It was always strange for a girl to be interested in the biking, cycling, racing, and all those things that are considered boy-like in the monotonous community of Texas.
One of the things that caught my eye in San Antonio was the number of mountain bikers.
Texas is a wonderful place for a mountain biker especially if it is not the rainy period. Mountain biking has always been one that I love doing. I developed an interest in when I was a kid, and I saw my older brothers and cousins engaging in it. Many times, they would travel from Florida, which was where we lived, to other states where they could ride their bikes on the mountain.
Stanley was very eager. He had always been curious and liked to try new things. The next thing we did was ascertain and deliberate on the perfect place to perform the activity. After going through many options, we finally settled on Texas, the Barton Creek Greenbelt to be exact.
It was the perfect Sunday. I had studied the McKinney Falls State Park for months, and I had prepared my body and my mountain bike for that day as well. At that point, I knew everything you can know about the park without ever stepping on it. Every review, every story, everything everybody had every said about the park – I knew it. I got up way earlier than necessary today. I was a very strange representation of a kid waking up at dawn on Christmas day. The sun woke me up showering my room in golden tints, and if I concentrated enough, I swear I was able to smell the woods as if my dreams were still clinging to my skin.
I quietly slipped out of our summer house and crept to the backyard shed. The bike was there, just as I had left it. I quickly changed into my hiking kit before anyone in the house could wake up and realize that I was gone. I got my bike out of the shed and walked far away from the house. The morning was still quite dewy, but I didn’t mind, I climbed the bike and rode on.