The pink bike

In Colorado after another set of long loops we relax. Like my home town, Fort Collins is quiet in the summer. Our first day passes in back yards and playgrounds, with low thunder and the occasional shower breaking up the hot afternoon. Unlike the east coast the evenings are still chilly, and the lack of humidity makes everything easier to bear. After the sweat of Hong Kong we are grateful for the lack of moisture, and marvel at the idea of leaving things out on the counter for days. We encounter a few people while wandering to one playground or another: fellow dog walkers and a few joggers, a few neighbors on porches. Even the cars are slow in the heat. After lunch on day two I pull out my favorite bike, which has lived in this garage since our move from San Francisco in twenty eighteen. Like most bicycles it has been through several iterations. The pink handlebar wraps that give it the name are the second generation, the first having crumbled off after a half decade’s hard use. The…