John Cross
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Hot and humid beats the alternative
Hot enough for you?
In a state where the weather always is a topic of interest, the recent heat-and-humidity wave has inspired a chorus of whining and complaining.
But they’ll get no sympathy from me.
When it comes to heat, I say, bring it on.
Not that I would encourage anyone to run a marathon when the temperature approaches three figures and the dew point nudges into the tropical range. A little common sense here goes a long way.
But I vowed a long time ago — March 1978 to be precise — never to complain about the summer heat again.
It was after yet another sub-zero day in what had been an incredibly cold, brutal winter and yet another day when my 1963 Chevrolet Biscayne wouldn’t start.
Probably only those of us old enough to remember gas costing a lot less than a buck a gallon can remember when carburetors, not injection, fed fuel to our V-8s and inline-6s and how notoriously cantankerous they could be in cold weather.
To have a car that was a reliable starter when the mercury plummeted was not only good fortune, but reason for prideful boasting at the morning coffee klatch.
At best, my Chevy was a reluctant participant on wintery mornings. In spite of my best efforts to make sure the tired 250-cubic-inch six-cylinder was at the top of its form with fresh plugs, points, battery — it frequently would refuse to start.
On one particular morning, yet another sub-zero day just a few days away from the first day of spring, the starter moaned and groaned, sapping the last amps of life from the battery along with my last bit of wind chill tolerance.
My wife thought I finally had lost it as I burst through the back door of our abode, cursing and spitting.
Remember the diabolical, crazed look Jack Nicholson had in the movie “The Shining,” when he said “He-e-r-e-s John-e-e-e?’
It might was well as been me. Peering over my frosted-over glasses, flinging my gloves to the floor, I stared at my wide-eyed wife who took a step or two back.
“I will never, ever, complain about the heat and humidity again,” I vowed between invectives.
And I haven’t.
When you’ve got to work outside, 20 degrees below zero can be painful; 95 degrees above can be merely uncomfortable.
Things that usually don’t work very well when it’s frigid — cameras and cars come to mind — function just fine when it’s hot.
I am, of course, willing to play outdoors at both ends of the thermometer. But venturing into the cold to hunt or fish is done on my own terms, not because I have to.
But all things being equal, I still would rather be wiping the sweat from my brow than warding frostbite from my nose.
A funny thing, though. My wife and I, both Minnesota natives, moved back here from Kansas, a place of wonderfully hot, humid summers and moderate winters 34 years ago, mainly because we missed Minnesota’s ice and snow.
If only I knew then what I know now.
John Cross is a Free Press staff writer. Contact him at 344-6376 or by e-mail at jcross@mankatofreepress.com.
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