Heat

The thunderstorm from yesterday was replaced by the heat today. Temperature, heat index, humidity, blah, blah, blah. Heat is one of those things that just must be experienced to really get the feel for what it’s actually like outside.

The first three hours of the walk were actually pretty pleasant. Clouds left over from the evening put a gossamer drape between me and the sun rising in the east. A little breeze was blowing out of the south, and although it was muggy, the feel of the air wasn’t unpleasant.

Not to be denied his fun, the nuclear furnace approximately eight light-minutes away cranked up the fission reactions as it traced an arc in the sky from east to west. By mile nine, the clouds were all gone, and the sun beat down. I’m not going to say there wasn’t any shade because I was wearing the Jello cap, but that was about it.

I could feel the temperature start to rise on the concrete, and warm drafts of quickly heating air tickled my shins.

My brow beaded in perspiration, and my shirt became thoroughly soaked. I didn’t dare roll up my shirt sleeves. I’ve been keeping them down to avoid sunburn over the last several weeks, and my tan lines have faded as I’ve browned through the fabric. I’m concerned I might spontaneously combust with too much exposed skin.

Unlike the thunderstorm which was a relatively quick and acute experience, heat just grinds on you. Step after step….mile after mile the sun does its work. The heat and the sweat and the salt and the sun hone you. The concrete road is gleaming white, and the rest of the landscape starts to grey and then yellow. 

You reach for the bottle of Powerade which came out of the ice chest nice and chilly just an hour ago. If you’re lucky, it’s tepid with a few areas of relative cool. Most likely it’s lukewarm, but you drink it anyway. The salt collecting in the shoulder straps of your backpack has to come from somewhere.

The heat hones and you just grind it out. You think about taking off your glasses to wipe the sweat from your brow, but you know it will be back just a few minutes later. Instead you just trudge on. 

Tasseling Corn - Sac County, Iowa

The corn loves the heat. Heat makes the corn grow, and the engineered hybrids in wide use today have a known number of heat units required for a successful harvest. It’s usually between about two thousand and twenty five hundred heat units depending on the variety, and that translates into about ninety to one hundred and ten fairly warm days. 

The corn to my left was soaking up the bounty of the sun. Taller than most men, the stalks were beginning to tassel out giving the field a yellow tinge in a sea of dark green.

I stopped for a moment to take in the miles of corn revelling in the heat. Then I moved on. I’m glad something enjoys these hot midsummer days.

Morning Person

I hope I don’t contradict a previous post, but I’m a little tired and I’ll beg forgiveness rather than do the research.

I’m going to share a secret that I’ve tried to keep hidden as far back as I can remember. My caginess with this particular piece of knowledge went so far that I even had myself fooled for quite awhile.

Morning Rainbow - Lowden, IA

I’m a morning person.

There, I’ve said it, and it feels good to finally get it out in the open.

I know that being a morning person is not necessarily a popular approach in our culture.  There are meme after meme after meme commenting on coffee or time or some other way to kick start the morning. There are mugs and shirts and hats and tee shirts all warning others not to approach until a person’s had time to get rolling.

I actually like the morning because that’s when I have the most energy. The day is fresh and young and with the passing of night, it seems imbued with almost limitless possibilities.

This is especially true at this point in the walk. Now I’m not gonna say that the morning is fresh and crisp. Mornings of late have been humid steamy affairs, but let’s face it….the temperatures and humidity aren’t going to get any more conducive to walking then they are in the morning. It reminds me a little of Navy Dive School in Panama City, FL where eighty-five degrees and sixty percent humidity at six thirty in the morning was as cool as it was going to get.

My legs and back are fresh, and the pack just doesn’t seem that heavy. The grips on my trek poles are dry and supple rather than slimy and slick with the afternoon palm sweat that’s just around the corner. Twenty or twenty-five miles doesn’t sound too difficult in the morning. That spring in your step that makes you believe this fallacy, but it will not survive very long as the sun makes its steady climb to its zenith. Still, in the morning anything seems possible.

Today, the thunderstorms that ushered in crashing rain and lightning that lit up the sky last night had passed. In their wake, as the sun peaked up over the eastern horizon, a full rainbow winked from the west. This morning, anything was possible. The rainbow was a sign from the Universe that the time to slog westward had arrived, and I’m grateful I was up and around to see it.