“I love this city!”

That’s a little something my wife likes to repeat when we visit New York and our son, who lives in Brooklyn.

There’s a sign in LaGuardia Airport that sets the stage. It greets us as we near the taxi stand. We stopped so my wife could take a photo. Huge white letters on a platform on the floor spelling out: “I (red heart) NY.”

“You took that photo the last time we were here,” I said.

“I know. I’m gonna take it again,” she said. As two ladies lined up in front of the sign for a selfie. My wife jumped in, “Want me to take your photo?” Big smiles, they stood next to the sign for several shots. Everybody was happy. New York City. Ya gotta love it.

We are blessed. My wife’s cousin has a condo available to family and friends. His generosity has allowed us to visit several times. Each time is an adventure and lots to see.

My wife takes photos. I jot down notes. Within 24 hours, she was sharing the “I (heart) NY” photo along with a skyline that shows the only way to grow in the city is straight up, each time higher. She also snapped flower beds, the “High Line” trail, and buildings with distinctive architecture that reflect a storied history.

She included a small bike anchored by locks and chains to a bike rack. Two small Mexican flags were attached to the front wheel, spokes were painted red, white and green and other ornaments showed a proud heritage. New York. Huddled masses. Ya gotta love it.

I noted little things: sidewalks full of all sizes with suits alongside layers of tatter. A man walking, moving fast, while taking a huge bite of a large sandwich. A barber stepping out of his door, shaking off a few leftover hairs onto the sidewalk.

Hustling walkers in front of the Penn Station entrance walked around a man stretched out on the concrete. I thought he was hurt, but no one was looking at him. He had simply chosen a spot to nap. New York. Ya gotta love it.

I saw a rare sight – a gas station (the price was $5.79). Every ride was part of a blur. Those moving the fastest were on two wheels. Bikes and scooters were everywhere, going much faster than us. Because they could.

They raced in their own lanes, between streets and sidewalks. They crossed streets with the walk light counting down, safe from cars. But that bike lane was scary.

I noticed bike lanes had their own streetlight system. There was a large decal on our cab window with a warning: “Look! For cyclists.” Opening the door and stepping out was dangerous. The cab also had a warning light near both rear taillights that the driver flipped on. Small lettering nearby said: “Caution, passenger exiting.”

I was not confident that cycle traffic cared, especially after a bike flashed by my open door. Many cabs have sliding doors vs. doors that swing open. But I easily could have stepped in front of that bike. New York. Ya gotta love it.

Bikes seem to move the fastest through city blocks. I noticed an Amazon delivery driver ... on a bike ... running a red light.

Pedestrians definitely rule. Our cab was one minute away from dropping us at our theater destination, just around the corner. The sidewalks and crosswalks were jammed.

Photographers were taking pictures of young women leaning against waiting cars. Our driver warned us it could take 10 or more minutes to get through the light and turn through the mass of people. We got out and walked. New York. Ya gotta love it.

There’s more. Lots more. The food. The stage plays. The cruise around Manhattan Island. Did I mention the food? All part of The Big Apple. And we (heart) it all.

Of course, after that last touchdown and the drive home, pulling into the garage … home. Yeah. That’s where the heart feels best.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail the NewsTribune, 426 Second St., La Salle, IL 61301.