Since it's still barely sunup here, I don't have any actual news to report, but I did have some ruminations about yesterday in the shower, so now you get to deal with them.
Basically, it occurred to me that this event is totally incredible. Incredible in the sense of the word that it's beyond belief. It's like racing into a postcard, crashing through the idyllic facade and finding that you're living the image.
As we headed west toward Gander from the Eastport Peninsula last night, the setting sun angled and struggled with a troubled sky, leaving shade dappled birches swaying in the breeze, as thick as any throng in Times Square, but greenly complacent and patiently beautiful. We crossed a land bridge from the peninsula and the Sound was so ruggedly beautiful, yet serene and calm, seemingly undisturbed, that it was a surreal feeling to realize that we were tourists, sure, but we were also crossing this idyllic setting in a race car. A FAST race car.
How lucky are we?
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