According to my watch, it's 11:20 p.m. and 87 degrees in my apartment. This is the kind of weather I purportedly love, yet I grumble as I get the fan out of the kitchen and bring it to my living room because it's too hot just sitting in front of my computer. But it's an acclimation thing, if it was like this all Summer I'm sure I'd be perfectly chirping, and come September I'd be looking forward to the cool down and leaves changing color, bracing for Winter. But it hasn't been like this all Summer, just the odd few days here and there. I don't have a point here, in case you were wondering. I think I heard the New York tri-state area just experienced one of its wettest Summers on record.

I was planning to go for a ride in the Santa Cruz Mountains, down by Woodside, one of the Bay Area's weekend cycling hot-spots, but as soon as I stepped outside I scrapped that idea - way too hot. Tackling those climbs in these temps is a recipe for getting fu'd up. So I drove to the Golden Gate Bridge and rode up into Marin from there. It was still pretty freaky hot, but at least it was flat. I wanted to see how far it was to ride to Fairfax.

It was actually pretty neat. I rode through towns I had only heard of in weather reports, like Corte Madera and Larkspur. It was all flat except for one quick and easy 300' climb, and I rode through San Anselmo, which I was familiar with, having spent some time there hanging out with a woman soon after I got to the Bay Area. Sherilyn Chew, I wonder what happened to her. She was so adorable, she was a French major or something and she used to mutter to herself in French. Or with a French accent. I forget which, but it amused me to no end.

I'm pretty sure I recognized the road that went to her house, but I'd be surprised if I could find it. Never would I have imagined that I'd be riding my bike through San Anselmo, much less ride to San Anselmo. It was about 18 miles to Fairfax.