Heat, humidity and a hike up a mountain

My neighbor across the street has this thing going in which he loves to ask “how I’m liking the weather today?”

He NEVER fails to ask me that question. Each time we run into each other, I can expect him to grin, ask me about the weather and then chuckle to himself when I scowl.

He doesn’t really care what I think. He’s just tweaking me. He already knows how I feel about sweating through a sticky, soupy West Virginia summer – and, just to be clear, IT’S NOT GOOD!

Frankly, I’d rather join our big dog Rodney atop an AC vent and stay there until Labor Day, but circumstances conspire against me.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Nic texted me. He wanted to know if I’d like to join him and another friend of ours on a quick overnight backpacking trip.

Knowing what you now know about my hostility toward heat and humidity, you’d be right to think it a safe bet that I wouldn’t give the matter much thought, that I would flatly refuse and then give Rodney a nudge (he’s a vent hog). But, in this instance, if you had actually made that bet, you would have lost.

I can’t really explain why I went against the odds other than to say the cool air emanating from the vent must have made me temporarily delirious. In any case, I agreed to hike Shockeys Knob, a mountain about a half-hour from my home in Martinsburg, along West Virginia’s border with Virginia.

Last Wednesday, I found myself struggling up the mountain path with Nic and our friend John. Actually, I huffed and puffed more than either of them, but my feeble efforts to keep up aren’t the point. While temperatures weren’t nearly as hot as they were last week and it rained off and on, it was still humid. I was dripping with sweat before we even got halfway up the path.

Did I mention I prefer AC vents even if I have to nudge Rodney to make room?

I do.

I REALLY DO.

But despite the humid, and sometimes rainy weather, that hike was worth it. And not just because we rewarded ourselves with the beer we had iced down and lugged up the mountain in our packs. It was because we had accomplished something, we had met a shared goal, we had been through the crucible and Shockeys Knob was ours.

But despite that sense of satisfaction, I’ve made a promise to myself. The next time my friends want to hike a mountain when it’s humid outside just to share a few beers beside a campfire, I’m going to suggest they come over to my house, instead. I’ve got plenty of AC vents and Rodney doesn’t mind sharing. Plus, the beer will be colder. I’ve got a fridge.

I don’t like humid weather.

 

 

Ugh, Summer is back

Good thing I like to sit on my front stoop and watch the world go by in the morning. Right now, any other time is out of the question.

After several days of relatively nice, cool weather, temperatures are rising and so is the humidity.

Heat and humidity – summer’s double whammy. Consider me disabused of any hope of escaping typical West Virginia weather for this time of year.

SUMMER. IS. BACK.

As I prepare to post this, it’s about 3pm EDT. A glance at the weather app on my phone shows it feels like 96-degrees outside my front door. That’s hardly Death Valley heat, but it’s more than enough to keep me indoors for the time being. It’s also enough to keep our big dog Rodney near an AC vent.

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I am in the habit of taking Rodney for a spin around the neighborhood in the afternoon. Not today. It’s too hot and humid – for him and me. He’s just going to have to contain his boundless enthusiasm for walks for when his mom gets home from work this evening.

Stop looking so sad, Rodney. It’s for the best. If I took you, your tongue would drag so low it would have road burn by the time we got back home. Besides, you’d just have to make room for me atop that vent

If it seems like I’m trying to avoid you …

thermostatLeaving the house lately has been a lot like being faced with the “Walk of Shame.” In fact, showing my face anywhere right now fills me with trepidation. All I want to do is put on a hat, slip on some shades, duck my head and get through it without talking to anyone.

But I can’t.

Because everyone knows I caved. At least, all my Facebook friends know. And now, if you read further, you’ll know, too. And then you’ll want to ask questions I’m ashamed to answer.

My first mistake was making public my campaign to not be the first in our house to turn on the air conditioner. But posting about it on Facebook was a small blunder compared to the most fatal, grievous, calamitous and downright crushing mistake I made.

I eventually implied in my Facebook posts that I was in a battle of wills with my ultra-competitive wife.

She just didn’t know it.

Not at first, at least.

She eventually found out last week when I informed my FB friends that it was so hot and humid inside our house that my wife appeared “close to breaking,” and that I thought I would soon “claim victory for lasting the longest without turning on the AC.”

When a mutual friend tagged her in a comment that post became my downfall. She turned to me and said, “I didn’t know we were competing.” Then she calmly told me that “if this is a contest, you know you’re going to lose.”

Actually, I’m sort of surprised she hadn’t busted me sooner. The post that ignited her competitive side was just one in a series I had been writing on Facebook.

It started innocently enough with a non-confrontational status update wondering “how long I could resist the siren call of the air conditioner.”

A few days later, I followed it up with another fairly innocuous post expressing relief that cooler temperatures were in the forecast.

A friend of mine then posted a picture of a box fan set up inside a window to encourage a cool breeze.

It went back and forth like that until I finally crossed the line. Last week, I mentioned my wife for the first time when I said I thought we were playing “a sick game of who can last the longest without turning on the AC.”

If I had just left it there, I wouldn’t be going incognito in public right now. But I had to follow it with posts and replies suggesting my wife and I were engaged in a supreme struggle that would scare even our soon-to-be teenage daughter, who is no stranger to conflict.

And then my wife discovered the “close to breaking post” and made it clear that she was anything but.

I spent the next few days gently suggesting that we put aside our contest, that if our tongues hung out of our mouths any further we might be mistaken for our thoroughly miserable dog, Rodney.

But she had a “you started it, I’m finishing it” attitude.

Even our kids were no help. Our daughter took my wife’s side and even wanted a cost analysis between running the air conditioning and all the fans I had running full blast throughout the house. Our teenage son, meanwhile, was oblivious to the whole thing. He spends most of his time at home in our comfortably cool basement pretending he doesn’t live with us.

Eventually, I caved and now I’m suffering the ignominy of having flipped the switch at a moment of craven weakness.

You might be wondering, if I’m so ashamed, why am I admitting to all this?

It’s for husbands who have ultra-competitive wives like mine.

Never let them know you’re competing with them if you want temperatures to cool down at your house.