I’m all the time finding cool stuff during my bike rides through the city.

I never find anything in my car, or anybody else’s, for that matter.

But on a bike, I roll over jewelry, cell phones, tools, pets, money, lost loves … you name it, I find it, and more often than not — pack rat that I am — I’ll bring it home. Well, not the pets. They’re so awfully difficult to carry on a bike.

My theory is simple: If I can carry it, I’ll lug it home and assess it then. Frequently my finds are worthless junk. Sometimes they’re trinkets that would have been worth keeping if only they hadn’t just been run over by a speeding 18-wheeler.

But for every hunk o’ junk I’ve lugged home, I’ve left a couple more roadside, usually in hopes of later retrieval.

Usually it’s matter of delayed recognition.

“Say, wasn’t that sparkle a block or two back coming from a 2-carat bridal set?”

“Why, yes, I do believe it was.”

“Perhaps I should pick that up next time through.”

Frequently, there’s a bit of self-preservation in mind. Generally it’s frowned upon to grab a fistful of brake on a busy thoroughfare, triggering a 10-car pileup, just to pick up a misplaced quarter.

So I’ll make a mental note and hope the astray goody is still there when I return on an off-peak hour.

Curiously, I develop a strangely strong attachment to the left-behind find. I’ll start thinking of it as MY socket set, MY beloved drill bit, MY coveted bungee cord, hoping that — unless it’s the object’s rightful owner reuniting — no other eagle-eyed scrounger comes along to pluck my precious.

I’ve seen cell phones remain untouched on heavily traveled roads for days, while pocket change disappears within minutes from quiet little side roads.

Just the other day, I was headed somewhere and saw a discarded pair of earrings resting in the gutter, still attached to the retail package.

I pedaled on, and as the hours passed before my return, the jewelry’s worth grew enormously … in my mind.

I had seen but a fleeting glimpse, but I thought they were a pair of beautiful, fresh-water pearls. Of course, such valuable baubles would be anchored by 14K posts. What if, I wondered, there were more bejeweled goodies, a regular treasure trove of mislaid booty, languishing in the same gutter?

I was relieved to see, upon my return, that nobody had purloined my wayward prize. I waited for a break in traffic, rolled to a quick stop and palmed the goods for the short ride home.

As soon as I rolled to a stop, I spied my hard-earned reward — a pair of cheap, semi-metallic earrings that had been squashed by traffic. The orbs were misshapen, the posts bent to right angles.

No matter.

I left ’em at my wife’s place at the dinner table and proudly described them as her Valentine’s bounty, a couple of weeks early.

She was not impressed, but I’m not worried. I think I know where I can pick up a drill bit and maybe even and couple of sockets instead.