Is it Me?

It seems like great fun to me. But I almost always do this alone. It must be my bike.

Destination: Spring Creek Bridge

Since riding a bike for training purposes has been abandoned, other more frivolous objectives have been substituted for my bicycle outings. Sometimes the objective is camping or coffee brew-ups. Often the objective is reconnaissance.

Numerous delightful places have been found after field investigation of interesting spots identified while perusing Google’s photos.

There is a curved bridge on County Road 321 crossing Spring Creek up in Cooke County. That was the target destination for today. It was a simple out and back route.

On the way out, the only sounds were a roaring wind and the flapping of my windbreaker and pants. It was a slow, persistent crawl that promoted keen observation, frequent stops for photos, and brief conversations with the livestock.

The photo above shows the curved bridge coming into view. It’s the light spot among the trees just left of center and a little below the horizon.

The bridge is relatively new. It stands out conspicuously in the midst of the same old gravel or dirt roads at both ends.  Even so, there are many similar locations in this part of Texas where old, feeble one-lane bridges have been replaced with higher, wider, safer ones.

Encounter – Just past the trees that line the road on the left side, a farm truck came slowly slip-sliding toward me in the muddy road. I had pulled over to the left side to take a photo. The truck slowed even more, and stopped next to me. The passenger window was buzzed down, and the first thing I saw was a small child in a car seat.

As my eyes moved right toward the driver, a young mother leaned toward the open window, smiled, and said, “I’m trying to not splash you.”

I simply smiled and said, “Thank you!”

Then she said, “Have a great day!”, rolled up the window, and drove on.  How neighborly.

On the way home, the fierce wind had transformed itself into my best friend. Extended climbs in the big ring were easier than pedaling downhill in the small ring only moments before.

Speaking of neighbors, we have interesting ones.

On the way back, the only sounds were the wind whistling across barbed wire strands and the hum of tires on the road. Even while moving at speed and being so close to home, it doesn’t hurt a thing to squeeze the brakes, pause, and take in a deep, refreshing look at that lovely Clear Creek valley.