Ninety-seven degrees at the trailhead parking lot according to the Van’s external thermometer.

There is always a crossing over. There is always a ride where I choose the heat. You can choose the heat and let it melt and bend and temper you into something new (the 2009 fall edition?) or you can hide and cower from the heat– suffering cabin fever and growing brittle on the inside and doughy on the outside.

Tonight I chose the heat and the heat chose me, and now I have a date for the summer dance.


Of course I wrote about the weather. Not writing about this heat would be like living through Katrina and not writing about rain.

6 Responses to Tempered

  1. That’s not a real person on that flaming bicycle, is it? Like, for real, for real?

    I can’t even wrap my head around the fact that you go outside in the heat, let alone, move any more than necessary. Ugh. I hope the island is the proverbial 10 degrees cooler when we come in a week.

  2. That’s funny. I wrote about the heat too and said not talking about it was like not mentioning that your mouth was burning after you chomped down on a habanero pepper.
    Yeah. It’s hot.

  3. It was cool and dry at the Y last night with a potpourri of pop classics purring from the sound system as I climbed a succession of “hills.” I guess I’m going for the brittle/doughy combo.

  4. I hear ya, Brotha! we did a long road ride through the hills of Northern Gadsden County last weekend, and I had sweat running off my elbows like there was a water hose stuck down my jersey. The heat, she’s back, and with a vengeance. Won’t be long before riding Munson will become all the more difficult, as the heat waves in that too still, blast furnace confuse your vision of where the trail really goes.