On a warm evening not long ago, I watched three kids on bikes — maybe 15 years old — turn onto my street, pop wheelies, and pedal furiously down the block. No helmets, no worries, just confidence the world would hold together long enough for them to make the corner at East Lincoln. It’s a small thing. But it’s also the kind of moment people talk about when they say they want to “protect Bozeman.” We want neighborhoods where kids can roam a little. Where you recognize your neighbors.