“One hour in” is a single snapshot in a winter commute. At one hour in, there was another 20 minutes to go.
At one hour in, it was a brisk, dry 39 degrees. There was a northwest wind blowing at 10-15 mph and I was headed south. After rolling out in darkness, stars, and a piece of moon, at one hour in, the southeast horizon was glowing like a royal crown. The road was empty. I was alone in, relative to me, still air. Silent, save the humming of tires on pavement and my own rhythmic breathing.
At one hour in, my body was warm. I had established a rhythm, not only in respiration, but in locomotion. Legs spun pedals easily, steady as a metronome. At one hour in, I’d burned about 500 of the 700 calories needed for the route. I reveled in my good fortune.
At one hour in, a goofy grin formed on my face and I took out my camera to take a snapshot of my bike gliding like wind.
Pondero 
That’s beautiful! There’s nothing better than that time when you’re riding and everything just feels right.
I really love the “goofy grin”. Make’s it all worthwhile.
It’s not always quite so perfect. But when it is, rural Denton County is as good as anyplace in the world to me.