I woke up to a sparkling blue sky and ideal bike riding weather. (Aah, California.) I did my usual ride preparation, which involves chatting online, drinking water, and eating energy bars. Eventually I dragged myself out the door with my book in my back pocket, my CD player, and all that.

For some reason, I was feeling adventuresome. Instead of my usual bike path, the Way of the Sacred Chicken, I decided to take another shot at finding the bike path that was purportedly along the bay in the other direction. I'd looked for it before, but found only a small part of a path that basically offers a freeway overpass as the scenic highlight.

Whereupon I discovered that, hey! I'm a moron!

Literally half a mile from my house, there is a dead-end street that I've never bothered to drive to the end of before. Had I done so, I would have noticed Point Isabel, a beautiful recreation area with a huge dog park and a bike path and pretty much anything a girl could ask for. It's less than a mile from my house. I have never been there before. Pardon me while I smack my head like Chris Farley. "Stupid! Stupid!"

First I got to pet a whole bunch of fluffy, friendly, romping dogs. I asked some dog-owners where the bike path might be, and they pointed me in the right direction. (The bike riders are separated by a fence from the romping dogs.)

I found an entrance to the path, and right away I saw one of my favorite things: an information sign. Fact about me: I love reading information signs. Anything that contains bits of trivia, facts, history, data... I am there. It makes me a pain in the ass at museums and elsewhere, because I am compelled to read every single placard I can find.

I possibly lost out on some important exercise benefits, since I kept stopping to read the signs. One sign said that the bike path used to be railroad tracks, except that the tracks were never used (because WWII started and they built a shipyard instead). There are still remnants of the railroad, like old wooden bridges and picturesque trestles and so forth.

Another sign described all the different types of marsh birds in the area. None of them were birds I had ever heard of, but there they were, in the marsh, just as advertised. I was able to do some Wildlife Observation while on my bike ride.

There were more signs about the history of the area, photos of some elderly society ladies who stopped The Man from filling in part of the bay, descriptions of the coastline topography, explanations of the landmarks you're looking at across the bay, and all sorts of interesting things. Fact signs! Damnit, I love 'em.

The bike path is, in a word, idyllic. (Especially today, what with the perfect weather and the lack of crowds.) It's almost perfectly flat; the scenery is breathtaking; there are patches of soft grass where you could curl up with a book and an energy bar if you were so inclined.

It was wonderful. At one point, my CD stopped playing and I didn't notice, not for miles. When I finally did notice, I left it off and actively started listening to birds and lapping water, and I pondered life Zenly.

The lust came in when the path took me around the marina. (Who knew there was a marina? I am completely oblivious to the world around me.) It's boat lust. I love boats so much. I want a boat, with every fiber in my body I want a boat. I used to have a fantasy about having a boat-- in fact, in the fantasy, I had a puppy named Linus, and I took him on the boat with me.

Around another bend was a huge "Rosie the Riveter" monument to all the women who worked at the shipyard during World War II. It contained tons of informational signs (!) and personal letters, and newspaper articles, and photos. It was incredibly touching, and I may have even cried a little, although you can't prove anything.

I biked until I reached a dead-end. I had been biking for probably 45 minutes, so I figured I should turn around anyway and go back, rather than pass out halfway home. I didn't figure out until later that my odometer had broken at some point. I know the ride was at least 11 miles long, but until I go on that same long ride again (next Thursday, most likely) I won't know for sure.

After that, I took myself to a cheesy movie (How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days) because what else would make my day complete? I rested my sore muscles, ate popcorn, drank soda, watched the incredibly contrived romantic comedy, and had exactly the kind of day that I need every once in a while.

Saturday I had off also (such an abundance of riches, two whole days off) and I spent the day working on poetry-related things (such as a fellowship application, some editing, and some writing of poetry and reviews). I got to sit in a coffee shop all day instead of working at one for a change! Fabulous.

I'm actually still working on all of the above. Updating my fat poetry binder, making lists of my poems that have been published, working on my newest reviews. (This month, I am reviewing the book of a girl we published when I was a Prosodia editor; next month, I am reviewing a book by one of my professors. Poetry: a small world after all.)

Now it's Sunday, and I worked all day today, but I was in a fabulous mood, so it was all good.

I was teaching one of our new baristas how to make good cappuccino foam. "You can't just go for it like that right off the bat. You have to ease the steam wand in gently." "I can't just stick it in?" " No, you have to... " "...get it hot first?" "Yeah. Turn it on before you stick it all the way in."

The whole conversation began to take a rather unexpected turn at this point. Now every time I talk about making a latte with this guy, it sounds extremely dirty. He's another 19-year-old boy, by the way. I love corrupting the young ones.