Scott Martin

Hi gang ! Greetings from Puerto Mojito, where I'm spending my summer vacation. Seven days of tropical bliss. No cell phone, no-email, no tweets.

And no bike ! It's great. Really, really great.

I had doubts about vacationing without a bicycle, but my travel companions convinced me that I needed a break. "Lie on the beach, sip your umbrella drink and relax," they said. "You ride too much anyway."

Besides, there aren't any roads in Puerto Mojito, unless you count the goat track to the airport in San Colada. I couldn't do that to my $4,000 Carbonium wheels.

So I get up late each morning, eat a huge breakfast, lie face-down in the sun, eat a huge lunch, lie face-up in the sun, eat a huge dinner, and go to bed. It's great.

No rising before dawn, shoveling down an energy bar, squeezing in traffic-light sprints on the way to work, washing in the janitor's sink, drooling on my keyboard by 4:30, doing hill repeats on the way home, and falling asleep on the couch while watching Serial Killer Makeovers.

Best of all, my bike-free holiday is helping my fitness.

"Days off make you strong," my team coach said before I left. My pooped mitochondria will be rejuvenated by the rest, and I'll come home fresh and ready to rumble.

So there's no need to worry that my friends are riding like crazy while I'm away and will drop me like a Floyd Landis fund-raising letter when I return. No need at all.

Well, time for me to turn over on the ol' chaise lounge. So I'll just say, "Wish you were here."

Instead of me.

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