Michelle Boyd and a couple of her boys.

  I had a little scratch in my throat Thursday morning.  By the time I left I was gargling with salt water.  Friday night was worse but by Saturday morning I had driven the cold out of my throat and up into my sinuses with McDonalds salt packets and hydrogen peroxide.  A miserable couple of days of shooting.  I tried to stay away from folks, hydrate by swiping water bottles out of Dave Wison's truck (he's an old marathoner so he always has a pallet or two) and wash my hands a lot.  Energy drain.  Really took the edge off.  You can feel your energy back up and glow like old coals as you contain yourself and wait it out.

  Alan Wilson and I shot together on Sunday.  He's the most excellent company, a man of good sense and good cheer.  He won the Bronze medal in the LEG match.  I watched.

  Driving back last night the Kid passed out early with his ipod sizzling under his river-bottom haircut and I drove the four hours home alone in a sensory-enhanced trip with the stripes and reflectors shining up the asphalt.  I tweaked the cruise control and let it do most of the work while the 4-Runner did the rest.  Good technology.  I thought I was getting a little twitchy after 9:00 but quickly realized that a gusty cross-wind was kicking up.  Glad to be home and in the healing confines of my own bed.