A couple days ago, my friends Bryan&Amy (who, incidentally, live in the apartment above mine) called me up and asked if I wanted to take a bike ride down to a local ice cream shop called Liks.
Obviously I said yes. I mean, come on, I might be lactose intolerant, but it's handmade ice cream in, like, a zillion flavors.
We took off when it was still light out. We took back roads through quiet neighborhoods. We've had a lot of rain here lately, and all the budding trees decided at once to unroll their leaves. It was all golden and green and warm. There's nothing like riding your bike in late, late afternoon to bring you straight back to childhood.
We sat out on Liks patio, where I enjoyed my supernormal stimulus of a s'mores cone. There was a black lab tied to a nearby bench who was happily snuffling up all the scents the warm evening breeze brought him. The light went from gold to orange to a dusky blueish purple.
We rode home in semi-darkness, as the light leaked away over the mountains, and it felt like being at summer camp. There was the same kind of reckless happiness. We pedaled hard, zipping down hills and racing past sleepy houses, grinning. We joked about clothespinning playing cards to our wheels and wearing denim jackets, forming our own neighborhood bike gang.
This might have to become a weekly thing.
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