6 O'clock came and I was ready to roll. On a whim, I saddled up my Trek FX 7.1 hybrid and took off. Traffic was light, but what little cool air might have been left over from last night was already dissipating as I picked up speed on Bailey Boswell Road, just north of Fort Worth. I've never cycled north of my own neighborhood, so I decided to head towards Bonds Ranch Road and cycle toward Eagle Mountain Lake.
I've driven over these roads hundreds of times over the past twenty years, but slowing down and seeing them from the seat of my bicycle gave me a new appreciation for the subtle beauty that abounds in the humblest of landscapes. At the crest of each hill I climbed, I leisurely scanned the horizon and took in the rolling, grassy plains, or what's left of them, and imagined what it must have been like when the Comanches were still hunting these parts.
Always leaning towards romantic sentimentalism, I was kept grounded by the very real threat of being bumped off the road by work trucks and soccer moms. When Bonds Ranch Road ended at Morris Dido Newark, I took in the view of Eagle Mountain Lake and the power plant, and then headed south towards Saginaw. Soon, I was forced into using my lowest gears as I tried to climb on hellacious curving hill without the benefit of a shoulder to give me elbow room.
Those commuters from Newark, Aurora, Boyd, and other parts north westward had little concern for my personal space, and I have to admit I may have flinched a few times to avoid their rear view mirrors.
I made it all the way back to Bailey Boswell without incident, and walked into the house, steaming and exhilarated, ready to resume my duties as "Mr. Mom."