Something To Say

Getting ready for Cornerspeed was a pretty big thing for me, since it was my first day on a track and I really had no idea what to expect other than what I had read. I would not have been HALF as prepared without Voodoo, pgood, jtalerico, seriokilla, ZuluHour and his dykes, and several other people with names not quite so weird.

I made a Costco run to prepare and grabbed water, Gatorade, Rrrrred bullz, chips, snacks, sunscreen, memory cards, batteries, etc. I was probably a little overstocked. The Sunday afternoon before the big day, Jtalerico, and the crew at his house helped me out by ridiculing my safety wire job, and then showing me the right way to do it. We set up the cleaned up the brakes, disconnected and taped the lights, took off my newly painted plastics, and I was ready to rock.

The weather report was about 90% likelihood of rain all day for Monday, so I was a little sketchy without rain gear, but decided to just say Eff it and roll on. I left my house about 5:30 am, and drove my ass off to get there. I got the idea to rent a small Uhaul trailer from a local police officer, and it turned out to be perfect. The 5×8 only cost $15 and after I saw the trailer, I realized the hidden wisdom that it would be much easier to load a wrecked bike into that low trailer than into the bed of my truck. not that I would ever wreck a bike… I’m just saying. ;p

I am still kicking myself for getting there a little late. In the rush I neglected to mount either of the GoPro cameras on the bike and so I have no video footage which I was really looking forward to. That was probably the big disappointment of the whole weekend, though one of my friends said, “from the look of the pictures, all the footage would have been sideways, anyway!”

Jen from PhotoJenic came up to shoot the track and I lucked out with some great pictures, and she was a godsend when I lost the key to my bike and helped me out a lot with my general disorder.

This was a whole new experience for me. Passing another rider is something that I’ve never had to do before, as the group rides I have been on are generally static riding order. The hand signals required for the track were new but easy enough to understand. On my first session I completely forgot to raise my hand at red flag until the instructor pulled directly in front of me was pointing at me and motioning wildly. Often when our bodies are working at elevated heart rates, we experience a multitude of symptoms like auditory exclusion, slow motion time, or, as I experienced, tunnel vision. I never saw any of the corner workers or the flags during the first session. Though, I never felt nervous or panicked, I was probably running at a little higher threat level than normal.

My second session of the day was better. I was riding much cleaner lines, I started paying more attention to my body and exaggerating my position more and noticed all the things I was still doing improperly like bouncing from one side of the seat to the other; unloading the chassis and trying to reload in turns, things of that nature.

After I got over the newness of it all and Aaron’s, the head instructor for Cornerspeed, words started to sink in. I learned more in one day about motorcycle physics and theory than I have in two years of riding. My body knows what to do by feel, but before Cornerspeed I never understand what the bike was actually doing underneath me. These classroom sessions opened up huge new levels of understanding for me.

After the first couple sessions, Aaron started explaining to us that we use our brakes as a panic button much more often than we need to. So, for the third session, we were not allowed to use our brakes to get around the course, relying solely on downshifting and intelligent speed modulation. The “No Brakes” drill was extremely eye opening. I only had to grab brake twice; once was to avoid hitting an instructor, and once was to avoid rear ending another student. After that drill I realized I could go into every corner faster than I had been. Faster! Yeeessss…. “Trust your tires,” Aaron told me with a devilish glint in his eyes. Afterward, my instructor on this session said he was having a hard time keeping up with me, but he was on a 600rr vs my 750.

After this session another one of the instructors, Pete, came and found me and we talked a little bit about what worked and what didn’t. Pete was really knowledgeable and extremely willing to help.

The next session, Pete led me and a couple others through body mechanics drills. I thought I was doing fine with this before I came to Cornerspeed, but the more the instructors spoke, the more I knew I needed to work on. I got smoother and smoother through the day, but I’ve got a long ways to go.

For the next few sessions I worked with Pete constantly, mostly one on one. I improved more swiftly and consistently with the dedicated scrutiny of an expert. Pete paid me a huge compliment when he told me it was great to actually get a chance to work with someone who didn’t mind walking it out a bit.

