About thirty miles' worth, actually. Stopped by the old folks' home to pick up the business card of the doctor who will be taking care of my mom henceforth. (I did not go into a house packed with eighty- and ninety-year-olds while I was writhing with viruses, but had the administrator bring the card to me outside.)
Next stop was delivering a hat and T-shirt to Eric, one of the fellows I'd met at Caffe Luxxe a couple of weeks ago--I go west often enough that I can do a favor now and then. Very nice fellow; we had a good chat out in his little yard, where the seabreeze could blow my germs away.
Then to the Marina del Rey hospital where my mom had been for a bladder infection to clear up a minor matter involving records, after which it was back along Lincoln Boulevard--a horrible street that would drive James Howard Kunstler to new levels of justified rage--to visit the wonderful Yolanda, late of Bikerowave; we chatted over tea, then rode to lunch at Bharat Bazaar, where I had excellent curry and picked up a new box of Assam tea for my morning chai.
A stop at Bill Mendell's place to drop off a printout I'd made for him (his printer is dead), and then home.
Apart from Lincoln, some sweet miles, the Bottecchia light, though not quite as swift, as ever. Virus be damned; a good day's ride at an easy pace.
Followed by collapse, of course.