Whew - I'm beat. Headed out on my bicycle at around 11:30 this morning in the pouring rain. Met up with my friend, Lillian-the-Librarian, just after noon, still in the pouring rain. Oh, and it was cold, too. We rode off through Chinatown, and Gastown (a.k.a. "Low Rent Tourist Trap"), and on along the seawall to Stanley Park. In the rain - did I already mention that? And that it was cold? Really cold?

We rode through the forest for a while (O.K., it's beautiful in the rain - it's a rain forest, for heaven's sake!), then along the seawall, under the Lions' Gate Bridge, enjoying the foggy/cloudy views of the harbour. But, Lillian was hungry (Not me. Oh, heck no. But, out of sheer politeness, I admitted that I might be able to choke something down). And, as luck would have it, we were very close to the Stanley Park Teahouse. Now, if you click the link, the few photos there might suggest to you that they'd be a tad less than welcoming to a couple of people resembling drowned rats, wearing full-on bike rain gear (i.e. heavy on the Gore-tex, pack cloth, and rubber; light on the sports jackets, creased pants, etc.), but you'd be wrong. This is a classy joint. They actually believe they're there to take care of you, to make you feel welcome (and they did, big-time), and to fill you up with good food and drink. The hostess smiled, asked us how our ride had been, and would we like her to hang our jackets and helmets in their coat room. Our jackets and helmets were, as you might guess from my whining and sniveling about the rain, soaking wet. She was dressed in "classy restaurant hostess" finery, but took our wet things without a qualm, hung them up, then showed us to a table by a window with a fine view of the harbour.

The waiter was a very nice guy, endlessly patient with our dithering (Well, lack of focus, actually. We were too busy blathering to remember we had some choices to make.) We ate really good food, drank really nice wine, had some warming coffee (Irish coffee for me, Spanish coffee for Lillian, made with espresso instead of regular coffee) that was also really good, paid up and hit the road, warmer, fuller, and very happy. Even if we were going back into the rain and cold with many miles yet to go.

That's what I call a swell Sunday.

(By the way, I realize this sounds a bit like an ad for the Teahouse, but it's not. They were just really nice people, the food was really good, and I really enjoyed myself.)