On our way out of the Fisherman’s Wharf area of San Francisco, the boys (in the “boy” car – we take two cars now, having given up the mini-van some time ago) spotted a large group of naked bike riders rushing past. I do recall Scott gesturing wildly out his window. I, driving the “girl” car directly behind him, thought he was pointing out the Waterfront Restaurant to our left. “Yes,” I thought, “that would be lovely to go out to dinner at the Waterfront one evening in the future.” I completely missed the naked bike riders. In my defense, I was negotiating music requests by Princess Genevieve and was fully concentrated on maintaining a “close but safe” distance behind Scott’s car since I had been scolded earlier by members of the “boy” car for not keeping up.

At the airport, as we waited for Chloe, Scott said the conversation in the boy car post naked bike rider sighting was quite lively, most of it revolving around all that the bike seats had been exposed to. There was a lot of incredulous eye rolling that I missed the whole thing. Sadly, Max’s camera missed it too. But there has been some speculation that perhaps this naked-males-on-bikes scene is a regular Sunday occurrence along Embarcadero. I can assure you, Max will be ready for the shot next time we visit.