You can see it from space, or at least from an aeroplane: a shining ribbon dropped amidst the dark tangle of motorway. Lightpath/ Te Ara i Whiti is its proper name and telemagenta its official hue, but mostly people call it what it is: ‘the pink path’.

Love it or hate it, the colour is the thing. Like the whiteness of the whale that drove Ahab mad, there’s something about the pinkness of the path that provokes. ‘A pink elephant!’ trumpeted one early critic, unwittingly conjuring a woozy Disney fantasia we can all take for a ride.

‘How do you get to the pink path?’ people ask, like Dorothy following the yellow brick road, or Hansel and Gretel stumbling upon a house of lollies. The sugary texture of the surface helps cement the fairy-tale vibe: Willy Wonka wishes he’d thought of a rose-coloured marzipan promenade.

Why pink? Well, why not? No one person lays claim to the decision, but you just know a roomful of people broke into grins when they settled it. It’s deliberately whimsical, a wee bit bonkers. An urban folly – decorative, extravagant, built for pleasure and delight.

Though this be madness, yet there is high-vis method in it. Colour levitates the path from function to icon. Everyday infrastructure is hard to notice, let alone love. As a simple jury-rigged link for bikes, this addition to Auckland would have been invisible except to those who used it.

But with a coat of sparkly paint, it’s a destination as well as a thoroughfare. The koru design, the sleek dark eel of a connecting bridge, the kinetic lightshow – all beautiful. But it’s the pink that reels you in as you roll along it.

Pink pops. It shares the limelight by acting as a highlight. It picks up other bright spots in a largely monochrome cityscape. A colour-wheel complement to the greenery in and around the grey, a foil to the big blue sky, the vibrant backdrop to a thousand selfies.

One indelible image from opening day travelled far and wide: ‘When u can match ur lippy to a cycle path,’ tweeted Liz Allen, puckering up for a magenta-themed pic, ‘u know u live in a rad city.’

Sure, pink calls more loudly to some of us. Pink is for girls. Real men wear pink (but not enough of them). Pink is flamboyant, fruity, a saucy kiss blown by K’ Rd; lipstick on the collar of Auckland’s business shirt. It’s frankly sexy – but also rich and sweet, the colour of the icing on your nana’s Belgian biscuits.

We speak of sentinel species – women, children, the elderly, cyclists – and how you know you’re building a healthy urban ecosystem when they flock to the streets. Watch the pink path and see them arrive.

Couples walking hand in hand. Riders of all ages on all kinds of bikes. Small children on wheels, families with strollers. People in wheelchairs. Nanas with granny-carts taking a shortcut to the New Gum Sarn supermarket.

Or the little girl I saw after the New Year’s Eve fireworks. Dressed in hot pink, she raced along on a pink bike with a pink basket, long hair streaming, face lit up with joy. In the middle of the summer night, in the middle of the motorway junction, in the middle of the city… she felt at home. Why pink? That’s why.

Jolisa Gracewood co-edits ‘Tell You What: Great New Zealand Nonfiction (AUP).