I'm at one of those grave intellectual impasses that have been known to bring even greater minds than my own to a standstill.  I have an orphan sock.  Trivia, you say.  Ha!  I think not.

The cause of this problem is surely the work of that Slovakian KGB Agent, foolishly disguised as a laundress in Svolen.  She stole it, I'm sure.  Probably for a DNA sample to impress her superiors in Bratislava.  They've been following my every move since the kustoms agent in Warsaw asked me the purpose of my visit to Poland.  When I answered "vacation" the disbelief on his face gave him away.  What, doesn't anyone go to Poland on vacation? 

But back to the real problem, the orphan sock.  The purists among cycle tourists would say, "Throw it away, it's excess baggage.  And while you're at it, cut three inches off that over-long toothbrush handle."  But the Calvinist in me says, "Save it.  It's a good sock, nearly new."  I've already reduced the weight of my baggage by loosing its mate.  Maybe I'll lose another and be back to even and lighter still.

Save it or throw it away?  Maybe if I trim the toothbrush handle AND squeeze out half of the toothpaste in that over-large tube, the importance of the orphan sock will diminish and I can get back to trimming my maps.  Before I throw it away, perhaps I should use it to clean my chain.  The utility of that should please Calvin.  Or would it?  Ruin a perfectly good sock by miss-using it as a cleaning rag?  Dear God, help me!

Maybe I should throw away all of my socks as middle-class extravagances.  I'm sure my feet would get over it in a few weeks.  "Not on my watch," says Calvin.  Mail it home?  Too expensive.  Donate it to Hungarian Goodwill?  They'd surely give me another look like that KGB kustoms agent in Warsaw.  I know! I'll cut off the top six inches (what purpose does that serve anyway), reducing the weight even further, not to mention the space it takes up.  I'll do it to all my socks and use the tops as trail markers.  Yes!  This KGB waitress is giving herself away by watching me with my scissors and my laughing.  What does she know?  She didn't ride 52 miles in 102 degrees with two litres of water and an orphan sock.