexicon. I am now officially late, so, after Brother Turtle finishes his journey, I "hurry" on with my task, hoping I won't meet another turtle or some deer (met five of them yesterday afternoon crossing the same road--there must be some animal map with this particular spot noted as a "safe crossing" which all the local furry or shelled folks read). I'm feeling confident that I can make up for my lost time until I come around a curve and find a bicyclist ahead of me. I'm on that narrow road with no shoulders (well, I have shoulders, but the road doesn't), no turn out, and a double yellow line. What's a frantic motorist to do? No, I didn't run over the cyclist (it's Sunday and I'm going to church, so I'm thinking generous, charitable thoughts--the murderous ones will come along Monday morning). I just slowed down and contemplated how late I might be if I had to follow him all the way to church. Then I contemplated how much the ticket would cost if I went around him in a no passing zone. I bought the ticket (well, not literally, because there were no police around for my little motoring indiscretion) and zipped passed the cyclist. I was only five minutes late. Moral of the story--leave early, plan on obstacles in the road--four and two-legged, and remember the moral to Aesop's tale that slow and steady wins the race. And, being old and slow, and not necessarily steady, I think this is a good motto for my driving excursions. However, I do not believe these attributes can ever be used in the same sentence with the word "race"...