Whether it’s my inner (OK, mostly outer) child, my inside-and-out hobgoblin or simply my insatiable sweet tooth, I love Halloween.

But I have to admit, riding my bike on All Hallow’s Eve is a bit of a mixed bag.

I’m certain the drunk-to-sober-driver ratio around 2 a.m. is higher on Halloween than just about any other night of the year, except maybe Arbor Day. And there seems to be something about hiding behind a mask that brings out the nasty in lots of folks.

But I love weaving through the cute kids downtown in the early evening and the cute college kids after the witching hour has past. (As an aside, if Oct. 31 is Halloween, aka All Hallow’s Eve, does that make my early-morning commute, technically on Nov. 1, All Hallow’s Morn? Or Halloworn? And what the Hall’s a Hallow?)

Once I had a group of kids throw candy toward me as they sing-songed “Trick or treat, biker dude.” Perhaps I should say they threw candy AT me, for the most part, though I was able to snag a bit for a quick energy boost on the rest of the ride home.

Every year about this time, I ponder my options for on-bike costumes.

I won’t wear a costume at work, nor will I be That Guy who dresses up to A) take his kids trick-or-treating (as if I could catch up to the one who sprints door-to-door, or could dare to dream to be seen with the other, who wants to be in my vicinity in public about as much as a leper) or, worse, B) sit around the house and hand out goodies.

But I do fantasize about dressing up for the ride to and from work, because, really, I think fantasy is the key to a healthy work life.

Lately, I’ve considered a knight in shining armor or, perhaps, Don Quixote. Some fake platemail and a lance protruding from the handlebars should get me a bit of breathing room on the road.

I’ve considered borrowing a cruiser and dressing up as Pee-Wee Herman in his eponymous “Big Adventure,” though I’d steer clear of any movie theaters along the way.

Or maybe slap on some chaps — of course I have several pair just lying around — and a football helmet and go as an “Easy Rider.”

Better still, perhaps I’ll don a red hoodie, lash a milk crate to the ‘bars, slap a stuffed animal in it, cover it with a blanket and — presto! — Elliott, from “E.T.”

Then again, if I could swing it, I think nothing would beat borrowing a gorilla suit and wearing that for my commute. I can’t imagine the looks I’d get pulling alongside some drunken car-bound partygoer in the wee hours of Halloworn.