Ah, yes, such a beautiful Monday morning here in the scenic western suburbs of Chicago.  The birds are singing sweetly, the sun is shining, the grass wet from an early morning shower.  For some reason, the coffee has a touch more of a bite on mornings like this, my senses heightened by the rush of the beauty around me.


While all of the above is true, the real truth is that I am sitting in a restaurant while I wait for my son to finish his round of golf in his league.  I’m a bit torched from yesterday’s activity, but what I would really like to be doing right now is spinning out the cobwebs on my road bike right now, soaking in farmland west of Batavia, my favorite roads the open country out there, the rolling hills an exhilarating mix of exertion and downhill rush.  What I anticipated doing this morning was playing dad taxi to Nate with my bike ready to go, leave for a ride out to Johnson’s Mound while he knocks the ball around the course.  The Mound is one of the highest points in the area, a forest preserve with a smooth asphalt lane that loops through the woods of the mound.  There is a quarter mile climb on the back side that is steep enough to addle one’s brain for a few moments, the breaths coming heavy as I near the top, gears mashing as I push to keep the bike moving.

Maybe this afternoon.  It was enough just to get Nate and I both out of the house in time to make his 7:28 tee time.  We loaded his clubs into the back of my little PT Cruiser, not enough room left for my bicycle.  It’s OK.  If I really want to ride, and I do want to ride, I will likely have time this afternoon.  In the meantime, I can sit back with my coffee and relax.

There have been casual dad Mondays where I have failed to advise my wife that I was taking the day off.  That backfired one time when she noticed my car was in the driveway, but my road bicycle was gone.  I ignored my cell phone until around the third or fourth time she called.

“Where are you at?”

“At the spandex bar.”



Until I have to get Nate to his next destination — tennis camp.  Yes, the apple did not fall far from the tree.  My son never stops either.

So much for my day off.  I kind of enjoy this.  but the Mound is calling my name……