Wet

Somewhere around 400mm of rain these last 2 days has graced our rooftop.  Our house has water views again.  Or would have if the rain would clear long enough to see into the valley.

Another motorcycle racer died today.  That's the third in three years.  The risk is always there - the awareness by both the rider and the spectator that sudden death could occur. So it's a bloodsport of sorts... Not to the same extent as Romans of antiquity attending a gladatorial contest at the Colesium, or Shakespearean Britons congregating about a bear put - but it's really just a question of degree.

Would bull fighting in Spain continue without spectators? Or boxing? Or F1, or MotoGP?  The responsibility for the injury and death resulting from such blood pursuit must at least partially lay at the door of the active spectator. The one who bays in anger, howls in disappointment, shrieks in glee and pays the money at the door.

It's not about risk assessment, or trial and error.  It's not about patting yourself on the back because many less competitors died this year than thirty three years ago, or five hundred years ago.

It's about passion.  The fire in the belly, the drive to see and be the best, the thrill of the chase.  Push it to the edge, to the limit, to the brink. Your breath quickens, your pulse races, adrenaline scores your throat, your eyes widen.  And you - yes, you - have their blood on your hands.