Stinking Hot and Mosquito Bit

Holy Smokes. I took a short walk down hill to the campground store to inquire about taking a bus into town tomorrow morning. It was so hot that if I had a kayak I could have floated down the river of my own sweat. I’ll be one of the last people to complain about the heat, but it is so stinking hot a menopausal hot flash brings relief. The heat has me holding out in the camper with the napping cats, spending the day killing time by reading the paper and surfing the web. I feel like the trip is starting off badly because I can’t move without torturing the cats.

However, Diablo doesn’t seem to mind the heat. She spent an hour outside roaming the forest undergrowth, stirring up mosquitoes which have feasted on my thighs to the point I could not qualify to donate blood for the next 52 days—I gave my pint this afternoon. Diablo lounged under the camper, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that she was on a leash. I painted my toenails, tried to concentrate on a crossword and killed a couple of deerflies that tried to take an additional pound of flesh out of me. When I attempted to ring her back inside she protested.

The air has settled around the campground holding the stale smell of old camp fires ashes, dumpsters and a dead snake found on the road with its mouth wide open as if gasping for its last cool breath of air. Apparently, it did not find it and it keeled over in its tracks, sort of speak (I guess snakes can’t keel over).

I rode my bike to the beach and came back drenched. The beach is only a mile away.
Book selling is on my mind, but I am making no effort to find a venue to sell. I feel guilty about this, after all this is what the tour is all about.