If this is life in the slow lane, why is everyone going so fast?

The way I see it, every small town in coastal Maine needs speed bumps even more than it does a police cruiser and radar gun. Speed bumps force folks to ease off the accelerator; a marked cruiser, however, might just be on the other side of town from a culprit.

Take our town of about 15 miles of road consisting of narrow, winding streets leading around blind curves, up sharp hills, through patches of forests and – from every direction – down to the shore. Our town is probably like yours, and you are complaining about speeders as well.

In some spots, the paved road is too close to an outcropping of ledge; in other spots, the road meanders between deep ditches further eroded by winter’s freeze and thaw. There are dangerous crevices near culverts that could ensnare a wheel.

Some roads are gravel and bumpy as a washboard. These tend to slow down motorists who fear for their back-end shocks, if not the fillings in their teeth. Other roads are smooth from recent paving and, thus, attractive to skateboarders, cyclists, joggers, walkers, baby strollers – and speeders. Pickup trucks operated by men and SUVs driven by women are the obvious worst offenders. Put cell phones in any of these people’s hands, and a bad situation becomes worse.

The scenario is scary: A curve right in the heart of the village or a crosswalk between businesses or a four-way intersection or a driveway directly at the road’s bend or a straightaway through a newly populated subdivision.

All of these locations are maneuverable at slow speed, which is the reasonable speed in a town where roads were built for horses and wagons, not V-8 engines in vehicles longer than most garages.

This description could fit most Down East communities around the turn of the century; it happens to be from Myra Smith Earl’s book “Fond Memory,” but pertains today.

“It was in spring, there was a heavy rain falling and the road was a sea of mud. … For years and years, he was ro’d commissioner, the prevailing method then of making a good road for summer use being to plough along the ditch on either side, throwing the sod into the middle of the road, where man and beast stumbled over it for months until it became pulverized.”

That sounds better – certainly safer – than road conditions and driving practices in our villages today where everyone, in every kind of vehicle, seems to be in a dadgummed hurry to get from way over yonder to right around here. By most accounts, a short distance indeed.

The olden days were better – certainly safer. Maybe we could return to what was dubbed a “Democrat wagon”: a light, one horse vehicle with a flat bottom, narrow sides 6 inches high, a tail board and two moveable seats that fitted onto the sides with U-shaped pieces of strap iron. The sets could be slid back and forth along the sides or removed altogether. Thus the owner could use his wagon like a buggy, with a single seat, or he could fit in the second seat and take the whole family for a Sunday afternoon ride.

Or more reasonable for today, install speed bumps or other traffic signals that warn travelers to “hold their horses.”