OK, nothing of a significantly educational nature in today’s post. Rather, I want to talk about the weather.
Those of you living in the mid-Atlantic/Midwest bridge zone can probably relate to my feelings on the weather. They’re not the best, most of the year, because the weather isn’t exactly picturesque around these parts. If it’s not icy and bitter under a lead blanket of clouds, it’s a hazy, suffocating soup of humidity, mold, pollen and bugs. We get, what, a week or two of relief between seasons most years? It’s no wonder this part of the country is a hotbed for the model railroading hobby (nothing against that wonderful pastime, for the record; it’s a unique American art form); it’s either too hot or too cold to enjoy the outdoors for much of the year.
Sure, we make it work. I spend an arm and a leg each year on gear to keep warm (but not stuffy and clammy) or cool (with plenty of hydration) depending on the season. This year, for example, I took the plunge on hgh-performance electrolyte drinks, for the sake of saving my legs from cramps during hikes and rides in the oppressive heat.
But still, it’s not like Florida, the Carolinas, California, Hawaii…you pick the destination where mild winters and a sea breeze keep the temps manageable and the air quality above moderate-to-unhealthy (got to love the Ohio Valley).
But a few weeks a year, we get our fair share.
Today, I’m watching the sun filter down through a stand of trees that’s home to at least one active squirrel nest. The breeze is just right – takes the extra warmth out of the mid-70s temps, leaving the outdoors the perfect combination of dry, clear and sunny. It’s like perfectly-tuned climate control, but with better air.
I know the crap weather will be back soon enough, so I’m making the most of the situation. Later today, I’ll be cycling Kentucky back roads in the sunset, and I hope to spend another day in the woods tomorrow. It’s invigorating, it’s recharging, and it’s a reminder that the summer’s sticky heat is only temporary.
Winter might stink this year. If it’s anything like last year, my particulate-blasted lungs are liable to put up a painful fuss from late January until April. But I’m not thinking that far ahead. Today I’m living in the moment, making the most of one of Ohio’s most rare – and precious – gifts: a lovely late summer’s day.
Now get off the computer and go outside yourself.