Because I live in the South and it's SUPPOSED to be hot, I generally don't complain too much about the heat. I reserve full bitching rights, however, for the winter, when it often gets below freezing and stays that way FOR DAYS. I realize that many people in this country (including my favorite cousin, who lives in Green Bay) have to deal with much harsher weather than I do, but I always return to where I live.
God didn't put me in the Deep South to be cold.
That being said, it's going to be hot this weekend. And I'm on a bicycle ride. Hence the late hour of this post. No, I haven't actually been out carousing. Neither Katydid nor Rozmo came on this ride, so I'm all alone (sniff, sniff). I worked at registration, went and bought a Schlotsky's sandwich, and came back to the room to follow the baseball game on the computer. I didn't bring the motorhome this weekend after all. It wasn't that I was nervous about being by myself and having to do everything (including setting up the satellite system, which we all KNOW I'm fully capable of doing, ahem ahem). I woke up this morning and realized that gas for the motorhome would cost almost the same thing as staying in a motel room for two nights. When I got mired in the Friday afternoon Atlanta traffic on the way up here, I was thankful I wasn't driving that monstrosity on the interstate.
I'm up in the "cool" part of the state, right at the base of the North Georgia mountains. One of my fellow riders came in to registration this afternoon and said she saw three bank clocks in town: 101 degrees, 102 degrees, 103 degrees. I told her she was obviously driving in the wrong direction.
And tomorrow and Sunday we are going to ride bicycles in this heat.
We did these routes last year, and while they will be hilly, they aren't mountainous. But they are very scenic and if I remember correctly, they don't have much traffic.
Remind me again why I do this?