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…
2 comments:
CW, you would kick the living shit out of Floyd. No contest.
Keep your self massages to yourself, thank you very much.
Stalked by The Floyd in your dreams....damn. I wouldn't want to mess with him anywhere...that guy is seething mad nowadays...and his gun is getting that well worn patina from all the fondling it has been enduring lately.
If you need a scarier dream, dress yourself up like a WADA testing vampire and then watch what happens when Floyd gets you.!
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