Some of the technical details are as follows. I started out the day going dangerously fast through turn 7, a great right hand up hill 90 degree turn with a ton of positive camber. That is until someone explained to me the magical negative camber where the patriot course comes in causes over ¾ of the first timer wrecks for VIR North Course. Turns 1,2,3 were a constantly changing equation all day. I started out slow and a little uncertain, but by the end of the day it was quite fast and nearly fluid all the way to turn 4. Turn 4 is probably my favorite, a more than 90 degree left hander, but early on I was having a lot of problems linking it properly to 5,6. Each of the instructors told me I was killing all the corners that people usually had problems with, but was in need of some work on the simpler ones. Leave it to me to do everything in reverse. Pete took me through 8,9,10,11,12 and after about two laps, I knew what to do and that became one of my favorite sections of the course to build and carry greater amounts of speed and pull off some great passes. I didn’t get it right every time, but I came pretty close and was flying through there cleanly by the end of the day. Turn 14 was daunting most of the day as I couldn’t really pick up reference points for it, it is a completely blind 90 degree right hand turn that you can’t see until you come up a hill and are already upon it. Novice stuff, I know. 16 almost gave me an ‘agricultural experience’ on my first session out with Pete because we were cooking and I panicked and grabbed front brake. 16 is a high speed left hander going downhill into a hard right hand turn (17). We were coming in plenty hot and I grabbed way too much brake, touched the rear and my back tire just started sliding all over the place. I realized I would never be able to slow down before I ran off the track so I just “trusted the tires,” shifted my body over to the and cracked the throttle. After all that panic, the Vagrant and I shot through 17 amazingly easy and it really made me realize a) what a dumbass I was, b) just how awesome my bike is. I got progressively faster and faster all day with fewer mistakes each time around the track.

I got called out by an instructor for passing another rider on the inside of a turn once, but really it was a line I had committed to in the prior turn when I was outside the guy behind the dude I passed inside, so it would have been more dangerous to not continue with the line I had committed to. This was just a symptom of the fact that I wasn’t looking far enough down the course. Shifting to a longer time frame was one of the major difficulties I had on the track. After the session, I went up to the two guys I blasted by on that pass and mentioned to them that I hadn’t meant to cut them like that and I hope there were no hard feelings. They said to me it was no big deal, asking me what happens when other people cut me off or wreck into me when it is actually a full-fledged race day instead of practice runs. When I mentioned this was the first time I had ever been on a track their faces fell in unison with their uttered, “oh” and the instructors eyes behind them got as big as saucers. Veterans apparently don’t like being smoked by the new guy.

I lean. That is about the shortest complete sentence possible in the English language, but there is a lot being said there. I lean the hell out of the bike because before anyone told me it was difficult, I just went out and did it. I watched a MotoGP race where they were doing up to 72 degree lean angles like it was nothing. The following weekend I went on an amazing high speed switchback ride through the Arizona mountains outside Yarnell and just did what I had seen the riders do on television. After the ride, a couple more experienced friends, white in the face, came up and asked me to dial it back a bit so they didn’t have to scrape anyone up off the canyon walls. I didn’t realize anything I was doing was extraordinary, I just thought you had to do it to get down the twisties.

As I tend to lean so much, I was raking both knees, my toe sliders, my pegs, and even my exhaust on the ground all day. Some of the pics have plenty of sparks coming off. I’m just crazy like that.

Brakes-and-Blip-Brian was there in the class and on the track with me. As he can attest to, I need to learn how to effing launch. At the end of the day, all the students who wanted to were allowed to participate in a full “mock” race; no trophies, but everything else was the real deal. I was given pole position, front row, outside. The green flag shot up and I killed the engine and sat there with a stupid look in my helmet while everyone else rode by me. I started the race about 20 seconds behind the last person. It SUCKED! I went out and had a blast anyways, even had a great run with Brian, whom I passed in style! I would up rolling in two bike lengths behind first place on an R1 for a solid second place. No trophies, no flashbulbs, no boobs, just a good hard run with some passing practice and crossing a finish line. About halfway around the track on a ‘cool down lap’ Brian rode up beside me and started slapping me on the back in congratulations, scaring the ever loving bejebus out of me. He got a good laugh out of that.

One of the interesting points of the day was riding 2-up on the back of a racer’s bike. I’ve always wondered what it was like to be a passenger, but never trusted any of you bastards enough to ask for a ride. Riding a motorcycle is a wonderful experience, often skirting a line between life and death, but I am always in control, not a passenger. It was interesting to me and while other students who got the opportunity to ride as passengers were impressed by the speed of the ride, I was impressed by the amount of work I was putting into the balls of my feet and my hands to stay on the bike. I think that experience is going to make me a much better pilot when I have someone on the back. It was not scary, but very physically demanding and I have been taking special concerns when I have had a passenger since then.

