I’ve been a bit reluctant to mention it, for fear my wife might get the wrong idea, but I think I fell in love a little one night this past summer.It was a beautiful night, warm but not too hot, with a slight breeze. The moon was up. Gibbous. Waxing or waning, I don’t recall, but definitely gibbous.The streets were quiet, the cicadas loud.I left work at the usual time, just after 1 a.m., and started cycling home.A block or two west of Mass Street, a woman also on a bike approached from the south, turned, then pulled alongside.She was wearing a dress – a dress! on a bike! – and no helmet. She also had no lights, but she stood out in the dark.Her bike was a beautiful thing, all swoopy lines and graceful curves. It had a basket out front, and though I believe it was empty, I easily envisioned it full of flowers, or perhaps a dog.It had fat comfort tires, a saddle that might even have had springs, sweeping handlebars and maybe even a bell.If I had to describe bike and rider in just one word, it’d be carefree, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a woman to throw on a dress and go for a moonlit summer pedal in the middle of the night.We rode side by side in silence for a few blocks, neither in any rush to get anywhere in a hurry.Finally, she spoke.With a hint of a British accent, she said, “Nice night for a ride,” and I muttered my agreement. “Lovely helmet,” she said, tossing her hair in the breeze.I nodded my thanks, unsure if she was mocking or truly complimenting me. We rode on, she with her hair flowing in the summer air, her dress billowing, me with my lovely helmeted hair and shorts neither flowing nor billowing.A block or two later, she slowed ever so slightly, said, “Well, I’m off,” and turned down a side road, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.I rode the same route for weeks and never saw her again, and the whole event was so ethereal, so ephemeral and so unreal, I almost questioned if it really happened.Yes, I sort of fell in love a little one night this past summer. Those lines, those curves, the way she caught the moonlight : yes, she was a beauty.Her rider was pretty nice, too.