First, I should apologize to everyone in the hotel: that was our dog who decided, against all past history, that every thump in the night needed to be barked at. Thanks, dog.

Second, the weekend was off the hook. You're going to see film of Saturday's cyclocross nationals shortly, but I'm here to tell you about Sunday's race.

Jungle-cross? More like Bizarro-cross! The race started with a 300m or so run. I was running (literally) second until I was demoralized by the Ironman tat on the leader's ankle. Really. There was a rideable over-the-ankles water crossing. Large chunks of the course were mowed out of a hayfield. There was a wooden bridge, and then another wooden bridge so mud-covered I never saw the surface. I made my usual "mountain bike course" joke to Noiles, and he went off. I think it's fair to claim that the course was more technical than some mountain bike races I have done.

Maybe the best part yet was being complimented by the finish line judge on my stylish dismount at the finish line. I did a double-take and realized that the judge in question was Wendy Simms, in her words, "giving back."

And now, unless I go nuts and do the November 25th race in Bellingham, I can pretend that the season is over. Time to go and watch velodrome racing, and generally just watch my weight and do push-ups for three months. Then training begins in earnest.