On that evening when there was a double rainbow in the sky, I was on my bike, making a 40 minute loop through neighbourhoods near my own. Biking is the closest thing I get to feeling what a runner must feel when they run.

I was at the farthest end of my loop when it started to rain, golden drops in the setting sun. Then the rain increased and the wind too, and all I could see was gold filigree against the asphalt and thought of breathing in order to chase away thoughts of tornadoes. At the intersection two men were standing with their bikes in the bus shelter, a solution that had so perfectly presented itself, while the rest of us were surprised, doused, bedraggled.

The storm abated and the sky changed. Now my tires made splishing sounds with each puddle. The men from the bus shelter passed me and I was just thinking to myself how the second one might be the father of the first one, when, quick as a sneeze he fell, his bike slipping out from under him, and he, his back on the pavement, wincing at the sky. The younger left his bike and ran back to where I stood and waited. They were a pair with few words between them, and me even fewer. The younger man looked at me and said he thought it would be ok, and so I left.

At the next intersection there was the backdrop of the sky, so full of colour and calm and two rainbows, like the triumph after a saga.