Despite the blustery winds, which were really quite extravagant much for the day, and cold for SoCal, there were bicycles everywhere, and I don't mean on the beachside bike path, which was actually rather thinly populated; I mean on the streets, where it counts.
Nearly every restaurant, bistro, diner, and coffee shop I passed on my twelve-mile ride home had bicycles clustered outside or just arriving or leaving. And not hipster bikes mounted by the terminally hip, but the sorts of bikes ridden by middle-aged middle-class folks, the ones for whom driving has heretofore been as automatic as breathing.
Bikes were rolling up to the Surfas Café at the famous fancy kitchen supply store where I had left Gina with her bike while I rolled to the Bridge, and when we arrived at the Third Street Farmers Market we found the bike rack nearly full.
And that gives me far more hope than the disingenuous blither of corporate puppets at Copenhagen; butts on bikes will make more difference than cap-and-trade, today and in the future.
And it looks like it's happening....