Going Nowhere Fast

Hell is an eternity on a stationary bike.

To those of us who love cycling, who have ridden insane distances over even more insane terrain, who have known the unspeakable agony of a bicycle race, who have whiled away a sizeable percentage of our lives perched on a leather-covered two-by-four (on end) turning the pedals, riding the trainer shouldn't be a big deal. Same motion, same narrow saddle, same position -- right? Yes -- but with no variation, and no wind, and no scenery, something we find really enjoyable suddenly becomes absolutely appalling.

Is there anything worse this side of authentic torture? (And by "authentic torture," I don't mean the Abu Ghraib driven notion of humiliation as torture; after all, wearing bike clothes is humiliation.)