On the blue horizon
200 white triangles
The expected call – “The boats are coming!”

The sea was rough and frothy
Our speedboat and the sea wrestled
Like young kids playing

The wind was strong and swirly
Their sails and the wind wrestled
Like older kids playing

We were headed to opposite ports
On the map’s imaginary dashed line
Stretching its width trying to contain us all

One fueled by gas
Two hundred fueled by gusts
All fueled by passion for expedition

The masts got much taller
The sails got much fuller
The hulls got much bigger

Grace in the midst of unpredictability 
Teams relying on trained instincts
Mechanical and physical strength harnessing natural power

We were setting the edge of the thickened lane
Magnificence passing on our starboard side, blocking out that horizon
A handful gleaming through morning sun to port

Impossible to count
Impossible to take in
Impossible to breathe

Did we go through the boats?
Or did the boats go around us?
Did we become one for an instant?

We shared the sea
We shared the joy of journeying
We shared a moment

Our boat was bouncing and crashing loudly on waves
The engine was loud and the stereo was loud
But in my heart it was quiet; overpowered by the surrounding beauty

Then we could see our harbour ahead
But to the stern we were gazing at shrinking and consolidating triangles
As the sea relentlessly knocked our boat for attention

Imagine you are moving on roller skates clacking on the rough road
A marching band is steadily approaching but you have to keep going toward them
You gradually move closer to the edge of the road
But the marching band simply splits and continues around you as individuals
There is noise and imbalance but you briefly co-exist in the music
Then you see your destination but you keep glancing backwards
To watch 200 fade in the distance as a unit

And to hold the moment into a memory.