Dreams

I think the upcoming racing season has me a bit rattled...or maybe this is a sign I'm finally becoming a real cyclist?

Monday night:

The scene was a random, vague looking office party, and I was with some teammates and friends are there. I am told Floyd Landis is in the building and that he’s looking for me. He’s mad and blaming me for some reason about his positive test and ban from cycling. Note: the suspension of disbelief is total here. Of course I know Floyd Landis.

I’m moving from room to room to avoid him, thinking at worst he’s gonna pick a fight with me or slap me around some...as I walk through a foyer, Landis comes out of a stairwell or elevator or something, and looks pretty dirty, unshaven. Like things have been pretty rough. All he says is, “Yo Morrissey,” and pulls out a gun and shoots me dead.



Last night:

This was obviously a Hillsboro dream. I am racing in Hillsboro, IL this weekend, in probably one of the biggest spring races in the Midwest, the Hillsboro Roubaix. It's in honor of the European one-day spring classic, ala Paris-Roubaix. There's even a section of brick for a few blocks before the finishing straight. My first race of the season. I had a great camp, but I'm still pretty nervous. I really want to have a good finish and help the team success as much as possible.

Oh...sorry, the dream. It's all pretty normal, except for the following:

• at the start, everything was on FIRE,
• I abandoned the race when I got to the half-pipe,
• but I got to the finish in time to see Ed and Luke sprinting for 1st, but it was down the front hallway at my Jr. High School in Anchorage, AK…

I don't know what it means, other than maybe I need a massage...huh? Oh, no thanks. I'm short on cash. I can do that myself.