So here I am, six days into a forced layoff from the bike (and everything else, for that matter), and I’m not a happy camper.Just over a week ago, my right Achilles tendon started to hurt. Then it started to make this crunchy, grinding sensation that sent me to the doctor.The diagnosis — Achilles tendinitis — sounded innocuous enough, but the treatment — a stretch of still-undetermined length of no riding/running/racquetball — is worse than the pain.At first I shrugged it off.I figured the rest would do me good.I’d overhaul my bikes. I’d replace the chain on my bad-weather mountain-bike/commuter. I’d clean my every-day fixed-gear. I’d finally get around to fixing the shifting on my roadie.I’d make some serious headway on my holiday shopping.I’ve done none of that.I have, however, slept a lot. I’ve done some laundry. Cleaned the house. And complained to anyone who’d listen about my miserable lot in life.Nothing like sitting around on your ever-expanding backside to realize just how little time you actually spend on your backside.I occasionally see a cyclist bundled up against the cold, fighting to make headway against a brutal north wind and think, “Lucky stiff.” Or I see bike tracks in the fresh snow on the sidewalk in front of my workplace, and my head’s on a swivel, looking for whomever put ’em down.This is, by far, the longest forced layoff of my life, and I suppose for that I should be grateful.I missed a couple of days a few years ago when I wiped out during a century ride in Texas. I’ve stayed off the bike three or so days for a stomach flu here or a fever-and-chills illness there.But I haven’t turned a pedal for almost a week now, and because I don’t want this to turn into something worse, I’ll follow my doctor’s advice — rest, drugs (!) and physical therapy (!!) — to the letter.Even if it kills me.