The rain stopped, the wind rose, temperatures dropped through the 30s, and I took the GT out for a mid-afternoon ride on the Minuteman. Puddles here and there held the sky and the treetops, now and again had already glazed over in the colder spots in Lexington, rolled over those with the studded Nokians. The low sun peered fiercely over the southern horizon, casting sharp shadows of the bike, the rider, and the occasional park bench that were projected far into Arlington's Great Meadow. The bare trees cast their shadows too, striping the trail like a barcode, which I rode through, the left eye flickering outbound, the right eye inbound. I found that I could read the message in the flicker, which I transcribed: IF YOU DON'T STOP DOING THAT YOU'LL GO BLIND.
rod