At the end of the day, I am reminded why I came here: to get a license to race. Cornerspeed is an accredited Race School that gives you a diploma to start racing with Semi-Pro racing groups all around the nation. I aced the test, got my diploma (YAY!) and asked the remaining instructors and Aaron to pose with me for a Polaroid. After handshakes and loading out, the clouds got dark and thick quite quickly. As I was finishing tie-ing down the bike, the rain started coming down. Whoever prayed to the rain gods, you are my hero, we had a completely dry day and it made for one amazing experience. I’ll be going back for Cornerspeed track days (June 1!) and practicing my ass off. I’m an addict. This is a whole new world.

So one year ago today, on a very warm Phoenix afternoon, four friends stood obtusely in the middle of a parking lot, unsure of what to do or say to mark the occasion. They clasped hands, said strange goodbyes in alien words and one by one, they opened doors to cars or homes and left. Only one of them really had far to go: the seeker… The Outcast.

You can tell yourself it is the sweat that stings your eyes; in that weather, it’s easy to do. You would still be lying. When you see that much death, when there is so much lost, those that remain become more valuable than we can imagine.

He spent the 2.5 weeks prior to that day, all the notice that he had, liquidating everything he owned save for a bookshelf, a table, and 6 boxes. Selling his car, he bought a black truck. He donated everything that I hadn’t worn in the last month. Those few items that had value were sold to the first person who would take them and everything else was simply given away.

Mindlessly, from a list the Outcast bought packing materials like some sort of Zen ritual. Removing any meaning from the act or the materials, lest he actually take a second to think about what it entailed; what this all led up to.

An Outcast, he left, accompanied by a girl who loved him very much, in the careless way that a child will still love a toy, long after it is irrevocably broken.

Miles Driven: 35,042

In the days after the Phoenix, the world was green and blue; the color change was drastic to the outcast after the landscape the color of cracked flame, and dust, and ash. it would be shocking to his eyes for the first few months. In the coming months, the cracked lips would subside, the eternally parched feeling would stay, but it was simply psychological now. but in the days after the Phoenix, the days close enough to be called such, the lips still bled if the outcast opened his mouth too wide. he tasted the sand and dust in his breath and hid from the sun as if it were still necessity.

Motorcycles: 3

In the Triangle city, people were different; less distinct, more fat. they smiled, but it was only because they land around them was friendly, not because they were. In the days of the Phoenix, a smile was something marvelous and genuine because it came from the inside when it did come… never spawned by the parched world around it.

The trip into the city center was less hectic, less restricted. The city seemed less structured but it flowed well.

As a conscript of the ruling powers, the Its, the Outcast wasn’t trusted initially. He was hired to perform a service that no one really understood, but everyone seemed to think they needed. Organization, structure, help but only insomuch as it didn’t step on any of the ITs toes or infringe upon their sense of mastery over their little domain.

Each day he arrived at the gates to the Center and was escorted by guards, or officials, or sub-officials to the places he was thought to be needed to gather the information he asked for and turn it into something that was beneficial to those that watched over him. Soon they lost interest and simply expected he knew what to do. He was provided a pin; a badge of sorts with which he could gain access to the Center and it’s antechambers.

Hours at work: 2080

The outcast changed too. Became dedicated. Wholly absorbed within himself; his body, his mind. Every day was fully engaged. He became aware of his body and his abilities. The weight, the fighting, the water, the struggle. Free time was everywhere and nowhere because he filled it with semi-purpose and rage and intent.

Trophies: 6

Max Depth: 126

Rising before the sun, when the simple fact of the suns return was carried by faith alone, he left the small room provided him at the outskirts of Triangle and traveled to the gymnasium to destroy himself, the old self… the one from yesterday, and recreate a new, better, stronger man in his place. Still the outcast, but there among the titans he was allowed the opportunity to change.

Certifications: 12

Leaving the gymnasium the sun had returned, each day without fail, it came back; not with the strength of the Phoenix, that rebirth in flame, but with the warmth of life. Gentle, coaxing, enough to settle the surrounding populace into quiet obeisance and obesity.

The Outcast fought the laziness in the air around him, rode recklessly and with abandon, thinking that feeling the cruch or the crash would be better than feeling nothing.

Motorcycle wrecks: 1

Life was not without romance, the hint of amorous, but it never stayed long.

