Another Sunday, another ride, destination unknown, with Team Happy Hour. The usual meetup at I. Martin. Half of us comparing notes about the Marathon Crash.

We roll out, and it’s a good day. I still have lingering sinus issues, but I’m pacesetting. Not because I’m awesome, but because others are hanging back. Still, better to be at the front than off the back. I’m flying up and down hills. I’m rolling through neighborhoods that should break my heart, that should bring me to tears thinking the opportunities I blew in my youth, and they’re not. I’m totally in the moment, enjoying the sight of the squalor and wealth, the urban grit and the natural splendor, all cheek by jowl.

About halfway through our loop, we call it. It’s not everyone’s day today, but if everything goes as planned, then it’s not an adventure. We take the light rail/subway back to Hollywood and coast home. I take the admonition not to take bikes on the escalators seriously, lose a cafe clip climbing and descending staircases with my bike hefted on my shoulder, and think, “Hmmm. Cyclocross?”

Note to Los Angeles drivers: thousands of you were fabulous today. The three of you who parked in the bike lane near the Silverlake reservoir and the driver of the black pickup who nearly clipped me on Vine? You suck.

So, a good ride, good students this evening, and then Pizzeria Mozza for dinner. (read: really good dinner. I think the douchebag doctor from The Mindy Project was at the next table, but he could have been any other handsome guy. We were easily the oldest and ugliest people in the room, and I’m okay with that. We ordered more desert than we could eat, and when we asked for a box to take the leftovers home, our hostess was skeptical. I assured her that we lived nearby, and as soon as the box arrived, I loaded it up and flew out of there, leaving others to settle the bill.

And here are three reasons why I really love LA, the maraschino cherries on the top of a gelato sunday:

1. As I started to cross Melrose in my impossibly high heeled sandals, the BMW turning right onto Melrose stopped and gave me my crosswalk.
2. The teenager in his beats headphones stopped to say, “you look beautiful tonight.”
3. The restaurant worker cycling down the sidewalk, cigarette dangling from her mouth, thanked me for stepping out of her way.

I hope you all made it home as safely as those Mozza desserts chilling in my freezer. I hope your tomorrow is going to be as sweet as my reunion with all that frozen goodness.