Enhanced leather, riding specific, pants, boots and gloves, jackets of reinforced space age material and full encompassing helmets camouflage the ageing bodies within. Armored for speed and defiance of the elements, only this small exposure leaves any telltale of the true vulnerability of these creatures. Alas, the skin and hair betray the ruse. Still, behind these bright eyes throb the spirit of youth deep within. A spirit daring to go to the edge and then press just beyond to discover if it truly exist. Oh youth, fleeting youth, it is wasted on the young.

The journey begins. We posses the capacity to continue and, we discovered later, the courage to refuse. No doubt many would scoff at such adventure. To them I offer the words of Theodore Roosevelt: It is not the critic that counts, not the man who points how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood: who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause, who, at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

This is Eddie's favorite photo from the trip. In his eyes, it clearly defines all this trip is about. Come along now for the rest of the story!