There’s a pair of well-used, dusty old hiking boots and two tattered bouquets where the Paseo del Nordest Bike Trail crosses Commanche Rd. midway between home and my work. I didn’t know Roy Sekreta, who died there Monday night. But I stopped and cried after I rode past the little shrine today. There’s something so beautiful about the childlike freedom of being out on a bike. But when a bike and a car end up in the same place at the same time….