After a few lazy, food and booze filled days with Dave, I was feeling slow. Waking up was a more arduous process than it should have been. Packing my bike was a disorganized nightmare. Even getting my bike out Dave's apartment was a clunky, awkward process. Kona felt like an extension of me any other day; today, we were a couple in one long, passive aggresive argument. And the world was just as difficult.
The flooding that occurred in Houston not long before I arrived was still causing problems all over the city. Roads and utilities were being worked on everywhere. The pedestrian and bike paths weren't fairing any better. I was forced to slowly wind my way through Houston until I eventually emerged to the suburbs in the Northeast. And from there, the bike paths were plentiful and empty. After a quick stop at a grocery store for some food and a pleasant chat with some fellow local cyclists, I felt myself loosening up. I was now getting back into the groove a bit. And as I meandered out of Houston towards a state park, I began to feel better. I was looking forward to being back in a state park and that my parents would be visiting in a few days.
And when I rolled into Stephen F. Austin State Park I was blown away by the quiet, hidden beauty in Texas. The trees stood tall and proud as a cool, lazy breeze wound its way around the branches above and the tents below. I sat for a bit in my tent after dinner, just sitting and looking around. It was the first time in a while I had truly just sat and enjoyed the scenery. And it was just so gorgeous. "Excuse me, you're the cyclist guy right?" A middle aged man called out, smiling.
I snapped out of my peaceful lull and quickly greeted the man. His name was Steve and he was a geologist. He had been basically living in the park, doing contracting work for various companies and had become familiar with the camp host. When I arrived at the camp, I had talked to the rangers in the visitors station. They asked about my trip and I told them about it. They must have told the camp host and the news spread. Not that I thought of myself as news or even vaguely important, but this man seemed to disagree. When the camp host told him about me and my trip, Steve wanted to chat. He had completed a long bike trip himself all over the country. He talked about how the Rockies were easy compared to the Ozark Mountains in Missouri and that he had even done one trip on a titanium tandem bike with his wife. Him and I swapped stories for a while before he had to return to camp to make supper, making sure to get my blog before he left.
And then another gentlemen approached. "Yer the cyclin' guy right?" he eagerly called out, right hand already extended for a handshake. "I guess so" I replied as I shook his hand with a smile. I quickly found myself in another conversation about my trip, this time with Tod. Tod was a very nice man who was with his kids' boy scout troop. He politely asked if in the morning I would talk about some of the basics of the outdoors with the boys. I wanted to immediately agree, but I had to be mindful about my timing. "What time is wake up call for them?" I asked. He told me that the troop gets up early, but that I wouldn't really talk to them until about 10am or so. I unfortunately had to turn him down as I had to get up early to crank out as many miles as I could. I was on a schedule for this portion of my trip. Tod understood and shook my hand before grabbing a photo of me with his son. And I returned to my tent as the sun disappeared, returning to a meditation-like state as I stared up at the trees and stars above.
And I only really have one thought about today: this country and it's people are beautiful.