The same heat that made the kitchen untenable made for a delightful night ride the couple of miles to the restaurant. Gina dressed in a flirty skirt and her favorite black stiletto heeled pumps, I donned a pair of my fine gabardine Classics and a not-too-bad print shirt, and off we went!
The old skool rubber block pedals on her city mixte, the Milk Runner, handled the pumps just fine, and I took Trevor Wong, since a dynamo means never having to say you're out of battery power. We cut through Park La Brea, a very old and elegant gated community of expensive highrise towers separated by garden blocks of townhouses and featuring roundabouts centered on sculpted fountains--a very quiet place, full of lamplight and shadows among the roadside trees.
Technically we're not allowed in there, but the guards take one look at my white beard and assume we belong....
The kid, poor wretch, drove to the restaurant, thus missing out on a sweet warm clear night just made for a ride or a stroll, but we had a good (though painfully expensive) dinner, gave him a thick book of graffiti art as a gift, and went our separate ways into the maternal softness of the night.
Today has been another hot day--the last for a while, it is claimed--and fortunately I have another reason to ride into the night: a meeting on the 4th Street bicycle Boulevard, which I mentioned a couple of posts back. (Everyone's invited, by the way.) Though I generally prefer colder weather these days, I'm looking forward to it.