the sound of rotating wheels

I love that feeling of a bike riding on a paved bikeway. We followed along a tiny stream called the Blue River, in which trout fishermen, neatly spaced, seemed to haul up trout with some frequency. Other bikers, more devoted to exercise than to soaking in alpine air and gentle riding, pass saying "on your left". We stopped at the Gold Hill trailhead to the Colorado Trail, chained up the rental bikes, and walked among fields of fading flowers and tall pines.A tiny yellow finch landed in the tree just above us. We saw the rose hips on plants that must be something much like wild rose.

The local free historical museum had old photos of people standing by snow tunnels. I thought of all the things that I do and could do and don't do and couldn't do, and then on my walk back to our hotel, I dropped the bottle of special raspberry jam my wife got at the Farmer's Market.