October? What October? I have some vague fading dream of stumbling through a wood at midnight in the rain with 5 rounds in a .30-'06, a failing 3-led headlamp and a spinning compass, hands and elbows smelling like blood, and a sinking feeling that I wasn't alone... but I just can't place it anymore. The whiskey haze that I supressed whatever October was with is lifting and for some reason all my wool socks have gone missing and my ammo looks damp.

And then, suddenly, this:

I dug around the clothes bin and pull out some lycra. Arm-warmer. Jersey. Found a bike pump.

Found some dirt

Found out the Red Sox are turning into the new Yankees, and found out that in some parts of the world bike racing never really stops... maybe I'll get my hung-over hairy ass in a race number and start 2008 already. Is it time? I think maybe it is. Oh, my head... .