Two days after the race my legs were still trashed. No matter, the sun was out and my work was done. Time to play! Out of the garage came my toy, a canary yellow Scott Foil, still wearing Zipp 404s from July. But for this ride there would be no power meter, no speedometer, no water bottle, no stopwatch, just me and my bike.
Rolling out of the garage it felt strange to be stripped of gadgetry…not for long. My plan for a flat ride was thwarted when one too many cars went West on Seventh Avenue. Hills it would be. Right on Wren, down the pitch on Clay, a sharp right on Tyler and then up, up, up, albeit slowly.
No hard effort here, just find the easiest gear and use it. The previous thoughts and stresses of the day dissolved in a series of half-hearted pedal strokes.
Despite the low effort, my tired legs were shaky hitting the top. No problem, a few minutes of downhill should be enough of a break. When the incline relented so did the fatigue.
Rather than crush it as the road flattened, I coasted, squeezing each ounce of speed and momentum out of the Foil. As the energy subsided, instead of burying my head down on my aero bars (like on a “real” ride) I looked up…and around. Green trees, rolling hills, and the taste of clean oxygen filling my lungs, no stench of Matsqui manure up here.
At the usual intersection of pain and suffering, I took a U-turn, opting for an easier route. Up a recently paved section on Richards Street, I absorbed the scenery. To my right – a rare unobstructed view of 
the Fraser Valley and to my left – what the hell was that? With no power meter alarms squealing or stopwatch ticking, it was time for exploring. Up Saunders I went. When the pavement ran out, my curiosity didn’t. I kept going, punctures be damned.
My road bike performed, well, pretty well for a road bike with slick tires and I made it up the loosely-packed gravel trail for five minutes before my legs shouted out to me “enough.” I listened to them. I got off my bike and took a look around. There was just a gravel trail and a drizzle of late summer sunshine filtering through the forest.
After a minute or two for some semi-artistic photography, I pointed my bike downhill and cautiously descended, knowing now more than ever why mountain bikes were invented. Glad to be back on pavement, I took a left on Richards and navigated my way home. How far I went on the ride can’t be measured in miles but, rather, in attitude – don’t know, don’t care, don’t matter, exactly what I was looking for! Zero training effect! Welcome to the off-season!