We are riding the razor road, slicing banks and slaloms through beige sandstone hills. The green trees roll on waves of hills to the distant horizon, broken only by the occasional tree in its ancient twilight clawing orange leaves through the canopy. The sky is the blue of innocent eyes with clouds like pulled apart cotton candy, and we are pulled ever closer to an evening of brutality, ambition, and companionship. Happy Bouterday to all!
