Stepping outside, I was suddenly at the Winter Olympics. The snowboard course, to be exact. There was this punk snowboarder who was supposed to compete, but he'd broken his leg on the other side of the course from the competition area and there was a really bad blizzard, so the fleet of helicopters that was apparently standing by to airlift athletes around was grounded. Somehow, this guy strapped his board on and managed to plot a crazy course all the way acrossed the mountain.
Next, I was still in the same general area (snowy New England coast), but I was swimming in a river. I was holding an old, run-down house, compressed to be about the size that you could carry in two hands. It was heavy though, and slippery. I knew that I had to swim down the river and along the coast and deliver the house to another town. There were lots of other people in the water with stuff... it felt like a 19th-century wagon train, except everyone was swimming instead. After a long, cold swim, I made it to the other town... but when this giant, hairy guy (even by my standards) asked where the house was, I confessed that I'd dropped it out in the ocean. Turns out it was a special artist's building that Andy S had designed and built, but was scheduled for demolition.