look outside, and there is a dazzling blue, stetching across the sky as far as the eye can see. even with other artificial blues, even it’s psuedo-reflected glory upon water is nothing to match what stetches before me now, complimenting and contrasting everything else that is out past this pane of glass.

my own type of blue is waiting at the ready. it is chipped, dented, scratched, yet gleaming after rubbing some accumulated grime off of it. it awaits me, sitting at the door like a dog who knows it is time to go outside. ready, willing, and able.

i can’t believe how long vern has lasted me, but i can’t see any reason he would ever break. i think he’s ok with leaving the century rides to jules these days, as one century training summer was probably enough for him. the spirit is still there though, looking to conquer hills and scream down them with wild abandon. jump the curb, hit that pothole, run over that branch, it matters not, it isn’t the first time it’s happened.

all that matters is that ability to get out, to move, to go, to realize and fulfill. that something that feels so elusive until it’s gone. that something that is a part everything you can ever imagine. that something that is unnamed because it doesn’t need one. ponder it, dismiss it, grant it dichotomy that you can barely fathom.

be.