Took a short spin on Saturday, a magnificently cloudless mid-winter day. Temperature was in the mid-20s with a light breeze from the west. I needed some groceries, so I headed for the store about four miles away.
The ride was unremarkable, really, until about halfway through the return trip. With the breeze at my back and the heat balance perfect, I hit the zone. The rhythm of the crank synchronized with my breathing and the blocks flew by. I wasn't really thinking about anything, just enjoying the rightness of the moment.
After a while, the road curved to the left, something it wasn't supposed to do, which roused me out of my reverie. I'd blown past my turn by a half-mile and ended up in an unfamiliar part of the Old Farm subdivision.
I contemplated taking the long way and adding another two or three miles to the run, but I had lunchmeat and milk in the pannier, and I didn't want them to freeze.