Slow movements


Primrose’s first ride on her new Velorbis was into a wicked cold headwind and averaged 15km per hour—I know that because it took us an hour to complete my 15km morning commute, for which she joined me. Her eyes were glistening glassy when we arrived, too late as it would happen for anything more productive than a leisurely latte while we gazed at our chained up bikes through the cafe window. Though the "slow cycling movement" is not really a movement, but a slogan anyone can use to postrationalize getting there late, I see in these photos our slippage into some some sort of movement—in my case quite likely a middle aged bowel one! 
 

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