A row of apartments are viewed in reflection, on my ride along concrete-lined Ballona Creek; the bike path runs through the cities of Los Angeles and Culver City, to reach the sea at Marina del Rey.

The Ballona Bike Path is only a bike path part of the time. Part of the time it's also the property of joggers, walkers, dog-walkers, and over the years the property of muggers, who enjoyed knocking down cyclists, the better to steal their valuable. Appare

ntly crime is no longer an issue - and I've never witnessed any over the years - because the signs at the various entry points to the path that suggested never riding alone seem to be gone - or maybe I've grown oblivious to them.

Perhaps the state of the economy is to blame for the loss of those signs. Perhaps the muggers, in their wisdom, decided those signs added nothing to the aesthects of the path. (Talk about mugging for the camera!)

Having cycled through the gauntlet of pedestrians (regrettably some of whom think "On your left!" means "Move to the left!"), I pedaled to the half-way point on my ride, the bridge over Ballona Creek. I took a quick breather, then made a few images of the boats returning to their slips. Forty minutes the sun was going to extinguish itself in the sea; without running lights, I headed for my slip, too, ten miles up the creek without a paddle.