It’s simple. It’s a bike. Two wheels, a greasy chain and guts. Maybe just a bit of soul nestled under layers of grit and scuffed paint. It’s long rides and fast races. It’s fat, skinny and slick tires, flat handle bars and ornate, curved pieces of art we slap our palms on. It’s the same same in every language: velo, bicycle, bicycletta. Kolo. It’s just a bike. It’s everything a bike means to us.