Broken Hearts: 2

He went without sleep for days, trying to find the edge, but it will always elude those that seek it. Such is the nature of these things. And so he seeks, for meaning in numbers, for purpose in himself, for emotion in another, finding nothing…

Leo todo lo que tenga que ver con nosotros y me siento denuevo en el momento… me siento contigo… y denuevo me haces feliz, aunque no estes aquí…

On Friday, I rode and rode and rode. when i wanted to speed, i sped. when i was enthralled i slowed. mostly i let the scenery determine the pace, and it was pleasant.

i drove down streets i had never seen and would not recognize again. i drove until i ran out of road, and then i got off and walked for a while before returning to my ride.

i rode past ponds and lakes suffused with the death of so many petals that only a week ago heralded spring in it’s crowning.

i tasted every instant of that hour. i breathed flowers and grass and manure and water. my knee felt the grass along the side of the road while my face felt the breeze off the farm fields around me. I watched lives end on my visor and never knew those tiny names.

i drove past farms and homes that i wanted to stop and walk up to the door and knock and go inside and share these peoples lives. To touch and taste and savor every morsel like candy i could eat from the inside out.

i rode until it was simply too dark to make out the green of the trees versus the grass through the dark tint of my visor. and in the dying light of this day of failures, i found me. I was a doddering old man, destroying unknown mushrooms with a cane, miles from civilization on a road that no one remembered existed. And I looked up and reminded me, go home.

Sometimes, I need that.

I keep dreaming about the ocean. It spills over into my waking hours and fills up the cracks in between minutes; all liquid. I blame it on my coworker that told me about “blue water” a couple weeks back. Since then, I’ve thought about this concept often. This idea of pure water with no additives or preservatives; not even the animal pee you get with most “spring” water. Deep, cold, bracing; Blue. Depth creates the image. Depth shows water for what it truly is.

When the bottom falls out, things change. Life is like this. People are like this. The particulate that all those shallow currents play with disappears; stops obscuring everything. Far enough from shore, things become simple; reverting to their nature.

I think there is a small portion of humanity (the lost ones. The broken angels limping away from the crash sites in the history of the heart) that is looking for this; honesty, no matter how much it breaks you. There isn’t any bottom out there, in all that true blue, but at least you know what you are getting. You can see it.

If I go far enough, will I find something like that? Is it just waiting for me somewhere out there in the middle of the Ocean? Something true? Or, if I ever do make it out there, will I just drown?

I was walking around this morning talking to Krystle, a friend of mine from Puerto Rico, and was laughing at her fascination with pop culture, models, etc… Things which i believe have almost no value other than providing an interesting insight into the strange undercurrents that control our backwards society.

I quoted one of my favorite phrases (Thanks Jen!) by Thoreau saying, “Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something.”

Krystle paused for a moment, then said to me, “Well, what are YOU good for?”

I’m forced to say this stopped me in my tracks. In fact, maybe it was the early hour, or perhaps the late hour at which i retired after a night of great comedy food and drink with my friend Voodoo, but I had no response.

So, in an attempt to be good for something today, I am going out riding my motorcycle.

Oh yeah, big deal, I do this every chance I get. Today, however is not for me, but for the novice riders in the area. It will be boring and slow in comparison to my usual pace, but it will give me a chance to speak to new riders, caution them regarding the stupid mistakes they make, explain what they are doing wrong, how to ride in a group, proper hand signals, and a number of other things that I have learned by hard knocks and friendly guidance.

Today, I’m not just being good, I’ll be good for something.

So,while not exactly “thrown”, I was certainly at their mercy… and wow… These kids are awesome.

I showed up early to the school last night and I’m glad I did. The juniors class was going on and I got to watch my personal hero in action. We have a kid named Dane who is stone cold. This guy is so intense he makes me back down. I was pretty uncertain of myself and my ability to give these kids (and their parents) their moneys worth. After I saw Dane and how much he kicked ass at 7 years old, somehow that kid gave me renewed confidence in my place there.

Thankfully, some cosmic balance decided to take it easy on me and only about 1/3 of the kids showed up for class. The (almost) twins, the Sensei’s son, Jack and his pink belt, Killer and Michael. I ran class like a 73 buick. Choppy, ugly, and with a lot of stalling, but no one complained or gave me any trouble. I was continually stopping and trying to figure out what to have the students do next and though the breaks were measurable in seconds, they felt like lifetimes.

Killer in particular is a project of mine. She needs some help with exercise in general and self image it seems too. She is a great kid and has a lot of dedication and if I can do right by the class, then she will get the exercise and self esteem she needs along with everyone else.

Sensei’s wife, Miss Yune, and I sat down after class and talked about what I felt I had problems with and she gave me ideas that she had seen her husband do and I feel a little better about it today. I’m going to run the first half of class, and let Eddy take over for fight club. After a month, I think we’ll really get into a rhythm… I just hope everyone sticks around long enough for us to get used to it!

Ok, so today is my first solo day as karate instructor. I’ve taught karate before, years ago, and I’ve been helping out at this dojo for a while, but I always had an assistant or I was the assistant. Now I have to go solo against 20 little kids with parents watching over me to see if I am still worthy of their time and money.

I feel like I have a huge responsibility to my Sensei, not just because of our personal interaction, but because he is now going to Afghanistan to help rebuild the country. I don’t want to let him down by lowering the quality of his school while he is away. As scary as the prospect of failure is, I need to use that as fuel to excel at this and really pay back my instructor and these kids for all the benefit they bring to my life.

First Sergeant Carlson, I salute you for the man you are, and the man you make me want to be. Godspeed and Good luck. I’ll hold down the fort till you return.

Dim sum has never been this hateful.

In typical fashion Sunday morning came too early. Rolling out of bed at 7 am isn’t anything new to me. As any of the girls unlucky enough to share a weekend morning with me can attest to, I pathologically rise too early for any of the activities I was engaged in the night before. Sometimes I can be coaxed back to bed, but often I just sally forth.

7 am is one of those hours that shouldn’t be seen after having seen 1 am that same morning. Unfortunately for most of America, youtube video viewing is not a marketable skill, so despite having had a fulfilling and mirth filled evening, I am filled with a pressing need to rise. Whether it is my bladder, or a deeper need to justify my place in this world today, I can’t say.
Coffee with honey and milk is a new trick that Janette taught me. Apparently they do things differently on the other side of the world; despite it being quite tasty, I’ve never heard of honey in coffee, but after taking a look at the Google Machine it seems a rather prevalent idea. I’ll be making this a repeat. Japan-style fried eggs, bacon and an English muffin round out a balanced breakfast and I’m off into the city again.

I love California. I love San Francisco. Living in the city is different than just about any place I have ever been. Everyone walks all over the place, and despite the recent push of much of the alternative-hippie side of humanity towards scooters, the city is populated with motorcycles 10 to 1 over anything resembling a scooter. It warms my heart.

Going to the gym in the city is a different experience. Half because of the gaggle of gay guys gawking at anything with a penis, and half because the gym is filled with the most beautiful Asian women I have seen in my life. Despite the sea of eye candy floating around me, I still managed to attack the weights with enough intensity to satisfy my guilty conscience for all the drinking I’ve been doing this weekend. The approving eyes of a Chinese fitness model, coupled with the smile she gives me when i wink on the way out made the trip worth it.

Jared, Toune, Kevin, Janette, and I all convened for Dim Sum from random parts of the city to a place called Mayflower. I don’t know how that name works, since the Mayflower brought god fearing Puritans to America who wound up murdering or giving typhoid blankets to the first other ethnic group they sat down to eat with. No one ever said Chinese were all that great at handling the English language and its nuances, though. My chinese pronunciation is terrible, despite the sincere efforts of a good friend and Asian Rodeo Prom Queen, but I didn’t know there were so many ways to say “I Hate You” in Chinese.

This place was crazy busy. Millions of people running around and no one speaking English. Jared put our names in and it looks like they gave him a piece of paper scribbled with what resembles an infinity symbol followed by a W. We decide it is the number 83 and wait our turn patiently. It’s easy to pass time in conversation with good friends you haven’t seen in a while, but after a bit it became painfully apparent that they are seating everyone of Asian descent before the group with the white guys in it; Us.

After some pointed words and some forceful finger pointing on the part of 4 foot tall Toune, we found ourselves seated at a table and waiting on dim sum to be delivered to us. Siu Mai, dumplings, tofu, hot tea, radish cakes and other things I have no desire to know what they were are delivered infrequently but often enough to keep us munching, but the minute we needed to ask for anything we send the help scurrying.

No one that worked at Mayflower seemed to speak more than the most rudimentary of English. The word ‘water’ seemed beyond their ability to understand. And when ordering cokes, whatever server was unfortunate to be called upon by our party started gesturing wildly and speaking loudly (probably saying, I hate you) in Chinese and then stomping off while pointing in the general direction of another server. We repeated this process about another 4 times before a plump Chinese girl finally took pity on us and began delivering our special request items… water and coca-cola.

As the people around the table add an immeasurable amount of light and positive energy to my life, and because I think it would be nearly impossible for us to communicate that we need separate checks for dim sum, I picked up the tab.

We rolled off to check out Jared’s new apartment and watch the Pacific ocean while experiencing the 70 degree weather and sunshine. Sitting on Jared’s balcony feeling the ocean breeze play across the California sunlight on my face was a moment of rare majesty. I have to come back here some day and live here; call this city ‘home.’

Janette is a hostess of rare quality. After having spent the say Saturday up in Sonoma County visiting wineries, we picked up several bottles of our favorites. Today, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, it seems a smashing idea to take a couple bottles over to Toune’s flat and have dinner and drinks with friends.

Arrowood was absolutely the best wine we encountered the entire day, so we add a bottle from Arrowood and one from neighboring Kenwood and roll over to the Marina.

The magic of Toune’s place is not that it is extravagant or loud, or in the thick of the city; it is magic simply because it is a safe place to experience the warmth of friends. I’ve spent a great many Sunday afternoons watching who knows what on television, reviewing new costume designs, playing games, and discussing things of no importance in complete comfort. The furniture is re-arranged and there is some new paint and artwork, but the feeling is the same. For a first toast over an excellent bottle of wine among great friends, I say, “Here’s to not being dead.”

A lovely girl I know named Amy contributed some imagery to my morning today. It was great to wake up to. Wisdom about the properties of water and how it eventually comes back to it’s source.

So, I set out yesterday at about 4:30 am to go coast to coast, arriving by lunchtime. I love it.

I hopped a commuter flight to Boston first thing in the AM. I think commuter planes are built with me specifically in mind. Built by a sadistic person. Having visited the production plants in Japan where alot of these things are made, I know just what goes into them; short people. Everything was juuuuust too small.

A headache and some cramped legs later, we were taking off and i was chatting amiably with the young lawyer-to-be on my left. Noone would have called her a beauty queen but she had an engaging personality and a willingness to talk, which I capitalized on immediately.

We chatted about nearly everything, from international travels, to school, to books, and my love for lawyers (they beat traffic tickets). We were both catching the same flight to san francisco at the Logan airport in Boston. Her name was Amelia A*****.

then about halfway through the flight, Amelia yawns, turns away, puts in her headphones and simply ceases speaking. When we land at Logan Airport, she jumps up, rushes down the aisle as far as she can, and waits for the deplaning to begin.

I’m no rocket scientist, but I think I said something wrong. Though for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it would have been. No worries, though. I already ascertained that we were not sitting near one another on the next flight.

Anyone who has traveled with me knows I am pretty nonchalant about flights. I generally know what airline I am flying on, though not always. I usually know what hour of the day my flight leaves. Though that’s about as precise as I get. At RDU, I walked up to the gate as the guy yelled, “Last Call for passenger Nilson!” My timely arrival at my connecting gate at Logan airport was no less timely.

The flight to SF, I spent finishing a book called Emergency: This book could save your life. It’s the latest by one of my favorite recent authors: Neil Strauss. the book was a godsend and was exactly what I was looking for at this point in life.

Flying in to SFO, i was rapt, staring out the window. Seeing the water below, knowing it was the Pacific. It was West Coast water, and therefore better than any water I might encounter in NC. I felt warm and happy and excited to get back on the ground and back to a land where things seemed to make sense and I felt connected to the people around me.

The silently amiable guy to my right must have sensed what I was feeling, cuz he turned to look at me with a knowing grin on his face and nodded, before settling back in his seat to give me an unobstructed view of the water below.

The same adrenaline junkie friend of mine in NC that hooked me up with the battery for my laptop described something to me that I had seen, but never understood: ‘Blue Water.’

When you get far enough from the coast of any land mass, the bottom of the ocean falls far enough below that the algea and debris cease to come near the surface. This creates water I have rarely seen, and only on trans-oceanic flights. Water that is simply blue; perfectly, crystal blue. The water below me was not blue, but a sort of frothy coastal jade, but it looked beautiful to me.

I flow and crash and evaporate and rain back down, but eventually I come back here… to the Sea.